Page 1 of Waste of Worth

MEMORIES could make a monster out of a man.

There were times that seemed harder to deal with than others; passing moments that could make Dino DeLuca’s chest tighten in pain, or his fists clench in anger.

The sound of metal being dropped was one of the worst. He swore he could feel his back bruising and bleeding all over again at the simple tinging tone.

Whispered words made him jumpy—paranoid. Whispers were good for nothing but taunting, and he didn’t want to hear those mocking words anymore.

Had enough yet?

Learn to follow directions, Dino.

It should fucking hurt, kid.

The stench of vomit, clinging to the air and seemingly never letting go, would make his panic rush into overdrive, overwhelming him with an almost-sense of itchiness all over his skin. As if the vomit was still soaked and dripping off his clothes in the darkness as he sobbed in a dank basement, curled in a corner and fighting off another round of sickness.

The reactions always came so swiftly that they surprised him, no matter the time or place. His memories weren’t much different when it came right down to it.

These times were the most difficult for Dino.

Those times came at night.

When the lights were off …

When the apartment was quiet …

When it was just him and his monsters …

When he was alone.

The most frightening thing about monsters was the fact that they could be anybody. The old man sitting outside the pizzeria, tipping his hat at the ladies passing by. The young woman on the city bus with her hair bleached white and her gaze distant, staring at anything but anyone. The mother pushing a stroller down the street, oblivious but focused.

Or a monster could be the man dressed in three-piece suit stepping out of the restaurant he owns, the ring of the key fob for his white Bentley spinning circles as he whistled Ave Maria on his way to church.

Dino caught sight of the lower portion of his reflection in the darkly tinted glass of his Bentley’s window.

He managed a smile.

It was more like a smirk.

Fact was, the expression he wore was neither. Dino found it incredibly hard to smile—something that came so easy for others was foreign to him. When he did try, it came off as a grimacing grin and that worked its way into a sneer.

Or a smirk.

He liked that better.

It was manageable.

The monster was definitely the man wearing the three-piece suit with the key fob in his hand, staring at himself in the window, Dino knew.

Slipping into the SUV, the noise of the busy Chicago city street was instantly silenced. Dino turned on his vehicle and checked his rearview mirror before he pulled out onto the road.

He regretted choosing the rearview almost immediately.

While his reflection in the window of his car had been partly obscured by the shadows of trees providing shade to the sidewalk, it was not concealed at all in the rearview mirror.

Dino didn’t like mirrors.

He didn’t like the face staring back at him.