“Carm don’t ask me to do this…..I can’t do this to her. She doesn’t deserve this from me…there are plenty of people you can ask to do this….”

“Yes. But I only trust you…..”

After that I left. I didn’t answer her. I should have told her that she broke my heart. I should have told her that she was a fucking coward. I should have told that I loved her. And now lying so near to each other covered in this blistering toxic shit her pained green hand in mine, my main regret is that I didn’t tell her that not only did I love her but I never stopped.

Chapter 4

I walked away from Carmen out the white gated sanctuary of her mother’s home and got into my car. I drove. I was on auto pilot. Didn’t know where I was going. Didn’t know what I was doing, I just drove. I found myself back at my old place. It was more of a safe house than a place. I walked up those familiar stairs, turned the key, and stepped inside. Everything left…where I left it. My needles and spoon, my guns, everything. How someone hadn’t broken in and robbed me I didn’t know. I sat down and stared at the huge painting Carmen threw up on the wall, this surreal landscape. A place where we could run and hide. She painted it after a huge job, after the blood dried on my forehead, after she kissed it and made it all better; she got paint all over the place.

I smoked a pack of Camels as the sun set. I sat thinking. I knew I was going to help her. I knew it. I picked up my guns first one then the other. The weight familiar, the coldness comforting. I put them in the shoulder holster and I hid them under my jacket as I walked back to the car. I was late, but I had to visit her again.

I rang the doorbell and she answered, surprised.

“Hey…come in…”

“No…..I can’t….Tricia is probably nervous I usually call by now if I am going to be late…”