by Marc Avery
“What did you do?” she asked.
I pulled the slide back on the gun. “How long did you know his punk ass was Tristan’s real father?”
“We only found out recently because we’re getting married. He thought it might be a possibility, but I wasn’t sure. Now that Tristan is his son, I’m glad.” Suddenly, she cracked an evil smile.
“All I did was love you.” My voice cracked with emotion.
“I wish I could say the same. You were just convenient at the time,” she said coldly.
“Oh yeah?” I asked and shot Austin once in the chest and once in the head. The second shot made his head explode. I dry heaved when I saw his exposed bloody brain.
Essence had a crazed look in her eyes, and before I could react, she launched herself at me.
We landed on the couch. While we tussled, she punched me in the jaw and tried to grab the gun. I managed to elbow her in the head so hard she hit the ground.
Once she got herself together, she stood and said, “Go ahead and do it, you punk motherfuc—”
Looking her dead in the eye, I shot her twice in the chest. Blood sprayed on my face and shirt. She hit the ground with a thud. I dry heaved again when the coppery smell of her blood invaded my nostrils.
Then I wiped my face clean with my sleeve.
I wanted to start a family with Mia and for Tristan to be my biological son. The tears came when I realized that wasn’t my reality, and it never would be.
I kept kicking her dead body. “You lying bitch!”
Breathing heavily, I ran upstairs to see my son one last time.
He slept so innocently. I wished I could take him with me. Memories of our time together flooded my mind.
I kissed him on his forehead and inhaled the scent of his baby lotion. I would remember that scent forever.
“I love you, son,” I whispered to him.
After shutting the bedroom door behind me, I hurried outside and looked around cautiously. People looked at me funny because I was holding a gun and had blood on me.
Out of nowhere, police cars skidded to a stop near me.
When two officers spilled out of the car, I sprinted up the block. They yelled for me to stop, but the adrenaline wouldn’t allow me to slow down.
Damn near out of breath and scared shitless, I cut through an alleyway and tried to shake them. My thighs burned as I struggled to breathe.
Three blocks later they were still on my ass. I saw a gate up ahead, and I was up and over it before they got there.
Seeing as though they weren’t willing to jump over the gate, I kept moving without looking back.
A young guy was about to get into a Toyota Corolla, and I was all over him.
“Give up the car keys,” I said calmly as I poked him in the ribs with the gun.
He handed over the keys without hesitation. Seeing the fear in his eyes gave me an overwhelming sense of power.
Once I got in his car, I mashed the gas pedal into the floor and blew through the yellow traffic light up ahead.
My phone went off with a text message alert. Without paying attention to the road, I looked at the screen.
The text message from Mia read, where are you? I have something important to tell you.
I dialed Mia’s cell number, and headlights from an oncoming vehicle were the last thing I saw before everything went black.
Epilogue
The injuries I had from the car accident weren’t life-threatening. I had a mild concussion and a broken arm. The physical wounds healed, but the emotional wounds never would. I wish I would’ve died in that accident; then I wouldn’t have had to face a reality where Tristan wasn’t my biological son.
I guess I should’ve been a combination of scared, remorseful, and depressed standing there in the courtroom beside my lawyer. I didn’t feel any of those feelings. In the midst of everything crumbling around me, I tried to remain calm. I kept my facial expression emotionless. I was too numb to do anything else.
Once the judge said “twenty-five to life,” the courtroom went bananas. The energy for me to plead my case disappeared a long time ago. The realization that I wasted years of my life I couldn’t get back hit me hard, but I vowed not to show emotion. Not being there for Tristan, the unborn child Mia was carrying, and my family hurt me the most. I failed them because of my piss-poor decisions. You didn’t get a do over in life, and I was living proof.
The judge banged his gavel because of all the yelling in the courtroom. Paul had to be restrained by the police when he tried to push past them. Mia held my mother in her arms because she had become hysterical with grief.
I whispered in my lawyer’s ear; then I pulled out the diamond engagement ring from Tiffany & Co. and handed it to him.
“I’ll take care off it,” my lawyer said, smiled, and patted me on the back.
Before I was handcuffed and led out of the room, Mia and I made eye contact. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. She cried too.
The last thing I heard Mia say was, “I’ll wait for you,” before I was ushered out of the courtroom.
I knew she would probably find someone else, but it didn’t stop me from imagining the life I would never get to live with her.