Seth (Damage Control 3)

Work, that’s all I can fucking do. Try to save up enough for the rent, and look

into a cheaper place, like I’ve been meaning to do. It’s time to move on, try to salvage what I have: a roof over my head, food in my mouth.

Shit, Manon… The look on her face, the disbelief, the horror. That shouldn’t hurt so much, not as much as losing Damage and the family I had there—because goddammit, it was my family, too—but it does. Twists inside me like a knife, scrapes against my heart.

Can’t think about her now, or I’ll break down right here, in the middle of the fucking street.

I board the bus, walk back to my apartment, hands in the pockets of my jacket. At least I can walk, I think, despite the limp, and almost cackle out loud at my pathetic attempt to keep my sanity.

What good is walking when I have to crawl?

I climb the stairs to my apartment, one slow step after another, massaging my shoulder. Pulling my key out, I unlock the door, step into my apartment.

My apartment.

A year ago, those two words wouldn’t have fit together. I lived in an alley, and my belongings consisted of a filthy sleeping bag and a Thermos someone gave me. Can’t lose this. It was easier when I had no hope.

I take a leak, stare at my scowling expression in the mirror, look into my bedroom, at the stacks of sci-fi and romances. Happy endings. Maybe that’s the problem. I read so many of those books while in bed I thought I’d get a happy ending, too, but I guess that’s for fictional characters, not for the likes of me.

This shit’s real. Real fucking life.

Someone’s pounding on my door. Shit. I hobble through the living room and check the peep hole. Not taking any chances.

A guy’s looming outside, darkening my doorway.

Shane.

Heaving a sigh of relief, I open the door and step back to let him in. “Hey, man.”

With a blast of cold air, he follows me inside, draws his fist back and drives it into my gut. “Fuck you, Seth.”

I stumble back, try to get my footing—and miss. I tumble to the floor, land weird, right on my bad shoulder. Something cracks. I wonder if it’s a bone.

A moment of stillness, then the blinding pain hits. I struggle to draw breath, bile rising in my throat as the fire shoots from my shoulder down my arm and my back, reaching into my stomach and twisting it.

Shane’s talking. Something about betraying his trust, about being an asshole who dragged him into all of this.

He’s right. I did this to him. He got into prison for me, and now he may lose everything, again because of me.

“They sent me home,” Shane says. “It wasn’t your goddamn place to tell them about me, Seth.”

I try to explain, try to draw enough breath and force it past my gritting teeth to form words. “Rafe. Didn’t tell.”

“What the fuck ever,” Shane mutters and turns to go. “Stay away from me.”

“Shane.” It comes out as a wheeze, barely audible. “Wait.”

But he’s already out and gone.

Fuck. Me.

I’m so fucking ready for this day to be over. Clutching my arm, I roll to get up, the pain making me dizzy, sending pretty black spots dancing in my vision.

Would this be all for today, life? Are we done?

Of course not. Why would I think I could get off so easy?

“Mr. Tucker.” My landlord is standing at the still wide-open door, waving a piece of paper at me. “If you’re done rolling on the floor, I suggest you pack your things and go.”