14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I numbly step into the back alley of a dark residential street, my gloves back on and my satchel hanging heavy on my shoulders.
It’s not even six am yet.
I had to get out.
Not because I wanted to, but because lying there next to Jude, counting down the minutes I had left, was torture. Best to put myself out of that misery and just leave.
He knows no better.
I’m Jekyll again to the Mr. Hyde that seems to exist only with him.
I wonder if he’s different, too? Or if he’s always a teddy bear in the suit of a well dressed criminal; all front and no follow through when it comes to those he cares about.
Only he’s not a criminal. That burden is mine. A low life can pick another out in a crowd from kilometers away. But there’s something inside me—so deep down I don’t know what to call it—that just knows he’s good.
I think he’s a cop. Maybe a detective.
It’s sweet.
He was always my hero…
I don’t know why I’m here; why I felt it necessary to return to ground zero.
There are no street lights in the alley, but my feet know where to go as intrinsically as my body knows how to breathe.
The back fence is painted grey, now. The broken pickets Jude kicked in after he heard me in the shed still haven’t been replaced. Instead, the broken boards are just nailed back into position beside the other palings.
We fell asleep in the park that night.
We drank Baker’s gin.
I used Jude’s chest as a pillow like he did mine last night.
No one cared when we returned. We were more of a hindrance to them, anyway.
I wish we could have lived together back then. But whose house would have been better? The batterer, or the rapist? There’s no correct answer.
Until Jude, the only thing I had to grab onto was my origin story.
The one I'd made up. My mother had no choice but to leave me at the fire station when I was four, because she was a spy.
An undercover agent needed back in Russia—or Ireland, I can't remember what I told myself.
And it had nothing to do with her new boyfriend not wanting a kid around.
Looking back, that night under the park table was the first time I knew I loved him. Loved anyone.
Jude offering me his chest and wrapping his arms around me was the first time I’d ever felt safe.
Two boys.
Alone.
In a park in East London.
Fuck the world…
The fence is too high for me to see over.
After twenty years, this place still makes me feel small.
I run my fingers over the wooden planks, feeling the gaps between them until I find one big enough to peer through.
The shed.
I can’t believe it’s still there.
I can’t believe I still care.
Even with Jude back in my life, I know this fog will never lift.
I’ll feel safe.
I’ll feel loved.
But I’ll still hurt every fucking day…
Flipping the backside of 38A Wordsberry Lane the bird, I continue down the alley.
I grip the strap of the satchel as I walk the five minutes it takes to get to the park.
That park.
That table.
Well… it’s where the table was. The old green wooden one has been replaced with all silver aluminum. The satchel clanks as I sit down; the sound dumping every overpowered emotion I’ve been holding in on me like a tidal wave.
Reaching inside the bag, I pull out a gun. A Korth NSC Combat revolver. Always the same make and model, just like everything else Marius incessantly has waiting for me.
Its weight is familiar in my hand.
Laying it on my lap, I take out the ammo box, and remove one.
With the single bullet loaded, I pull back the pin, wrap my finger around the trigger, and hold it to my temple.
My eyes ache like they always do when I’m like this. As though my body is trying to force the tears out, but something unseen is holding them back.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been in this exact position; teetering on the edge of cowardice and never ending suffering. Never pulling the trigger.
Maybe it’s the same thing holding back my tears that stops me. Or maybe I’m a coward either way, so I chose to keep going.
Just one more job.
One more slit throat.
One more fuck.
I've come full circle.
I really was going to do it this time.
I guess being home is the untouchable thing I’ve been waiting for. Like I could find closure in the pumped up pain, then put an end to it all. Finish the job, then take myself out while my adrenaline is still pumping.
My mouth widens, and I smile.
A genuine, teeth showing grin that doesn’t fall away after several seconds.
I unlock the trigger and lower the gun back to my lap.
I don’t want to look at it anymore. I don’t want to remember this park how it used to be; rubbish bins overflowing, patches of dirt and mud where no grass would grow, car after car pulling in when it was dark enough—all the men standing around, having a wank, and watching the people inside.
It’s beautiful now. Lush grass, new equipment, gazebos, and barbecue areas. Decent parents would actually want to bring their children here.
I’m glad I came back.
I’m glad that not every shit show of my life is still preserved in time exactly how it used to be.
It gives me hope that I can be happy. Like the new park is giving me permission.
Sleeping under the table; that was the old Curren and Jude.
And from here on out, we can be as bright and clean as it is now.