59
Damian stumbles into the kitchen and fills a glass with water.
It hurts to swallow, but he forces the liquid down.
He’s dehydrated and woozy from last night’s gastro attack.
What the hell caused such horrible symptoms?
Was it food poisoning? Some strange Spanish virus?
It doesn’t matter now. He’s survived the worst of it, and he’ll be feeling a hundred percent soon.
He has to be strong and ready. Tonight, the money will arrive, and Damian will begin his new life.
A presence behind him makes him jump, but it’s just Bianca lurking in the entryway.
God, she looks like shit. It’s clear she suffered the same illness he did, but she endured it out in the rain.
In addition to her ghostly pallor, her clothes are damp and dirty, her hair matted and tangled.
And then he notices the small steak knife clutched in her hand.
“What are you doing with that?”
“I went to check on Curtis,” she says, setting the knife on the counter. “He’s sick, too.”
“And Sydney?” He feels a sharp jab of concern. She’s so fragile, so delicate. A bad case of food poisoning would take its toll on her.
“She left,” Bianca says.
“Where did she go?”
Bianca shrugs. “Maybe to get some Pepto-Bismol?”
She’s making light of their shared sickness, and he allows a small chuckle.
But there’s nothing funny about what he just endured.
Last night, he’d been sure he was going to die.
As he lay on that cold tiled floor, his life had run through his mind like a film.
It was so small, so pedestrian. And that was all Bianca’s fault.
If not for her, he’d have left their small hometown, made his way in the world.
He’d have been looking back on a life full of travel, adventure, and experiences.
But Damian’s been given a second chance, and he’s not going to squander it.
“I won’t be going to Greece with you,” he says.
Her reaction is mild: a slight narrowing of the eyes, a subtle nod. She’s been expecting this. She moves past him to the sink and fills a glass from the tap. He watches her drink, rivulets of water running down her cheeks. She sets the glass on the counter and looks at him. He continues.
“You can take the van. Go wherever you want.” His tone is magnanimous. “Once the money comes in, I’ll tell Sydney what Curtis did to Lyric. She’s going to be upset. I want to stick around and make sure she’s okay.”
“That’s nice of you.”
Is she referencing him giving her the van or supporting Sydney? Either way, the compliment sounds disingenuous, even sarcastic. He’s been diplomatic for so long, but he lets himself lash out.
“It’s time I put myself first, Bianca. I sacrificed my dreams and my future for you. I stayed in Indiana so you could support your little sister and you failed. Lyric ended up a prostitute and a drug addict. And now she’s dead.”
The words are harsh, even cruel, but his partner has always been adept at shutting down her emotions, presenting a cold, unreadable facade.
She does it now, meeting his eyes with her icy blank stare.
Then she steps up to him and presses her lips to his cheek.
They’re dry, lifeless, but she holds them there for several seconds, the connection between them strong and constant.
“Good luck with your future, Damian.”
She turns and walks out of the room.
He takes a long, hot shower, scrubbing away the remnants of his illness and his past life.
He’s fresh, clean, and ready for the next phase of this plan as he heads out to the pool.
The sun will nourish him, help him regain his strength.
And he needs to get away from Curtis’s tortured moans rising from the basement.
His host is in the throes of the illness now, his insides twisting and tearing.
Curtis is smaller and weaker, the bacteria hit him harder.
Damian got over it so much quicker. In fact, he feels almost normal now.
Last night’s raindrops cling to the grass, the trees, and the deck chairs.
The morning sun hits them, makes them sparkle like diamonds.
The whole scene is surreal and magical, like an omen of good things to come.
Damian feels an awesome sense of possibility.
He can imagine that this house, this land, these glittering views are all his.
When Sydney learns the truth about her husband, when she turns to him for comfort, his dream could become a reality.
Wiping the surface of a deck chair with his sleeve, he lays himself down on it.
The morning rays warm his skin through to his bones, restoring his energy and vitality.
An unfamiliar feeling settles on him, and he sits with it, ponders it.
It’s true contentment. No, it’s more than that.
It’s a sense of achievement. Because he made this happen.
He’d been stuck for years, and he got himself unstuck. He’s built the perfect fucking future.
Something dark and unusual catches his eye in the pool.
He leans forward, but he can’t quite see the objects on the pool floor.
Struggling to his feet, he moves to the edge, peers through the water.
Nestled at the bottom are three phones. He recognizes his own, Curtis’s, and the other is a cheap burner phone, likely the one Curtis had been using to call his shady friends.
Who threw the phones into the pool? And why?
It had to be Bianca. She was angry with him, for obvious reasons.
Still, tossing the devices into the pool seems childish.
Petty. And why would she destroy Curtis’s phones, too?
Her behavior solidifies his decision to end things, validates his feelings for Sydney, who is more mature, more grounded.
Syd would never do something so vindictive.
It’s likely too late to save the phones, but he wades into the water to retrieve them anyway.
He sets them on the pool deck, attempts to turn them on, but they’re dead.
What’s the hack for a wet phone? Salt or rice?
He can’t remember. Apparently, his brain is still a little fuzzy, and he wobbles as he climbs out of the pool.
He’s dehydrated and exhausted. He needs to rest. And he’s not concerned about his old, dated device.
In a few hours he’ll be rich. He can buy a new phone.
He returns to the deck chair, lets the sun dry him off. As pleasant thoughts filter through the brain fog, he slips into a state of lethargic contentment. Soon the money will come in. Sydney will return. And Damian will finally get everything he deserves.
He clings to that beautiful promise as he slides into a delirious sleep.