ANGEL BLUE [1]

LEAD 16: drops of lead

      Blake cleaned up his apartment; there weren’t any discarded bottles from parties or clothes that he couldn’t be bothered to put away. He greeted me at the door looking rather sheepish, he was cautious about Banks’ influence on me―he was intimidated by her. We didn’t hug; we just stood there awkwardly until he poked at my sombrero.

      “Did I miss the fiesta or something?” he joked.

      “It’s to keep me sane,” I sighed.

      “Seems to be driving you insane,” Blake stepped aside and allowed me to come into his abode of cleanliness. I wasn’t not sure if he tidied up for my arrival or what, but it was like he’s almost back to his normal pre-father-dying self.

      Once inside, I placed my duffle on one of the couch cushions with the sombrero but kept a strong grip on Sam’s tie. I rubbed my neck; the bruises had faded from deep purple and now matched the dappling on my stomach and sides―an off-yellow colour.

      “Say, where’d you go after I left you on the curb? Your FED buddy pissed off out of the club like a bat out of hell soon after you did,” Blake finally caught a glimpse of my neck. “Akira are you sure you’re okay? This past month has been a bit of a roller coaster for you.”

      “I’m fine,” I waved him off.

      “I won’t bug you for information, but I want you to know that you can talk to me if anything’s bothering you, yeah?” Blake closed the door and locked it. “Um, I’m going to go to bed, are you sure the couch is okay for you? Do you want blankets or an extra pillow?”

      “It’s fine,” I didn’t want to bother him.

      “If you say so,” Blake ran a hand through his hair. “Night Akira.”

      “Night Blake,” I mumbled.

      I waited for him to disappear around the corner to his bedroom before I removed my gun from my belt and open the magazine of bullets. Blake’s apartment had the best view with window-to-ceiling windows that looked down on the street behind his block.

      I pressed my back up against the cool glass and brought my knees close to my chest. It hurt, the agony made my head swim. Blake wanted me to call my mother, the demon I tried to run from for a whole twelve months and now Dad wouldn’t leave me alone because I used Mum as a cover when Q called. Sam wanted to arrest Banks for hitting me but I couldn’t blame her, she couldn’t trust me because I didn’t trust myself―especially with the Angel Blue case.

      I rested my forehead against my knees and cried softly. It always happened this way, everything crumbled slowly before being ripped out at the foundations, and it hurt. Dad was too spineless to notice, Mum was too preoccupied, Blake was too distant, Banks was too jealous and Sam was too…FBI.

      It seemed like everyone I cared about or tried to protect, would take my gesture the wrong way. Sam was right; I built my walls too high. I sniffed and opened the cartridge of ammunition, scattering the shells at my feet. There would be no chance of me sleeping, my mind was too active, keeping me up, so I started to count the bullets.

      After I arranged the bullets into small rows, I loaded a couple back into the magazine and clicked the hammer back on the gun. I stared down the barrel, the black hole of darkness that could hold my fate in both senses―life and death. I sniffed again and the tears blurred my vision, I suppose I would’ve pulled the trigger if Sam’s tie hadn’t fallen from my shoulder and onto my lap.

      I lowered the gun and pressed it onto the carpet, most of my nights were spent like this, pondering, contemplating. I ran my fingers over the silver cursive that had Sam’s name on the back of the tie, I cringed and pulled out my phone.