Chapter 79 Damon
Damon
I place my phone face down on the coffee table without replying.
So Melissa was right: Laura planned to kill me that night.
I think I doubted Melissa’s interpretation of events because I didn’t want to admit to myself I made a huge mistake in trusting a stranger to be honest about their reasons for helping me to die.
And now Laura has made it clear she wants to finish what she started.
Only she doesn’t know who she’s up against. I’m not the same man she tried to kill last time, or even the person she sent that video to.
Now I know the truth about myself, I fear nothing and no one.
But for now, I’ll allow her to believe she has me over a barrel.
It’s easier to fool the enemy when they’re blinded by arrogance.
I open the fridge door in search of a bottle of beer. It’s devoid of both food and alcohol, so I slip on a jacket, pull my hood up and leave the flat.
My neighbours who argue so often are at it again.
They are walking up the staircase towards me as I descend, the first time I have actually seen them in person.
They can’t be any older than their late teens.
How can two people be so dysfunctional at such a young age?
He is yelling at her again, telling her she is a waste of space and he can do better.
I feel an unexpected and frankly exhilarating hostility swelling up inside me and clench my fists as we prepare to cross paths.
I purposely catch him with my shoulder and he loses his balance, falling backwards down three steps and landing flat on his back.
‘The fuck?’ he manages, while clearly winded.
‘Sorry, mate,’ I say, and stop to grab his arm to lift him back to his feet.
And as I do so, I whisper in his ear. ‘I have a spare key to your flat,’ I inform him, ‘and if you talk to your girl like shit again, I will stab you to death in your fucking bed.’ He’s standing on his own again now, but I hold on to his arm. ‘Understand?’
He’s not sure he’s heard me correctly until he looks into my eyes and sees who he’s talking to. Who I really am. He doesn’t know I’m lying to him, of course. About the spare key part, anyway.
He nods quickly, then I leave him, and as I make my way to a minimart a few streets away, there’s a rush of something pumping through my veins that leaves me excited.
What I did, what I said, to that kid wasn’t me.
I don’t behave like that. Yet I did, only a few minutes ago. And it’s left me buzzed.
‘You okay, mate?’ asks the man behind the counter as I pay for my six-pack of San Miguel, a vape and a pack of refills.
I’m a regular customer, so he recognises me.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the convex mirror behind him.
I’m a ghost of my former self. I look worse than those I hallucinate. Yet inside, I’ve never felt stronger.
‘Long Covid,’ I say, covering my mouth. I pay him and leave.
In need of a change of scenery, I make my way to a local park.
I twist the cap off my first beer bottle as I lower myself on to a wooden bench.
A bearded man of indeterminate age shuffles past me, pushing his worldly belongings in a shopping trolley and humming to himself.
I wonder what’s led him to where he is now.
Perhaps he is thinking the same about me, because we are not that dissimilar.
For a fraction of a second, a pulse of energy bubbles under the surface of my skin, a spark in search of something to ignite.
I imagine smashing my bottle on the pavement and tearing it across his throat until his flesh is shredded.
The moment passes almost as soon as it arrives.
He glances at my stash, then at me, and without either of us saying a word, I offer him one.
He nods his gratitude, and wheels himself away.
I’m halfway through my own bottle when Daisy Barber takes a seat next to me. Her undamaged side stares ahead at a tree-lined island in the centre of a pond.
‘Hi,’ I say, but she doesn’t respond.
I now understand how insecure and weak I have always been. So frightened of being left behind, left alone, of being unloved, I’d rather take a poor girl’s life than allow her to hurt me any further.
I wait for the first of many tears to fall. Only, they don’t arrive. I think I should cry for the lives I have taken away and the families I have destroyed. But my cheeks remain dry. Because I am awake and because monsters don’t cry.
They simply behave . . . monstrously.