Page 11 of Getting It Twisted
It would have been a night like this, quiet and listless, when she gave up her final breath, shot full of dope and probably drunk too.
Darkness seeps into my vision, and I cradle my head in my hands. I swore I’d never return to this house if not for three reasons: to shoot my mom, to set fire to the place, and to shoot myself once it’s all said and done. One of those options she stole from me, but two still remain.
Before I do anything radical and fucked up like that, though, I need to see Daniel again. He’s a bit like Rome, I suppose: all my roads lead back to him. I just hope at least one of those roads has a bridge left unburned.
Chapter 4
Daniel
The cloying, greasy smellfrom Sidney’s Diner drifts by, mixed with the bitter detergent from the cleaning solution I’m spraying all over the wall.
The irony of removing graffiti that, six years ago, I might have been the culprit of myself never fails to amuse me.
And by “amuse,” I mean “depress.”
Nathan and I used to have a blast trying out all these different techniques and colors. We rode around like maniacs on our bikes, scouting for potential targets. Interstate tunnels. Bus stops. The back of the school. I always got way too into it, perfecting my art in ridiculous detail, while Nathan smoked a cigarette and tapped his feet, waiting impatiently for me to finish.
All that lies far behind me now. It wouldn’t be much fun to do it without him anyway.
Once I’ve polished the wall the best I can, I take my goggles off and assess my work. Only ghosts of what used to be sprawling graffiti remain. The sun and the elements will take care of the rest.
A car door slams shut behind me. I turn to the parking lot, where a familiar red Ford Mustang catches my eye. The driver emerges from the seat, dressed all in black.
No . . . No, no, no. Shit. All weekend, part of me hoped meeting Nathan on the patio was a figment of my drunken mind, but this proves otherwise.
He’s here. He’s really here.
He saunters toward me in his confident, languid gait, hands in the pockets of his unbuttoned leather jacket. Underneath is a tight, semitransparent shirt. When the sunlight hits right, I spot a glimpse of his nipples beneath the fabric.
Goddamn, he’s hot, and he knows it. Fuck him.
No,don’tfuck him. Kill him. Yeah, that’s right. I’d sooner kill him than let him kick me back into the hole I’ve just managed to crawl out of. I’m supposed to get over him, for fuck’s sake. Him beingheresure puts a wrench in that plan.
“Sexy getup you’ve got there,” he says, nodding at my bright-yellow coveralls.
“Gonna stalk me at work too?”
He tilts his head and gives a lazy smile. “Who said anything about stalking? I’m just exploring the area. Reliving lost memories and all that.”
“Don’t lie.”
“Okay, fine. I was gonna see if the burgers at this place are as greasy as I remember.”
“They’re worse.”
“I’ll see about that.” He turns and walks toward the entrance of Sidney’s.
Wait, he’s leaving? And why does that feel so wrong all of a sudden?
“Hey!” I call after him. “If you think you can just show up here and pull the rug out from under me, you’re wrong. I have a life here now.”
He turns around and crosses his arms. “A life? Now, let’s be honest.”
“I have friends.Otherfriends.”
“Is that right?” He sways on his feet, gravel crunching under the soles of his combat boots. “Well, that’s a shame. Since I’m here and all, I thought we could reconnect.”
“Reconnect?” I scoff. “And do what exactly? Deal weed and beer to high school kids?” It’s hardly the most out-there thing we did together, but it’s the first that pops into my mind.