"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?"
His tone is cold, bitter, and emotionless.
I take a step back from him, looking between his eyes for any sign of sympathy or understanding. All I can find is a void of nothing. I don't know what I was expecting from him. Comfort, maybe. Someone to tell me that this isn't my fault. I didn't expect this.
"I didn't—" I say, but choke on my words. "I didn't think I would be assisting in a mass murder. I'm part of the reason all of those people are dead."
His face doesn't change. He just crosses his arms over his chest and glares down at me.
He says, "They were bad people, if that makes you feel any better."
His cold demeanor is throwing me off right now. This was a mistake. I never should have come here thinking he would comfort me. I should have known better.
"It doesn't," I bite out.
He shrugs. "I don't know what you want me to say. You knew that surveillance data was going to be used for something. It's not my fault it took you this long to figure out what for."
I'm an idiot. I never even considered what the information I gathered would be used for. All I was thinking about was completing the job and making it out alive. I didn't even question what I was doing, and now an entire family is dead.
Harry's words ring in my ears.
So we could throw them a surprise party?
"We?" I say.
He looks annoyed, saying, "What?"
"Was it you?" I ask him, "Did you kill them?"
His face hardens, and that's all I needed to see to confirm that it was him. Harry killed them after I gave him the ammo to do so. He stares at me, not even looking remorseful.
"And Eric?" I ask, tearing up.
It hadn't hit me until right now that Eric was a Vincentino. He showed me kindness; he seemed like a decent person. I had a full conversation with him. I liked him. And the slight nod Harry gives me tells me that he's dead.
I killed him.
Eric's dead.
What the fuck am I doing? I'm trying to humanize a murderer. I'm letting myself trust him and get close to him, knowing that this is who he is. I need to get it in my head that he literally kills people for a living. I've been cuddling with a murderer.
He says harshly, "Don't act so shocked, Kizalyn. You've known who I am and what I do."
I nod.
He's not wrong.
I say, "I guess I just needed a reminder."
I walk past him, heading towards my car. I feel like I am going to pass out any second now. This is too much; this is too fucking much. When I get in my car, I scream.
I leave the gym feeling even worse than I did before I got there. I can't go home right now. I can't go home and wait for Harry to show up.
I text Pen, 'Want to get drunk tonight?'
Thirty minutes later, I meet her outside of Mikey's Bar, which I haven't been to in a long time. Pen introduced me to it a while ago, and it's a fun place, just not usually my scene.
Pen gives me a hug, saying, "I'm so fucking happy you called. We haven't gone out in like a year, bitch."
I laugh, hugging her back. We head inside, both getting carded at the door. I don't mind getting carded, it makes me feel like I'm still in college using a fake ID.
The bar is darker than Molly's, and much louder. There are people dancing everywhere, and neon lights flicker around the room. It has more of a club feel than a bar. The actual bar itself is in the middle of the room, and it's a large square with seats around the whole thing. We find two open seats, not ready to join the dancing crowd yet.
"I miss my friend Kiz," Pen says. "All I've been getting recently is my boss Kiz."
I say, "I know, we should hang out more."
"Give me more days off, and we will," she winks.
I joke, "You'll have to talk to boss Kiz about that. She's not available tonight."
The bartender takes our orders, and I get a vodka soda like I usually do because I'm boring. Pen orders some sort of beer, which is disgusting to me. She also gets us two green tea shots, which I haven't had since college.
We cheers, downing the shots.
She turns to me and says, "So, what's wrong?"
"What?" I ask, confused.
She says, "Babes, I love you, but I know you didn't want to get drinks out of the blue. What's going on?"
"I don't know, I had a long day and..." I say, "I don't have a lot of friends."
She laughs, shaking her head. She says, "Way to make me feel special. But seriously, you can't deny you've been different lately. I feel like I barely know you anymore."
"In a bad way?" I ask.
I take a large sip of my drink, needing to not be sober anymore.
Pen shrugs, "No, not really. You seem more confident, but heavy too. Like something is weighing on you, and you think you have to carry it all on your own."
Shit, I didn't realize I'm that easy to read. I'm going to have to work on being more mysterious. I don't like how people can always just see straight through me.
I give her a half truth, saying, "I don't really know how to recover from an abusive relationship. It's hard to forgive myself for staying in that for so long."
"It's not an easy thing to do, Kiz, and I'm so fucking proud of you for getting out. It doesn't matter how long it took. You did it," Pen says, rubbing my shoulder.
Now that we are talking about this, it's not really a half truth anymore, it is the truth. I have been struggling to come to terms with the abuse I let myself endure for almost two years.
I say, "I just feel like he's constantly behind my shoulder, waiting for me."
Pen orders us another round of shots, and I know this is going to be a crazy night. We take them, and Pen laughs at me for wincing at the taste of it as it goes down my throat. I'm so bad at taking shots.
She punches my arm playfully, saying, "I don't think he'll mess with you anymore. I mean, look at these muscles you recently started wearing."
"My baby muscles?" I laugh, pinching at the skin of my upper arm.
There's a slight outline of a muscle now when I flex, but it's barely anything at all.
"Hey, a few months ago, you had no muscle," Pen says. "Is Harry still training you?"
"Yeah," I say.
She eyes me, asking, "Is he nice to you?"
I take another sip of my drink. The alcohol is starting to hit me, and the world seems fuzzier.
I say, "Sometimes. Most of the time. He's never hurt me, but he can be mean with his words."
She says, "Niall said he can be a dick. He also told me Harry's never hung around a girl this long, ever."
"It's not like that. We aren't like that. We're roommates, and we hooked up a few times, but that's it," I say. "We wouldn't work."
We wouldn't work. We can't work. He's a criminal, and he kills people daily. He kills people, and then he comes home and cuddles with me.
"Why not?" Pen presses me.
Because he kills people.
I shrug. "He's emotionally unavailable."
"They all are, aren't they?" Pen sighs.
My drink is gone, and I've had two shots. That's a lot for me, and I'm definitely feeling it. My head is spinning a little, and everything is suddenly more interesting to me.
The bartender slides two more drinks to us, and I open my mouth to object, but he says, "They're from the lads across the bar." He taps the bar with his finger, winks at us, and leaves.
Great, just what I need. More alcohol.
Eh, whatever. It's a Tuesday after all.
Pen says, "Maybe that guy isn't. He's cute, Kiz."
Pen raises her glass up to the guy, who follows suit in raising his drink up, but his eyes are on me. I smile with no teeth, feeling awkward. The guy has light brown hair and a charming smile. Even from across the room, I can tell that he's attractive.
I say to Pen, "I'm not in the mood to meet anyone right now."
"Well, too bad, because he's coming over," Pen says as she stands up from her stool. She winks at me and says, "I'm going to use the bathroom. Good luck."
I yell after her, "Pen, what the fuck!"
The guy from across the bar appears, right on cue. He smiles at me, and his eyes are so blue up close. He takes Pen's old seat, sliding right in as if the two of them coordinated this together.
"Okay, let's hear it," I say bluntly. "Give me your best pickup line."
Guys never fail to disappoint with their lines, especially at bars. If I hear one more Are you from Tennessee? line, I might stop speaking to the male species entirely.
"Damn, okay," the guy says, grinning at me. He takes a moment to think and then says, "My love for you is like diarrhea, I just can't hold it in."
My jaw drops as I stare at him in disbelief. And then I laugh. I laugh harder than I think I've laughed in a while, and he joins me.
I say, "That was the worst thing I've ever heard."
"Hey, it got you laughing," he points out. "I'm Zack."
"I'm Kiz," I say, "K-i-z." I spell it out for him to avoid the questions that always follow when people hear my name for the first time.
Zack smiles and raises his glass, so we cheers and take a sip of our drinks. Man, I really shouldn't drink any more tonight. I'm definitely drunk.
He asks, "What brings you here on a Tuesday night?"
"Roommate problem," I reply. "You?"
He says, "Coworker problem."
I see Pen in the crowd behind us, and she's staring at me. She's smiling like a mad woman and giving me a giant thumbs up.
"What do you do?" I ask.
"I own a body-piercing shop," he says, and my face drops in shock. He sees my reaction and adds, "I know, very unusual."
"No, no," I say, not wanting him to get the wrong impression. "I own a tattoo shop."
He grins and says, "No fucking way. That's so sick."
"How did you get into piercings?" I ask, genuinely interested. This guy seems really cool. I think we would have a lot in common.
Zack says, "My buddy in high school got me into it, and I don't know it was just fun to me. How about you?"
"I've always liked art," I explain, "and I like that tattoos are outward expressions of someone."
Zack's arms are very muscular, and I briefly wonder what gym he goes to, hoping it's not Knockout Arena. He's definitely an attractive guy, and he seems really nice. I think the alcohol always makes people look better, too.
He asks, "Have you ever thought of getting a piercing?"
"I've thought about getting my nipples pierced," I blurt, and then say, "Sorry, that was weird. I'm not sure why I said that."
He laughs, his eyes flicking down to my lips for half a second. He says, "I was going to offer to give you one on the house, but I'm afraid if I offer to give you a nipple piercing, I'll just sound like a pervert."
"You're funny," I say, my toes curling inside my shoes.
The familiar tension develops, and I wait to see if he's going to make a move on me. He turns in his seat slightly, facing me more now.
He says, "You're cute."
And then he leans forward, locking his lips with mine.
And I kiss him back.
For a long time.