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“I passed Summer all the documents. The funeral is planned for this coming Tuesday.” I nod, listening intently, whilst he continues speaking into the fire. “Michael left her his entire estate, which we knew. I’m guessing she’ll plan to leave once it is all over. As you requested, I said I could send her the paperwork whilst she’s on the road to sell the businesses if that’s what she chooses to do.”
“She fucking better.” I spit out. Catching myself, I feel Jimmy’s gaze on me. He blinks a couple of times, studying my expression before leaning in.
“We have fucking eyes, Two. Whatever you’re playing at with her, stop. You’re watching her each night like a fucking stalker. You disappear. We both know where you’ll end up going.”
Throwing his arms up in the air, I feel his frustration over my behavior. But the truth is, I have no idea why I’m pulling her close and then pushing her away. Maybe because I can? Because she makes me feel things that haven’t surfaced for a long time, or maybe because she’s so fucking beautiful and full of hope, my own sickness wants to make her a dark and lonely shell like me.
Maybe I’m jealous?
“Those cameras were set up in Michael’s apartment for safety, you’re fucking using them like a private cam show.” Jimmy shakes his head in disbelief, and he isn’t far wrong.
The tension in the room is suffocating as the eyes continue to look towards me. The crackle of the wood fire is the only thing keeping the room from utter deafening silence, I feel myself slipping further into my own internal chaos as each moment passes, but I know I need to address my obsession with Summer before it fucking kills me or I lose the chance altogether.
“I got a call this morning about a job,” Jimmy finally speaks, as we all turn to him, eager for the details and something we can take our pent-up frustrations on. “This one came via a different channel though,” Axe and I both feel our gaze meeting for an initial moment, but we need this right now.
Summer?
I allow my feet to wander the cold dark streets as a numbness continues to wrack my body. Only a few days previous, I looked at the city with wonder and hope, but now, with the secrets that are lingering over me, it just gives me nothing but fear and concern for what’s to come.
As my feet continue to move, I find myself moving towards Dad’s club, standing on the sidewalk, I gaze up at the tall building, I’ve visited multiple times before. Usually, it was during the day, dad would pop in to check on things and make sure the staff had everything they needed for the night, have a quick meeting with the managers, and we would head off to spend the remainder of the day, sight-seeing, catching a show or heading for lunch.
Those great times now feel like a lifetime ago; I wish I had stayed longer or never even left at all. Maybe if I had stayed, things would have gone very differently for both of us.
Lost in nostalgia, I wipe a single tear from my cheek as the icy wind blows through the street. The odd stillness, leaving an imprint on my ongoing sadness. Pulling my coat tighter around myself, I can’t help but shudder. Stealing glances around the empty street, there’s nothing but the occasional passing car or the rustle of the crisp leaves across the concrete floor.
Pulling out my phone, I blink a couple of times realizing it’s only seven pm. The quiet street now makes sense. I guess people don’t go to the clubs until much later. I know the right and sensible thing to do would be to hail a cab back to my apartment instead of wandering the streets alone, but the thought of returning there makes me feel sick. With the fear that Two/Face could have been behind my father’s murder causes the bile to rise in my throat and leaves me feeling lightheaded. But that doesn’t stop the fucked up feelings I have towards the masked man peeking through and tearing me in two. The conflict I have, like as though someone has wrapped my heart and brain in barbed wire and keeps tightening it every few seconds.
I can’t help but sigh as my conflicted brain just can’t seem to move past the strange pull I have towards him. Sweeping my hair from my face, I move towards a small bar that I’ve visited with my dad a few times before, I’ll take a small amount of familiarity from a bar than heading back to a dark cold apartment right now.
Pushing the door open, the warmth instantly pulls me into an inviting hug. I offer a half smile to the bartender as I approach. Glancing around, I see that it looks fairly quiet, mainly small groups of people and couples enjoying a quiet drink after work. Pulling out the barstool, I take a seat and drape my coat across the back as the bartender stands opposite, offering a warm, friendly smile. The sincerity in his chocolate brown eyes compliments his olive complexion. I almost feel myself leaning in before he blinks, and I realize I’ve just sat there staring like a fucking idiot.
Shaking my head a couple of times, I try to laugh it off. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Rough day?” he retorts.
I feel the smile drain from my face while my shoulders sag. Briefly avoiding his eye contact, I finally reply. “Yeah, you could say that.”
Pulling a glass from above the bar, sensing the immediate shift in moods, he pulls a bottle of Jamesons from behind him and pours two measures before sliding one to me.
“To a shit day.” He says, holding his glass in front of me. Lifting it, we both clink and knock our drinks back simultaneously.
As soon as the hot amber liquid travels down my throat, my face contorts before leaving a small amount of warmth in my stomach.
“Same again?” he asks.
“Please.” I smile, sliding the glass back over to him.
As he pours another measure, I catch him stealing small glances my way. Knowing he’s been caught looking, he eventually asks the lingering question that’s been on the tip of his tongue since I walked in.
“So, you’re not a regular here, so what brings you to this little bar?” he asks, placing his elbow on the bar, lowering himself to my level.
Swirling the second drink in its glass, I get lost in the orange liquid as it flickers in the dimly lit surroundings. Looking back up, his intense gaze is still fixed on me. Shrugging, I finally answer his question. “I’m here for a funeral.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Was it someone close to you?” Taking a sip of my drink, I just nod as my eyes stay fixed on the bar in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I lift my head, meeting his eyes once again.
“My dad.”
As his eyes widen in surprise, he takes a couple of steps back. “Shit, I’m really sorry to hear that.”
