Fragments

7 | The Departure

7 | The Departure 

Scarlett's Point of View

The springs in Ricky's bed groan as I take a seat. His small room doesn't have much to fill the space. Just a bed pushed against the wall, a shoe box on the floor with a lamp, and a set of drawers pushed adjacent to the bed set.

As I lean against the green floral wallpapering, I notice the faded blue crinkled sheets. The flimsy cotton fabric purchased from the local store is almost had it, to add, the abundance of stance could depict the idea a brutal murder had taken place. Reality? I'd patched Ricky up enough times that he'd left a mark every time.

I should have called him Patches, it seems to suit him more than Ricky. I'm not sure why people started calling Ricky that name. I'd gathered from his line of work that he goes under another name which is understandable. How many names does Ricky have? I'd always wondered about that mystery.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

My answer wouldn't change his decision to leave. Business is business. It kept the motel bills paid and a roof over our heads. A selfish part of me doesn't want him to leave, especially with the looming circumstances. What do you do when your safety net is taken away from you?

"I'm fine." I tug on a smile.

Because the answer to my question is, you get over it and you keep going. Life doesn't pause because you want it to. So don't worry about trying to press all the buttons to skip forward or start over, just keep playing onwards.

One day, maybe it'll all work out? A girl can at least hope.

Ricky opens the top drawer and pulls out a medium-sized briefcase. He places it on the bed beside me and flicks open the locks. Ricky grabs a set of guns and loads a round of ammunition into them. I watch him shove a gun into the waistband of his jeans before shoving the other one in my direction.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I frown.

Taking the chunky piece of metal, I carefully inspect the device. It's cold, hard, and heavy. I place it on the bed and frown, I wouldn't have a clue how to use one of these.

"If he tries to hurt you, shoot him," Ricky instructs.

It's hard to know if he's referencing Peirce or the man they keep calling my father. Ricky doesn't seem to like either, but Peirce hasn't done anything bad. Well, his mistakes could be forgiven.

Maybe it's easy to forgive Peirce because he promised to protect me, or because he seems like he cares? I'm in short supply of either. Sometimes it's nice to be wanted.

"And then what? Where do I hide the body?" I shake my head at Ricky's plan; it doesn't seem plausible. How the heck do I drag a grown man's body out of the motel for disposal? Sure, our town is rough, but I can't imagine I'd be strong enough to scheme a bulletproof plan.

"I'll take care of the body," he replies.

"So I freeze it until you come back?" I suppose there's the industrial kitchen fridge that would hold the body for now or the many vacant bedrooms for places to hide. Now that I'm thinking about it, maybe it would be easy?

"Yes." He shrugs. "That works."

"I suppose." I bite my lip.

"You don't have to shoot him," Ricky comments. He takes a seat beside me and wraps his arm around my shoulder. I fall against his side and rest my head on his muscular chest. "It's just to protect you. There's a good chance he'll run out of the motel and never look back."

"Hopefully." I nod.

Despite the terrible things he's done, I couldn't imagine possessing the power to play God. I can't stand before someone else and take their fate into my hands. How could I hold a gun to their head and pull the trigger? Could I watch the life drain from their eyes? Watch as their body falls limp?

I couldn't live with myself, how could you?

People do bad things all the time, but that doesn't mean I can.

"When will you be back?"

"Three days if things go as planned."

"Is it going to be dangerous?" I fumble with the cotton of my shirt.

"Don't worry about me, Scar." Ricky climbs off the bed and walks towards his dresser. He pulls out a couple of shirts and a pair of cargo pants to shove in a grey shoulder bag.

I don't know how he can say 'don't worry' because I always worry, especially with business trips.

"Maybe you'll find yourself a pretty girl?" I tease.

"Why would I do that when I have you?" He winks.

"True." I blush.

"Bruce will keep an eye on activity on his end. I heard your father is on a weekend high, so there shouldn't be an issue. If there is, Bruce, will take care of things." As sweet as Bruce was, I couldn't expect him to keep an eye on me and the restaurant.

"Okay." I bite my lip.

"I assume Peirce is still here?" His tone isn't friendly, but the sound of Peirce's name makes my insides smile.

"Yes." I try to play it cool.

"Then shove him in the way if you need to." Although he doesn't smile, I can see the flair of amusement lingering in his eyes.

"I will do." I chuckle.

Once Ricky has finished packing his belongings, he throws the bag over his shoulder and steps towards me. I hop off the bed and tightly wrap my arms around his waist.

"Be safe," I whisper into the fabric of his shirt.

"You know me." His chest rumbles against mine. "Always the first person to start a fight."

"That's why I'm telling you to be safe!" I poke his stomach with my index finger.

"Keep out of trouble, I'll see you soon." Ricky kisses the top of my head, then reaches for the door. I follow him through to the lobby and walk towards the desk. He's never been big on goodbyes, so I don't bother waving.

Instead, I opt for resting my head against the smooth wooden desk and staring at the list of things I need to complete. There's a lot of cleaning for a vacant motel, oddly enough. Everything from washing, dusting and disinfecting.

I learned the hard way that spiders are relentless unless you keep on top of them. I thought Bob would make a great pet, but it turned out Bob wasn't really a Bob, but a mother of millions of babies.

Hopefully, these tasks will keep me busy until Ricky comes back . . . I don't know what I'd do if something bad was to happen. 

Do you think anything bad will happen to Ricky, or the gun?