***
I awake to the smell of coffee. I sit up in the booth, head pounding. Forcing my eyes open, I see a tall old man, looming over me with a warm smile. “Morning, Devora.”
“Oh shit! I didn’t mean to pass out in your bar, Finn.”
“Too much of the ole Irish Medicine will do it to ya.”
I place my hand on my head, groaning. “Again, sorry about this.”
“Don’t worry about it. Best to pass out here than behind the wheel. And when you’ve pulled yourself together, Devora, I have your keys.” Finn has a strict policy: you sleep it off in the bar or take a cab home. If you try to drive, he calls the cops.
After the hangover ritual of coffee and greasy food, I arrived back at my apartment. I pack up some clothes and my bottle of Scotch and carton of smokes and finally my weed and extra magazines for my Sig and lastly, my pills and Mossberg. I sit the gym bag down on the couch, dialing up Ingrid. “Privet, Devi. What’s up?”
“I am going outta town for a bit can you watch Isis a little longer for me?”
“Oh, I’d love to. Little Icy is a joy to be around.”
“Thanks.”
“Devi, may I ask why you’re leaving town?”
“Family emergency.”
“Okay, well, I hope everything works its self out then, my friend.”
“Thanks again, Ingrid. I owe you for this. If you need some money for her, let me know.”
“Bullshit, you owe me nothing, friend, and don’t worry about leaving me money for Isis I will cover it.”
“You’re a saint, Ingrid.” I hang up. I didn’t go into details about why I’m leaving because she would’ve tried to go with me, and I don’t need to risk another person’s job along with mine.
I exit my apartment and stop at the top of the stairs when it dawns on me; I need to call Greg and let him know to stay away from me because the people I’m going after will hurt him to hurt me. The cell rings several times before he answers. “Hey, Devi. What’s up, is your bed feeling empty again?”
I take a deep breath bracing myself. “Greg, we have to stop this. We can’t see each other anymore.”
“You’re breaking up with me?” he raises his voice.
Tears stream down my cheeks. “Greg, we were never going to work as a couple. And, for fuck sakes, I’m 37, and you’re 20 years old.” My voice breaks.
He sobs. “Devi, please, you d-don’t mean that.” He inhales sharply.
“I do, Greg. This was fun while it lasted, but we are not meant to be a couple, so let’s stop pretending this is something it’s not.”
“Goddamn, you!” his voice breaks. Greg’s words went right to my heart like a poisoned dagger.
My knees become weak, forcing me to sit down the steps. “Greg, I am so sorry. If I knew you would get this attached to me, I never would have started this.”
“Fuck you! He growls. “I should’ve listened to my friends about you a long time ago. Why would you play with my emotions like this? Why the hell even suggest we try out being a couple”—he gasps—“why did you do this? I loved you.”
“I don’t know.”
“I know. Because you’re the type of bitch that likes to toy with people’s emotions and then crushes them. You’re a toxic bitch!” he cries.
I rake my teeth over my bottom lip. “You’re right, I am a toxic bitch, and I don’t deserve you. There’s a better woman out there for you. Stay away from me I’ll just hurt you. Trust me, kid, I’m doing you a favor.”
He sighs. “I didn’t want another woman I wanted you, but you’re too caught up in your own self-loathing to see that.” Before I can say anything else, he hangs up. I bow my head into my hands, crying. I didn’t want to do that to him, but I will just end up hurting him like I did my husband. It's better for both of us if we don’t go down this road.
I wipe my nose and snatch up my bag and rush down downstairs to my car, slinging my bag in the backseat and sit down behind the wheel. A brief orange glow fills my Charger as I light my cigarette. Smoke glides across the steering wheel after I take a drag. Putting the car in gear, I head for the highway. Part of my mind is telling me to leave my brother to the wolves its own damn fault, and the other part is telling me he is your familia and you love him.
Damn, I hate having a conscience.
I get on the 75, putting Tampa in the rearview for a city of bad memories, a place which gives the delusion of a Neon paradise. Most people are fooled by its illusion, but not me. I know the evil that lurks beneath the surface.
