Burning Moth

Chapter Eight, Part Two - Cruel Intentions

I was still smirking when I clocked out, strolling across the half-empty parking lot to Aidan's car. The dipping sun was canary-yellow, its bleary rays lacking warmth. I popped my jacket's collar as the wind kicked up, tossing leaves that were brown and crinkled from fall's touch.

As I reached for the car's handle, muttering to myself about cranking up the heat, my purse let out an angry squawk. I rooted through my Volcom bag, digging out my phone to answer the call.

"Scar's mortuary--you kill em', we chill em', how may I help you?"

Nicholias chuckled, good and hard. His laugh was clear as a bell, the most reassuring thing I'd heard all day.

"What're you doing?" he said.

"Hmm, wondering what you're doing." I slid into the driver's seat, switching the phone to my other ear as I turned the engine and clicked on my seatbelt.

"Well, if you really wanna know... I'm having second thoughts."

"Really?" I said. "About what?"

"Well, I took you're advice. This afternoon is supposed to be my first AA meeting. In fact, I'm sitting in the parking lot, but..." He paused, filling his silence with all the fear and uncertainty he had trouble voicing. "Scar, I don't know if I can go in."

"That's the drugs talking," I said. If it was sympathy he wanted, he wouldn't find it here.

"No, it's not--"

"Yes, it is," I replied, ignoring his resentment. "Let me guess, you don't wanna go in because you think you're different from them, right?" I waited, for an answer that wouldn't come because it had already been given. "I mean, how could they possibly help you--you're Nicholias Fucking Dixon, little rich boy with more pride than he has baggage. But guess what? The melting pot of people assembled in that ghetto-ass building you're so busy judging will be truer to you than you are to yourself. And if you respect them... they'll see you through this, Nick."

"How do you know?" said the lost little boy, fading on the other end of the line.

"Because I do. When I was younger, sometimes members would check on me. My mom used to be in the program, and they knew what she was like, so... They looked after me--put food in the fridge, bought me school clothes, one of them even took me to a parent-teacher meeting when I was embarrassed my boozy mom would show her bra to my English teacher. Those are the kinds of people inside that building, Nick. They're not like your mom, they aren't people who judge or point fingers. I mean, how can they?" Even though he couldn't see it, I shrugged. "They're just like you."

Nicholias unleashed a heavy sigh–one that I recognized from all my weakest moments, when I could no longer outrun the hard undeniable truth.

"You're right," he said. "I knew you'd be right. That's why I called."

"Well, I'm glad you did. And hey--if you want, we can meet up after the meeting. I'll wait for you outside."

"Really? You'd do that?"

"Dude, I spent two weeks cleaning up your puke. I think a better question is--what wouldn't I do for you..." I didn't realize how my admission would sound until the words were already out. I closed my eyes, cringing at the way I had sounded–more lovestruck than Lorenzo. "Um, well, uh, I guess I'll just meet you there?" My words were a high-pitched rush, too quick for him to respond to. "You'll be fine. Just go in, have some refreshments, and be honest... Love you! Bye!"

I hung up, relieved the conversation was over...

Until I remembered how I ended it.

With a pained grunt, I dropped my face on the wheel, summoning the horn to life...