038

                                    

                                          
"The pain of others is a bitter reminder of our own failures and responsibilities." — Unknown
It's been a long day.
I had back-to-back appointments today, and the tattoos were exhausting. My hand was cramping by the end of the day, and my back hurts from crouching over for so long. It's been a while since I've done a full day of work.
It's drizzling as I drive home, and I can't wait to change out of these jeans and put on some sweatpants. The couch is calling my name right now.
I yawn and turn on the radio to give me something to focus on while I drive. My normal radio stations are all on ads right now, which reminds me why I never listen to the radio.
I flip on a random station, groaning when it's a news channel. Who wants to listen to the news when they're driving home from work? No sane person.
I go to flip the channel again, but the news catches my attention, and I turn the volume up.
Six shot and killed at a private event outside of the city. The victims were members of the Vincentino family, who devoted a lot of their time to charity—
I slam my hand on the radio button, shutting it off.
No.
No.
No, no, no, no.
I have to hear more, so I turn it back on.
The devastating incident wiped out the entire family line, and they were all killed within their family home. Police are currently investigating—
Holy shit. This can't be happening right now. I just assisted in the murder of an entire family. 
I spin the wheel, making a U-turn and changing course to head to Knockout Arena, where Harry said he would be tonight.
I feel like there is blood on my hands as I walk towards the gym entrance. My hands feel slimy, like they're coated in thick blood. I feel disgusting. My stomach is all messed up, and I might vomit on these stupid gym floors once again.
Clove is at the front desk, and she smiles at me, but all I say is, "Harry?"
My eyes scan the room, looking for him.
Clove says, "I think he's over by the weights, but what—"
I walk away from her before she can finish her sentence, and I hear her call my name out as I leave, but I ignore her. I head towards the weights, looking for him.
I find him as he's doing chest presses, his arms flexing as he raises the bar above him. Of course, he has to look all hot and sweaty right now.
When he sees me, he stops his set and puts the bar down, sitting up on the bench. He grabs a towel, wiping sweat off his face.
He says, "What are you doing here?"
I blink.
What am I doing here?
I didn't think. I just drove. Now that I'm here, I don't know how to voice the thoughts racing through my mind.
I stammer, "They're dead, Harry. They're just—they're all—and I—"
He places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the front door so we are outside. He probably doesn't want me to puke in his gym again.
I breathe, "I helped them murder six people."
Harry looks at me with his eyebrows pulled in. His face looks so serious. His jaw is clenched, and his lips are set in a straight line.
He says, "What did you think you were getting that information for? So we could throw them a surprise party?"