28. Jules
JULES
The truth is, everyone can kill.
Some born to defend, others for thrill.
What would it take? It’s not that hard.
Threaten you? Or leave you scarred?
How much can they push you,
How much can they take?
Until you pull the trigger,
And you finally break.
I ’ve never hurt like this before. Like my soul’s been gutted.
I can’t get the look in Mason’s eyes out of my head. A darkness sets in around me as I close my eyes. The vision of his handsome face displaying nothing but hopelessness is only replaced with something more morbid.
I killed a man. Two.
The first I could convince myself was an accident. I was terrified; I felt threatened. I swear it was an accident.
The second, though … I shot his father out of anger. I wonder if this is what Mason felt like almost a year ago when he killed Jace. If that rage that consumed me was the same for him. I shot his father because I wanted to. That is the only explanation.
I shift on the sofa and pull the chenille throw closer up to my neck.
My shoulders brush against the armrest until I get my head right on the pillow.
I can’t go to the bedroom. I can’t go anywhere in this hotel room without feeling like the cops will burst through the doors at any minute.
I’ve only spoken to them on the phone. I can’t imagine they believed my lies.
Even as I said them, I could tell they sounded nothing like the truth.
Because I’m a liar now. I’m a murderer .
I’m not the woman people think I am. I don’t belong here and I don't deserve to get away without punishment. There’s no denying that.
It’s one thing to mourn the loss of a loved one.
It’s only natural, much like a breakup, but you have no way of going back, no way to mend the broken pieces.
They simply don’t exist anymore except in memories.
Consuming your thoughts with no way to recover, other than to move on. Which, in itself, is a tragedy.
It’s quite a different thing to mourn the loss of yourself. To realize you’re no longer who you once were or who you wanted to be. Your identity has vanished, and staring back at you in the mirror is someone else entirely.
The faint sounds of the TV get louder as a commercial comes on and it makes my skin prick.
I turn to face the lights, but I’m not watching it.
I don’t even know what’s showing, it’s all blurred.
I wanted to turn something on to try to fill the hollowness in me.
As if simply hearing something and someone else would make me feel less alone.
As if I could somehow ignore my own reality by getting lost in a movie.
When Jace died, this method worked well. I’d turn on a heart-wrenching chick flick just to convince myself that the movie was the reason I was crying. The movie was why I felt the way I did and I could turn it off, if only I wanted to.
It’s not working today, though. I’m all too aware of my current state. I bite down on my thumbnail, looking past the television and over at the curtains, hiding the view from the only window in the living room of the hotel penthouse.
I’m not the sweet good girl I was brought up to be.
And I never will be again. My stomach churns and I roll over to my side, trying to ignore the overwhelming guilt.
I try to convince myself that it’ll be okay, that it was all a mistake or an accident or someone else’s fault, but I’ve never been a good liar.
My throat dries and seems to close as I try to take a breath of air. It’s all too much, this burden, this truth. Mostly the fact that I’m going to get away with it.
I wonder if Jace felt like this back when he sentenced that woman to death? I think back to each morning in his last days with me. But nothing was different. He was the same as any other day. The same smile, the same kiss. The same lightheartedness about him.
He had no remorse. I bite the inside of my cheek wondering how he could go about his days as if everything was all right. Nothing is. And nothing has been for so long.
I can’t hide that any longer. I can’t run from it.
When did I become this woman? One willing to kill. Eager to, even.
I can’t answer that, because I’d never been in this position until Jace died. All of my life, I’ve been handed everything easily. Even if I was grateful, it wasn’t right.
I’ve never had to fight for a damn thing.
I’ve never felt the need to defend myself.
Maybe this woman, the one who kills out of anger, the one who’s quick to end what threatens her …
maybe I’ve always been her. I just didn’t know it, because she was dormant deep down inside of me, comforted by the fact that she didn’t need to act.
Life was kind to her, but not anymore.
My phone goes off by my thigh, making me jump as it rips me from my thoughts. Instinctively, I look to the door first. Where the cops should be coming any minute. They had to know I was the one who really did it. All the evidence is there in my home. I should confess.
They’ll take me away and force me to pay for my crimes.
I’m expecting it . I want it. I want this all-consuming dread to leave me. I want the guilt to wash away. I want to be tried for my sins and sentenced as I should be.
Even if I sat on a jury and heard my story, I don’t know how I’d find myself.
I’m guilty of so much, been baptized in the blood of other people’s victims.
Maybe at this point, I’m insane. Maybe that will be my plea. It doesn’t make me any less guilty.
I’m just as much of a murderer as Mason is.
And even more so than Jace, in a way.
I answer the phone on the last ring.
“Hello.” I expect it to be the police, but it’s Kat.
“Are you all right?” I close my eyes. It’s good to hear her voice.
“How could I be?” I ask her with a pain she can’t even imagine. She has no idea.
“It’s going to be okay. I just got a call.”
“From who?” I ask as I sit up straighter and pull my knees into my chest. “About Mason?” I need to know. “Is he going to be okay? Mason’s going to be okay, is that what?—”
“Calm down,” she says, cutting me off. I sit uneasily, waiting for her to speak.
“What did you hear?”
She’s quiet a second longer than I can stand. “He’s in interrogation,” she says. “They can charge him with obstruction now though, but that’s it.” My throat tightens and makes my words come out in a higher pitch than I intended.
“Obstruction?” I blink over and over, feeling light-headed.
Kat continues, “That’s what I’ve heard. Nothing is set in stone yet.”
My heart races erratically.
“It’s not … I can’t.” I struggle to speak, to breathe even. “Kat, you have to help him. You have to help me.” It’s my chance to confess. To tell her everything. I throw my head back and I rock with the need to let it all out.
“It’s okay, he didn’t do it.”
“I know he didn’t. They can’t keep him. They can’t charge him with anything,” I say, pleading with her as if I know how this all works. But I have no idea.
“Kat,” I say as my voice cracks again and the words are right there, threatening to come out.
He’s taking the fall for me, because he loves me.
And I’m letting him. God, it hurts. It’s so wrong. I bury my face between my knees, hating my reality.
He said he loves me; he’s taking the fall for me. I didn’t even have the balls to tell him how I feel in return. He said I love you, and I said nothing. He must know. He has to. What we have is real and tangible. But I need to tell him.
“Is he going to get off?” I ask her and wait with bated breath. The other line is filled with the sound of her breathing deeply and I find myself hunching forward, my lungs squeezing with the need to breathe.
“Jules, they have some evidence.”
Her words make my blood run cold . Evidence?
“He didn’t do it,” I say and the words leave me without my consent. I know they’re from me, I know I said it, but I’m somewhere else. Not here, safe in a luxurious hotel penthouse while Mason sits in jail for a crime I committed.
“I know he didn’t,” she says and I’m not sure if she speaks with certainty for my benefit or if she really believes he didn’t. She continues, “But for them to be holding him this long, it means they have something on him, Jules. Evan says they have something. There’s something going on.”
I swallow thickly, not responding as Kat repeats my name over and over again. The flashes of what happened haunt me. The blood, the heat, the kick of the gun in my hands.
“What can I do?” My voice is eerily calm as I stare straight ahead, although I see nothing but his father’s lifeless eyes.
“There’s nothing we can do, Jules,” Kat says and I shake my head even though she can’t see.
I could tell them everything.
“I’m coming over to the hotel,” Kat says just as I say, “I’m going to the station.”
“Why the hell would you do that?” she says as if it’s absurd. “Don’t you dare move.
“Trust me, Jules. Mason’s going to get out of this. It’s just a matter of time before we find out why he’s still in holding.” I run a hand through my hair, feeling desperate to do something.
“I can’t just stay here,” I tell her with the desperation apparent in my voice. “I have to do something.”
“Not yet,” she says. “Don’t worry, he’s going to be okay.
I promise you. You need to stay where you are.
Evan is going to keep his ear to the ground.
I’ll tell you everything as we know it. Right now, they could charge him with obstruction but they aren’t …
we’re waiting to see what they have. Just wait. ”
My teeth pinch the inside of my cheek as I debate on waiting. It’s what Mason told me to do too. I’m so tired of waiting. Waiting to feel again, waiting for the truth, waiting for vengeance, waiting for the guilt to leave.
“I can’t—” I start to say but my voice cracks, and I close my eyes. I swallow before firming my resolve to tell Kat, but she cuts me off.
“Just wait one more day. They can’t hold him more than that.”
The guilt seeps into my veins as I nod my head once as I end the call. One day. One more day.
I learned to live without Jace. And I was better off for it. I was happily living a lie. A false life that was devoid of real meaning.
I don’t know that I can live without Mason, and I don’t want to find out.
If I confess, we’re apart.
If he takes the fall, we’re apart.
I have to wait. I have no patience for fate. I don’t know what’s to come, but I won’t let him do this.
As I walk to the large window watching the snow fall from the sky, I listen to the ticking of the clock, waiting to strike.