Douse (Book One: At the Edge of a Hurricane) (15 page)

CHAPTER 28

We
drive far from Bishop’s house in his car. If there others lurking, then
we definitely aren’t going to sit and be shot. I listen to him tell his
story, the whys and hows.

Bishop
met Spade several years ago while entrenched in the gambling business. They
would meet in houses, random houses, girls’ houses. They would gamble
together with a large clique of men and women who loved games and loved money.
Paycheck to paycheck was the lifestyle. There were quite a few addicts in the
mix, ones who’d blow their cash instantly. These were the types Bishop
preyed on for sustenance. Like a mosquito, he knew which victim to draw from.
The victims to seduce.

Eventually,
the lifestyle wore down on him.

“I
got tired, I did. They weren’t my crowd anymore. But see, it’s like
drinking or doing drugs. When you stop, all your “friends” stop
seeing you. Then I needed money to upkeep the house. Before I quit, I had the
thing, and so paying up every month was getting difficult. Even though I was
only renting, it was still hard. Then I met you…”

He
trails off.

“Are
you saying that I led to this?”

“Not
directly. But I met you and over time, my situation changed again. Just like
you, I couldn’t quit the gambling ring immediately. The money flow had to
continue, regardless of morals. So I kept doing it part-time. When I finally
didn’t need to rely on the income anymore, I was in a bad place.”
Bishop rubs his cheeks with his fingers. I spruce up his hair, massaging his
scalp, returning the favor. “I’d just hosted a game here. A small
one. Very small. Only one. It was Spade and maybe three others. They lost everything,
their entire cash flow for the night. Savings. Thousands. It wasn’t fun
to watch them squirm and later complain about it, but that’s what they
went on to do.

“I
told them there wasn’t anything I could do, that they lost. They had to
just suck it up and take the losses and go. But you know people. People
don’t do what you want them to do all the time.”

“So
they came back for retribution.”

“They
knew I was closing shop. These communities are tight. I’m sure you know
what it’s like in the cheating world. It must be the same.”

It’s
not when Educate has become a dominant source for students, but rubbing in your
success when someone’s down isn’t the most appropriate
stress-relief tactic.

“But,”
Bishop says, “there’s really nothing you can do. When word spreads,
it spreads like crazy. I tried telling them off. I’d even worked overtime
to pay them back. And I thought it worked. I hadn’t heard from them in
literally months. They took the last of my cash payments and left. I’d
actually paid them more than what they were looking for.”

“Were
they violent before?”

“That’s
the curious part. They weren’t violent at all. They were perfectly normal
dudes that carried normal conversations. They were never aggressive. I make it
sound like it was some sort of mafia style ring, but it was amicable. Parties
were held. People got drunk. Smoked weed. It was chill, it was relaxing, no
fears. That was the manta of the underground. Nobody snitches, nobody bitches,
just play and have fun, hey, maybe you’ll make an extra dollar tonight,
maybe you won’t, but it’s up to you to spend your money
wisely.”

Now
that’s more in line with Educate. Nobody tells anybody anything and
complaining is highly frowned upon. I can relate to the mentality.

“It’s
clearly a dangerous lifestyle,” I say. “Bottom line: this
isn’t something I want to be involved in.”

“I
know that. It’s not fair to either of us. I’m not a part of any of
this at all. I left this lifestyle for
you
, Violet. To move out
wasn’t just a ploy for safety. It was the final chapter in my
life.”

“I
understand. It’s just I wish you’d told me. Anything.”

“I
can’t read minds. They were plotting behind my back. Besides, leaving the
gambling ring was a slow transition remember? You don’t just disappear.
You have to have fade. If I was rich I could’ve but I’m not.
I’m just a guy.” Bishop thumps the wheel with his fists and speeds
up to forty miles an hour. “I’m pissed as hell at them for pulling
that shit.”

“We’re
safe now. Let’s think rationally for a moment. Let’s be calm,
okay?”

“I
couldn’t even save you. What kind of guy am I?”

“You’re
my guy. You were caught in a bad position. It could’ve been me on the
stairs and you in the garage. How it went down is how it went down.”

“I’m
glad you’re so progressive.”

I
put an elbow against the passenger window, frowning. So he’s distraught
but more so about his manhood than anything. “This isn’t the time
for arguing, Bishop. We should be calling the police.”

“N—”

“Yeah,
I know, no. The answer is no, we can’t. Your crony told me. He’s
right. If you were caught for gambling, you’d be in hot water.”

“Wouldn’t
you? With your test banks? Isn’t that illegal too?”

“It’s
borderline. It’s not exactly criminal. Or at least nobody’s been
prosecuted. You can’t shut down that stuff online anyway. The information
is too free now.” I relax my face, forcing myself to smile. Research
suggests that your mood improves based on body language alone. And I need
clarity now, not a sense of panic. “They won’t come back,
right?”

“Who
knows. I just have to move out now.”

“Did
you have a place lined up?”

“I
did, but now I’m freaked out about moving there. What if they’ve
been planning this robbery for a long time now?”

Plus,
Spade found me, despite the restraining order. He even touched. I clench my
finger around an imaginary trigger.

“I
should’ve gotten him.”

“What
did he do?”

“Nothing.
It’s done.”

“You’ve
got to talk.”

“Later.
Not now.”

“I
told you my side. Did he lay a finger on you?”

I
wave off the comment. So many have laid their fingers on me, the idea of being angry
is a flippant thought. There’s no time to simmer to outrage. Feeling
outrage doesn’t do anything.

All
I know is that I would’ve pulled the trigger if I had the chance to
again. No emotions, no feelings. Just a pluck of metal releasing shock into the
air, pinning the bastard boy down.

“We
can call the police if you’re hurt. I’m willing to do that for
you.”

“If
anything, you need to stay safer than me. You’re ring is bigger than
mine, it seems. You’re neck has a tighter noose. So you stay safe and let
me deal with what I’ve got to do.”

Bishop
slows to an easy twenty-seven. His cheeks sweat as if producing rain.
“This entire thing was a bad idea. It’s like I’ve ended up
exactly where my parents thought I would. All to get away from
them.” 

“We
have the same feelings. Don’t worry.”

“It’s
a mess.”

“We’ll
make it.” I pump my hand on his shoulder and steady his arm.
“We’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

“You’re
so calm about this all.”

“I’ve
seen enough to recognize that panicking is the worst thing you can do. Ever.
But you’re not. Not visibly anyway.”

“Just
shaken up. More angry than anything.”

“Being
angry makes sense. They betrayed you. Friends should never do that.”

“How
did you get away?” **

“In
college, they used to offer classes. Self-defense. I figured I would learn how
eventually. My parents—” and a cloud of guilt rains on my soul, I
blame for everything, is there no personality responsibility?
“—they would do their disciplining at home. There wasn’t
anything I could do. Scars and all. Nothing. I vowed in college that would
change completely. No more helplessness at the hands of others. I took classes.
Muay Thai. Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. I learned how to roll efficiently and how to
throw kicks. I was badass, I won’t lie.” We roll to a stop sign.
Bishop stares at the scar, tracing it over with his eyes. “They would
beat me,” I say. “They did it often. And it hurt.”

“I’m
sorry. I’ve said that before, but it must mean absolutely nothing to you.
You’ve probably had thousands say that.”

“It’s
okay. Nothing you can do now. But it hurt so much, they pretty much saved our
lives today. Without them beating me, I wouldn’t have stricken it out for
myself. I’m stronger because of it. I truly believe that I’ve
survived a crucible and that I’m stronger for it.”

“You’re
not fazed at all? They could’ve killed us. You were a natural though.
Like you just knew what to do with that guy.”

Revealing
that I slept with Spade for test bank answers also isn’t the most germane
to post-traumatic discussions. I bandy around a couple of stories and settle on
the cleanest version.

“I
knew his weakness instantly. It was obvious. Just in the way he held his
pistol; it was like he’d never held one before.”

“Have
you?”

“I
go to a shooting ring. Not often, but I know where not to put my thumbs on a
Glock. I know the dangers. Yeah. I can fire.” I turn to Bishop, letting
him see fully the ragged scar. He can’t though. We’ve passed the
stop sign and continue along a boulevard. I’m most comfortable facing him
with the darkness shrouding me, and his attention focused elsewhere. “I
would have fired if it meant saving you. Is that bad of me?”

“No,
Violet, no. God. You are so caught up in being a good girl, it’s amazing.
Finding someone like that is so rare. You think about others. You feel for
others. You’re incredible.”

“I’m
just—I think a lot about these things.”

“You’re
a good person. Stop thinking you’re bad. You don’t need anybody to
validate you. You’re fucking amazing. I don’t even deserve
you.”

“You
do,” I say. “I’m happier with you. I was happy single, but
with you, I’m happiest. There’s no man I’ve met that’s
as devoted as you are. Who’s made steps to change his life around for the
benefit of somebody else. Who’s stuck by and made big decisions for my
benefit. You left the gambling ring for me, and for that, I’m grateful.
It must’ve been huge.”

“Your
empathy is incredible. I can’t believe it. You’d do well in every
congregation, I swear. My parents would love a daughter like you. One who could
see through others’ eyes.”

“Everyone
has their storm. It’s not like I’m experiencing a hurricane and you
just a sun shower. We’re equals. We’re humans. People. People
who’ve experienced a lot. Gone through a lot.”

Bishop’s
hands tighten around the wheel. Even in the night’s shroud, you can see
the leather dimpling from the force of his grip. I stroke his nape. I stroke
his legs. He remains on the fence, whether to have an outburst or calm himself.

“Where
do we go from here?” he says.

“We
get you to safety. You’re definitely out of that place. Tomorrow. I can
get my friends to help out. They’re sweet. They’ll help.”

“Will
you tell them anything?”

“Do
you want me to? Is this something we should keep a secret from everybody? A
support network would do us wonders.”

“They
can’t tell.”

“I’ll
get them to help us, that’s the most important part.”

Bishop
swings into the shoulder lane. Honking cars blare louder now as he careens and
comes to a full stop. I cling to his shoulder for stability and shake him
awake. “What are you doing?”

“Violet.
What the hell happened?”

“Don’t
panic. Remember, you’re on the road. You’re in a car. These things
kill. Stay here with me.”

“They
could’ve hurt you so much.”

Bishop
jerks towards me. He hugs. And I hug him back, take him in.

Whether
he cries first or I do, I can’t tell. It’s the build-up, the
aftershock hitting us like a tsunami, just shearing apart the shorelines of our
souls.

We
were assaulted. We could’ve been killed. And we’re stuck.
Abandoned. Shipwrecked.

“You
have to put in an anonymous tip,” Bishop says. “Those bastards
can’t run far and do this again.”

“I’ll
put one in.”

“We
both have to. And then we move.”

“We
move?”

“We
move farther. They can’t hurt you again.”

“They
didn’t. They didn’t.” I thrust him away and stare into those
hazel eyes. The straight, straight nose that’s flaring at the rims. His
hot cheeks. “They did not hurt me. Promise you believe me. This girl was
not hurt. They don’t have any power over me or you.”

“You
have to promise me that you’re not lying. You have to be safe. I
can’t see this happening again.”

“I’m
safe. We were just caught in a bad scenario.”

“You
promise me.”

“I
promise you a thousand times and more. I’m fine. It’s you we should
be taking care of.”

“Fucking
hate them.”

“They
acted ultimately in their own self-interest. I guess we all do. Can you blame
them in the end?”

“Don’t
you expect better?”

“What
do you expect from animals?” I tap the window. We’re now in some
rundown street with ramshackle houses. Bulldozers pockmark the streets.
Construction slows the traffic to a crawl, and horns blare. In the midst of the
traffic run jaywalking kids, rollerblading teens. The streets teem with
humanity, with all these different people living their own individual lives,
and here we are, Bishop and I, talking about the nature of man after an
assault. Everyone who peers into our car will never know the depth of our
problems. And I will never know theirs. And yet, like ants, we probably all
have the same depth. Similar problems, struggles, emotions, feelings.
We’re all probably capable of the evils as well as the goods.

“That
sounds like a cop out.”

“Man
is an animal too. Just remember what we do,” I say. “Or did,
rather. I used to sell test answers to help people to cheat. I did it because it
made more money than working at the local McDonald’s full-time. I did it
because I could control my hours. It was an easy job to do with friends. You
took up gambling because of financial issues. We did what we did to escape our
homes. If we didn’t try to lighten our loads, we could’ve lived
much more stressful lives. Maybe for the two they were desperate.” I tap
the glass. “Maybe they’re just assholes.”