Blood to Dust

“Hey, Pea, are you going to stand in the hallway with the knife pointing at me for much longer or are you ready to hit the fucking road?” he nearly barks. “Go get the first aid kit. It’s in Irv’s room.” Nate nods his chin to the door right in front of his. “On his desk.”

I quickly grab the kit and sit my sexy partner-in-crime on the kitchen counter while I take care of his wound, bandaging it up tight. The orange of the iodine leaks around the white fabric and his arm looks like crap, but I think he’s stopped bleeding. I’m standing between his thighs as I tend to his wound, grateful for every second that I touch him but knowing that this is exactly why I should get rid of him as soon as possible.

“Are we all set? Should we run over our plan one more time?” I ask quietly as I roll another clean white cloth over his muscular arm. I can hear Irvin banging on the basement door, screaming and shouting and swearing like a madman.

“We pack our shit, get the money and fake IDs and disappear to different places and time zones.” He shrugs, his husky voice tickling my hairline. “Simple plan.”

“We need to kill them first.” I’m hoarse, yet determined. “They’ll follow us anywhere, down to the pits of hell.”

His eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, I want us to be something else. Something normal. A boy and a girl who live in neighboring cities and met somewhere neutral, somewhere safe, a club or a park or a flipping Starbucks. Our options are unlimited. I’m not broken by previous, awful men. He’s not broken by a previous, awful life. It’s just us, and the scent of opportunity, of first dates and picnics and rolling on lush summer grass, laughing into each other’s mouths.

For one brief moment, I imagine that he walked into my world without tearing it apart, bloodily and messily, and that I stormed into his without making him face the dilemma of his life.

I shake my head when I realize where I let my mind drift off to.

“It’s either us or them.” My pulse quickens with urgency.

“You know, Prescott, if you wanna mend your soul, killing people is not the way to do it.”

“Of course it is.” I kiss his wrapped arm without breaking eye contact. “Because each of these men still hold a part of my soul. I need to take it back, don’t I?”

A hint of a smirk finds Nate’s face, but it disappears just as quickly as it came.

Our heads snap in unison at the deafening sound of shattered wood, and it takes us less than a second to realize that Irvin has managed to kick the door down. Nate shoots up from the table, sidestepping and shielding me behind his back, charging out of the small kitchen and toward the hallway. The gesture doesn’t escape me, but I don’t allow myself dwell on it.

You’re safe, he said before we had sex tonight. Maybe I am.

I follow his steps as he stalks to the hallway, where Irvin already scrambled for his cell phone, which Nate must have tossed across the room before he threw him in the basement. He’s clutching the phone and the discarded Guy Fawkes mask Nate had left on the floor, a dirty Crocs footprint flattened the plastic and disfigured the smiling face. This is the first time I’ve see Irvin without his ski mask, and he’s got the face of an albino eel.

“I’m calling Godfrey.” He averts his eyes from my face and back to Nate’s, his jaw quivering wildly. I’ve never seen someone so manic in my life. “You guys are done, you hear me? Fucking done!”

Forget the packing. We have to run away now.

“Nate,” I say, touching the massive back that shields me from his roommate. “It’s time.”

Nate is still staring at Irv and I wish he’d stop. We haven’t got time to dwell on betrayal.

I slide into my boots, yank the keys from the fruit bowl and grab Nate by the hand.

“Come on. He’s deadweight. Godfrey will never keep him alive after our escape,” I bite, happy to see Irv’s face behind Nate’s shoulder twisting in surprised horror. It’s the truth, and he knows that.

Nate grabs his mask from Irv’s hand and we storm out. He shuts the driver’s door to his Tacoma and punches the wheel three times, honking loudly in the process. I watch him wordlessly, knowing that it’s not only Irvin he is mad at, but also himself. He’s running away from his only chance at normalcy. From a parole officer. From the real world, and from his real identity. He can never undo what he’s doing right now. Me? I haven’t been a part of the real world in such a long time, I barely miss it anymore. It doesn’t miss me, either. Case in point: I was locked in a basement for two weeks, and other than a few crackheads who are probably wondering why I haven’t shown up with their supply, nobody gave a damn.