18. Diesel
18
DIESEL
S itting on the roof of the house, Diesel took a swig of whiskey from the half-empty bottle clutched in his hand. He drew his arm across his nose and wiped the moisture that had been collecting there.
He hated nights like tonight. These were the nights that often led to his all-night benders or, worse yet, all-week meltdowns. If he weren’t trying his best to keep his promise to Matteo, he would have hit the closest drug den he could find and welcomed the instant release that accompanied copious amounts of cocaine and whatever else they had on hand. He stayed away from heroin. That was a line he wasn’t willing to cross. Anything else was fair game.
It had all started innocently enough. A simple comment followed by an innocent question. Something that any normal, well-adjusted bloke could have simply answered and moved on with his life. But not him. No. He was ten shades of fucked up and fifty ways of screwed in the head.
So here he was. Sitting alone on the roof of their rental, downing a bottle of whiskey at three a.m. Perhaps he would fall off the roof in a drunken stupor and break his neck. Hey, at least with all the alcohol he had consumed, he probably wouldn’t feel a thing.
Death by broken neck, what a way to end a worthless life.
Got any brothers or sisters?
Simple enough, right?
Nope. Not for him.
They had been enjoying a nice dinner, Jared, Zero, and Diesel—Chase was busy rummaging through the good doc’s trash can searching for clues—when Zero asked about Jared’s family. They were getting to know one another when Zero turned his attention to Diesel and asked the same question.
“So, what about you, D? Got any brothers or sisters?”
That was the last thing he remembered hearing before ending up on this roof nearly six hours later. He couldn’t remember what he started off with. Was it the beer or the shots? Whatever it was, it wasn’t strong enough. He walked down to the local shop and picked up two bottles of whiskey. One was currently keeping his bed warm downstairs, while the other was dangling between his fingers, grasping at its last few sips of life.
Siblings. What an innocent yet horrible thing.
Diesel downed another mouthful of the bitter liquid and felt his mind pull away from him.
The sound of people laughing blared through the television as the main character of the show did something stupid, which was apparently funny to all those watching. If they were even there. He thought he’d read somewhere that television studios used prerecorded sound bites while filming sitcoms. A fake studio audience. It made sense when you stopped to think about it. This way, the show was guaranteed laughs even if their writers didn’t have a funny bone in their body. Diesel didn’t get it. It sounded dumb and stupid and fake.
Kind of like this fake-ass family thing they had going on.
Sitting on the couch, his so-called mother was leaning into her pig of a husband. He didn’t understand what his mother saw in him. Was it the security of having someone take care of her? It wasn’t because he was a nice man. If anything, he treated her like dirt, and Diesel was pretty sure he was sleeping around with other women. But he couldn’t tell his mother that. She was too far gone in love with the man—seeing nothing but love and devotion for a man who didn’t deserve it.
It made him sick.
“I’m going to my room,” Diesel mumbled, getting up from his spot on the floor by the wall. His spot. Ever since the day he met his new “family,” the spot on the floor by the wall had become his. Most people had a favorite chair or side of the couch. No, not him. He had a… spot. That was it. A place far enough from the lumps of shit he called “family” but close enough that they wouldn’t complain that he was being antisocial or rude.
“Move your ass from the TV,” Bo, his stepfather, grumbled as he walked past and headed toward the bedroom that he shared with his younger brother.
Well, stepbrother. There was no relation or shared bond between them. The only thing they shared was a space to sleep.
“What are you doin’ in here?” a pissed-off pimple-faced ass greeted as Diesel walked into his room.
Diesel shut the door behind him and flopped down on his bed.
“Kiss my ass, douchebag,” Diesel responded, pulling his pillow in close to his chest.
He hated this fucking place. Only two more years until he turned eighteen, then he could get the fuck out of this godforsaken hellhole.
Closing his eyes, Diesel thought about where he would like to move to. Perhaps Scotland or Dublin. He heard that those places were a lot of fun, and he didn’t have to worry about learning another language. Or perhaps Belgium. Did they speak English in Belgium? He would have to check.
Two years ago, he started saving whatever cash he could find or earn, doing odd jobs like cutting Mrs. Jenkin’s lawn in the summer and shoveling Mr. Roger’s driveway in the winter. Whatever cash he could get his hands on, he tucked away into the loose floorboard next to his bed. Last he checked, he had about two thousand pounds saved up.
He knew that wouldn’t be enough to live off of, but it was enough to buy him a train ticket and a roof over his head for a few months—hopefully.
Banging on the front door made Diesel and his shit brother jump in their beds. They sat up and looked at each other, startled.
“What the fuck do you want?” Diesel heard his mother shout. Classy as always.
Diesel watched as his stepbrother jumped off his bed and headed toward their bedroom door. Diesel couldn’t give a shit about whatever drama was unfolding in their living room. Probably some pissed-off neighbor complaining about the volume of their TV or something.
“We’ve come to search the house,” they heard a male voice say coming from someplace in the living room.
“You’re not searching, shit!” his stepfather growled in that half-drunk tone they were all used to when it came to the evenings.
“Dad!” his stepbrother shouted before jerking their bedroom door open and jumping back, startled.
Standing in their doorway was a huge, uniformed police officer.
Diesel jumped out of bed, suddenly interested in what was going on.
“Is it just you two in here?” the man asked. He looked well over six foot three and appeared like a giant standing in their doorway.
Diesel nodded his head. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he had seen enough television shows to know that when police officers came bursting into your home late at night, it was never a good thing.
“You two, stand over there against the wall and don’t move.”
Diesel nodded, not sure what to do. He stepped next to his brother—stepbrother—and waited as the officer placed handcuffs on both of them.
Once on, he turned to face the officer. What was going on? The cold metal of the cuffs felt foreign on his skin.
“Don’t move while I check your room,” the officer ordered.
A moment later, his mother came flying into their bedroom and wrapped her arms protectively around his stepbrother. He wasn’t surprised. Why would his mother give a shit about protecting him? He was just an accessory, after all.
“Ma’am, you’re not supposed to be in here!” the large man growled, closing the small dresser drawer he had just finished searching through.
“They’re my sons, and I’ll watch over them as I please.”
It was strange hearing those words fall out of his mother’s mouth. He could almost hear the fake studio audience laughing.
The officer reached into the closet, and a few minutes later, he pulled out a red-and-black knapsack. He pulled back the zipper and reached inside.
“Care to tell me where this came from?” The officer stood, holding a handful of gold necklaces dangling from his fingers.
Diesel’s mouth dropped open. Where the heck did all that jewelry come from? He glanced over at Jordan, who was staring at his feet, looking guilty as fuck.
That little shit!
“Officer Platell! I found the goods here in the bedroom.” The officer stood waiting for his partner to join him. “So which one of you broke into Saxman’s Jewelry and stole all this shit?” The officer was still grasping the chains when his partner entered the room, holding his handcuffed stepfather by the wrists.
Both his mother and father looked at Diesel and his younger brother, shocked by what they were seeing.
“Well? Which one of you was it? If you don’t confess, I’m arresting you both,” the giant officer said, glaring at Diesel.
“It wasn’t—” Diesel began before being cut off by his stepfather.
“It was the older one. The damn shit’s been stealing shit left, right, and center. I tried beatin’ his ass, but the stubborn shit keeps doing it.”
Diesel’s head snapped toward his stepfather. What the fuck?! He’d never stolen a thing in his life!
“No, I didn—” His voice was cut off again, but this time by his mother.
“Yes, officers, it was my son, Diesel. The boy has a problem. I never thought it would escalate to this, but clearly, he’s out of control.”
“What?! Mom. Why are you—" Now it was his turn to be cut off by his little brother.
“It was him. He told me last night that he broke into the store and took the chains after the place closed up.”
“See? The boy is a menace!” his stepfather growled, sealing Diesel’s fate.
“I’ve heard enough,” the one officer said, grabbing Diesel by the arm and pulling him toward his bedroom door.
“But… Mom! Help me! You know I didn’t do it!” Diesel cried out.
He had never relied on his mother for anything before in his life, but he couldn’t understand why his mother was choosing to believe this man over her own flesh and blood. He was her son, for fuck’s sake!
“Please!” Diesel shouted one last time.
His mother just stared back at him with those dead eyes of hers, clutching his stepbrother in her arms.
“I’m sorry, son, but you need to take responsibility for your actions. You’re out of control.”
That lying bitch!
How could his mother betray him like this?
Staring into his mother’s eyes, he realized that he never really had his mother’s love. Even when he was younger, she never gave a shit about him or his well-being. So why should this be any different?
It was in that moment that Diesel finally realized one hard truth: he was all alone.
He had no one.
Then his sadness turned to anger.
Never again.
Never again would he be weak.
Never again would he be vulnerable and powerless.
Never again would he give power over himself to anyone else.
Never again would he trust anyone.
It was with that final thought his mind drifted back to the present. The promise he had made to himself all those years ago. The promise that kept him safe. Kept him protected. Kept him…
The cool night air brushed his face, reminding him of the promise he’d made to another man. A promise that he would try and pull himself together. A promise that, if he intended to keep, should not involve getting shit-faced alone on a rooftop.
While he might be breaking one of his own promises to himself— never again would he give power over himself to anyone else —Matteo was someone worth breaking his own promises for.
Placing the cap back on the bottle of whiskey, Diesel stood up and stretched out his back.
Fuck, he was getting old. Five more years, and he’d be thirty.
How many more years did he have before his balls began to sag and his boners became less… stiff ?
With that sad question in mind, he climbed down the side of the house and stepped back through his bedroom window.