Years ago tragedy struck the Calloway's causing the family to fall apart. Lucariah Augustine St. Francis Calloway was left in the ruins of it all with a mother who couldn't bother and a father who disappeared one night with his older brothers. For...
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Tense silence enveloped us from all sides as Evan drove us to his place.
Ezekiel fiddled with his hands, his phone, and the radio. Switching through channels before turning it down completely.
I sat in the backseat, simmering through a fit of rage. If I reached over the seat right now. A chuckle slipped past my lips at the thought of him flailing helplessly in his seat.
Writhing as my arms squeeze the life out of him.
"I'm stopping at the store, boys," Evan sighed, swerving the car into a parking lot. "I'll be quick."
He ducked out without warning, leaving Ezekiel and I on our own.
He avoided my glare through the mirrors. Fidgeting relentlessly.
"Can you stop looking at me," he complained with an exasperated sigh.
My brow rose, the need to instigate a fight brewing in my mind. I wanted to make him suffer. "You know-" I started off, "mama told me she was glad you were gone."
Ezekiel stilled, staring at the dashboard.
"She said she finally felt a sort of freedom she hadn't felt in a while. You know me, I never needed much from her. But you were so clingy."
My words cut him deep- I know they did. Ezekiel loved Samantha with his whole heart. He was her shadow well after he was ready to stand on his own.
And while they've yet to speak through the years; I know Ezekiel loved her all the same. Maybe not in action, but definitely in his mind.
He finally met my eyes, "why are you saying this?"
Why was I? Because I want him to hurt. I want my words to feel like a knife is twisting in his chest before I do just that.
I can't hurt him physically like he could do to me. This is my only defense.
"I just wanted you to know," I shrugged, "that you were horrible even when you were kind and you're unbearable now."
We fell into silence for a moment, him and I, eyes locked. Brown on black.
He nodded once, "and you got what was coming to you." He gestured to my face, my exposed arm, my leg, "I told you you'd pay for my girl's death."
My blood ran cold, "I hope you burn in hell." I gritted out, blinking away my tears.
It hurt more than it should have; to be reminded that I deserved what happened to me. I could spend my whole life claiming that it was unfair. But we all know the world came back in a full circle and punished me for the sacrifice of another.
I lived. And she died. And I'll spend my whole life pretending I didn't deserve it, but I did. I do.
Before I could process, my earlier visions became a reality. The seatbelt was wrapped tight around his neck.
