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I have to get my gear and my ass in that transport vehicle to finish escorting Steven to his new home because it’s my job.
Because he’s counting on me.
The same way I know I can no longer count on Wes.
Chapter 18
Wes
I don’t like westerns.
I never have.
I never will.
Fuck, I didn’t even know he did until I started looking through the collection Monica bestowed upon me, claiming to have no place for such dribble in the home she inherited.
Letting the glass linger near the edge of my lips, I continue glaring at the disgusting photo haunting me.
Taunting me.
Torturing. Me.
I hate how much I fucking look like him.
In fact…I’m actually grateful for the scars.
The burns.
The leathery patches.
It makes me look less like this pathetic excuse for a person I praised most of life and more like who he truly was.
Who I’m destined to be.
Crumpling the photo reveals to me another, although this one is worse.
Far.
Worse.
Seeing him lovingly tangled around a round stomach, dark-haired woman that’s damn near identical to the one who brought all of this to light results in me guzzling down the remainder of what’s in my cup.
Filling it to the brim again.
Chugging back gulp after gulp after gulp after gulp, no longer tasting.
Simply erasing.
Numbing.
Removing the ability to feel.
Care.
Think.
Unexpected jangling sounds part the fugue fog I’m trying to head into summoning my attention to my right where the handle to the door plummets to the ground. The loud clank causes me to loudly groan in displeasure, yet the careless swinging of it open, letting in unwelcome light, prompts a much louder grumble to reverberate around the room.
