In To Her

by JA Huss

  Like that’s all that needs to be said.

  But he says more anyway.

  “This is why we’re here? To get Damon’s kid? And you knew? And you lied to me?”

  Yeah, that sucks. I liked Logan. Not as much as I like AJ, but he was growing on me.

  But I know who he is. It took me a while to place his face, but I did eventually. Somewhere between the toy fuck and the shower fuck it came to me.

  Logan the Loyal.

  Which is what Damon used to call him.

  Except it wasn’t because he was loyal. It was sarcasm, or irony, or maybe just a fuckin’ joke.

  Because Logan has no loyalties. None at all and everyone in the inner circle knew this. Damon, especially, knew this.

  But apparently AJ didn’t.

  So I say, to him, “I’m sorry.”

  Which makes him turn—because I gripped his arm when I said this—to look down at me again. And he says, “What?”

  So I say it again. Because it’s gotta hurt and it might take a while to sink in, but eventually it will. “I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for?”

  I shrug. “That this is happening to you, I guess.”

  “What? Nothing’s happening to me, Yvette.” But then the look on his face changes. And for a second I think he gets it. That he understands. He says, “Oh. You mean, this decision that has to be made?”

  But that’s not what I mean, and Logan knows it. Because he opens his mouth to say something, but loses his nerve and shuts up.

  “Don’t worry, Yvette,” AJ says, shaking his head. “We’re not going through with it.”

  He hugs me and I let him. He holds me close and in such a way that Logan disappears from view.

  “I want you to go through with it, AJ. I want you to kill me.”

  Chapter Fifteen - LOGAN

  AJ is going to lose his mind, so I make a decision. “No one’s killing anyone tonight.”

  “Tonight?” AJ says. “We’re not killing her tomorrow, either.”

  “AJ—” Yvette says.

  But he cups a hand over her mouth to shut her up and repeats himself. “We’re not killing her.”

  “She’ll just kill herself when we leave, AJ.” I say it in a tone I don’t recognize. Like… I don’t think I recognize myself right now, either.

  I feel disconnected. Outside of my body somehow.

  But I don’t have time to have an existential crisis because… the kid.

  I didn’t know. Not for sure. But I did suspect. I remember seeing Damon one day before Yvette—Glori—left him. They were fighting and it was loud. He was accusing her of cheating but he was always accusing her of cheating and there was no possible way she could, unless she was fucking one of his men without his permission—which he… gave. Often.

  So then the fight degenerated into ‘it’s not mine, it’s not mine, you filthy little slut.’ And I made an educated guess.

  But I had other business happening that day so I never thought about it again until Yvette went missing a week later.

  And you’d think that your woman, who you forced to marry you as a minor and let your wedding party gang-rape on her wedding night, would be more of a priority should said wife ever just up and disappear.

  But she wasn’t.

  I really, truly thought he killed her. And I was going on that assumption right up until he pulled me aside two weeks ago and told me to go pick up AJ and watch her until further notice.

  “Watch her,” he said. Never bothered to explain how she left, or why she left, or what this thing was I was looking for. He just said, “Watch her. She took something of mine when she left and I want it back. Find it.”

  And then, of course, he told me to take AJ out too, and dump both bodies before I came back.

  But he never did say, “She took my kid.”

  So… I dunno.

  “That journal,” I say, sighing heavily. Because maybe AJ was right? Maybe that is what Damon sent me to get? “How did you get him to write that?”

  Yvette huffs out something that could be a laugh or could be contempt. I’m not sure because AJ is standing between her and I like a shield. “Are you fucking crazy?” she says. “He didn’t write that.”

  “What?” AJ asks.

  “I wrote it. In his voice. It was the closest thing I’d ever get to an apology. That sick bastard was never going to say he was sorry for what he did. And I needed to move on. So I wrote that journal to acknowledge what he did and give myself closure.”

  Several moments of silence as AJ and I take this in.

  I can almost feel his disappointment. He was hoping that was it. Was desperately hoping that journal was the magic bullet that would kill this job instead of Yvette.

  But it’s not.

  It’s the kid.

  “We were, or were not, sent here to get this kid?” AJ asks.

  I do a shrug, shake, nod of my head. “I don’t know, AJ. I really don’t know. Damon is…”

  “A certified psychopath?” Yvette is angry when she says that. And I don’t blame her. Not after what he put her through. But it’s just… different than how she was just a couple minutes ago.

  Anger is good. Defeat and surrender, not so much. So I prefer this side of her to that one.

  AJ says, “Don’t worry, Yvette. I’m not gonna let him hurt you.”

  And now I have to wonder… is it me he’s protecting her from? Or Damon?

  Could go either way.

  “Why don’t we eat dinner?” I ask. “It’s getting late, we’re all tired, and—”

  “Dinner?” AJ says, like this is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard.

  God, he is just not gonna play ball tonight, is he?

  “Yeah, OK,” Yvette says. “I could use some dinner. I drank way too much today and I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Didn’t think I’d need it.”

  “Yvette,” AJ says, a little bit of frustration and anger in his tone. “Stop talking like that. You’re not killing yourself. So fine,” he says, looking at me. “We’ll eat. She needs to eat.”

  I nod and walk over to the clothes on the chair. The ones Yvette brought up with her. I hold up the jeans, decide they’ll fit, and start slipping them on without underwear.

  She didn’t bring any, but even if she did, I’m not wearing another man’s underwear.

  AJ comes up next to me, picking up the other pair of jeans, then tosses them aside, deciding they won’t fit. Too short. He’s a huge guy. Two inches taller than me, at least.

  Plus, he was already wearing comfortable jeans, so he just puts those back on.

  I don’t bother with a shirt and neither does AJ. This place feels hot now. Wood stove and central heat, probably overkill.

  When we turn to face Yvette she’s biting her lip. Frowning too.

  I guess seeing me wearing her dead husband’s clothes has stirred up feelings.

  I shrug and sigh. Such a fucked-up situation.

  But I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t kill her husband or her baby. I didn’t make her run, or marry that asshole. I didn’t do any of that. None of this is my fault.

  Still, I feel the need to whisper, “I’m sorry,” just before I push past AJ and walk out the bedroom door.

  Whispers follow me out, but fade soon enough. Because I pull open the apartment door and head downstairs to lose myself in her industrial kitchen.

  AJ joins me a few minutes later. By this time I have found bread, lunch meat, condiments, and bags of single-serving potato chips.

  “Turkey or roast beef?” I ask AJ when he enters the kitchen.

  “I don’t care,” he says.

  “Where’s Yvette?”

  “Getting drinks.”

  I shoot him a raised eyebrow.

  “Not alcohol. Some special sparkling cider she bought at Christmas but never opened.”

  “And she wants to open it with us? AJ, look—”

  “No, you look. I’m not discussing this any further, but I’m no
t killing her. So if you want to kill her, you’re gonna have kill me first.”

  Irony, I guess. Or maybe just a really bad joke.

  “Fine,” I say. “We can’t even leave this place until the snow stops and they clear the roads. So no more talk about that stuff. Just… eat your fucking sandwich and chill.”

  That’s when I notice he brought the journal down here with him. “What’s with that?” I ask, nodding my head to the book.

  “I think you should read it. Because I only skimmed about ten pages and I’m ready to kill Damon myself. Did you know this was happening to her?”

  My mind blanks out for a second, some long-forgotten memory bubbling up to the surface of being in their house one night. Unexpected and unwanted. A meeting, I think it was. Something went wrong with some other thing and I had to go there in the middle of the night. And I saw her. Just a flash of white running across the expansive back lawn, her nightgown trailing behind her like she was a comet.

  She was running away.

  I knew back then. I knew what he was doing to her.

  “Some of it,” I admit.

  AJ takes a bite of his sandwich and glares at me.

  “I knew he was an asshole. I knew he passed her around. But it was mostly rumors, AJ.”

  Mostly. Except for that night when his personal guards tackled her to the ground and she disappeared from view. Just… screams after that.

  I was there long enough that I saw her being led back in after the men were done with her on the lawn. Her hair was a rat’s nest filled with grass clippings and twigs. And she was filthy. Dirt on her nightgown, which was ripped down the middle. Her face, her legs, her arms. All stained with dirt and grass.

  “It was mostly rumors,” I say again. Because I felt… shame that night. Watching them rape her, then lead her back inside to her pretty prison. It stayed with me for a long time. And I’ve seen a lot of shit over the past several years. Almost all of it worthy of shame. But none of that other shit ever touched me. Not the way that night did.

  Yvette pushes her way through the swinging kitchen door holding a bottle that looks like champagne, but when she sets it down on the large stainless-steel table Aje and I are sitting at, I see that it’s sparkling cider, just like he said.

  She’s also got three fluted glasses in her hand, which she sets down next to the bottle. She smiles.

  Which is not right. Why the fuck is she smiling?

  “We’re celebrating,” she says, reading my mind. She finds a bottle opener, pops the top off the cider, and then pours us each a glass.

  This whole time AJ is watching her with a heavy frown on his face. She pushes one glass over to me, one to AJ, and then picks hers up like she’s about to make a toast.

  AJ shakes his head. Not gonna do it, that shake says.

  “Look.” She sighs. “I’m done here, OK? I’m done. I don’t want to live anymore. This is my choice.”

  “You don’t get to quit the game just because you’re losing,” AJ growls.

  “Fuck you,” she says. “Just fuck you.” Her voice cracks a little. “You have no idea what this”—she pans her arms wide—“feels like. OK? But I do and I don’t want to feel this way anymore. I lost everything. And when the day comes—God forbid—that you lose as much as I have, well, then you can have an opinion. Then you can judge me and call me a quitter. But until then, you get no say in my decisions. I don’t know you,” she says, her voice taking on a tone of anger. “I have no clue who you are. I know how big your cock is and that’s about it. And to be honest, that’s all I want to know about you.”

  AJ shakes his head again. “Won’t work.”

  “What won’t work?” she asks.

  “You can’t change my mind and your insults are just a provocation. So I’m not gonna react.”

  I just watch them. Kinda weirdly… maybe sickly… fascinated.

  Because she’s right. We don’t know her. She doesn’t know us.

  We’re nothing to each other but three people who got stuck in a blizzard and decided to pass the time by fucking.

  But I do have something to say. And against my better judgment, I say it. “So why not just take the pills now?”

  “Logan,” AJ cautions me.

  I hold up a hand. “No, listen. If you want to die so bad, why didn’t you grab that pill bottle and take those pills? Do it without telling us.”

  “Maybe I did.” She smirks.

  But AJ pulls the bottle of pills out of his pants pocket and holds them up, smiling.

  “Take them back,” I say. “If you want to die so bad.”

  AJ says nothing.

  Yvette fumes. “Why? So you don’t have to do your job? Maybe I want to make you do your job?”

  “Yeah,” I say, ready to push back. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Put it all on me. Play the victim. Again,” I add. Just to push her button a little harder.

  “Play the victim?” She huffs out a sarcastic laugh. “Wow.”

  I shrug. “Hey, you’re the one who wants to die. Do I look like I give a fuck, Yvette? Do I look like a guy who goes out of his way to do anything? Because if I gave you that impression, I’m sorry. I’m not that guy. If you run, I’ll chase you. The way Damon’s men used to chase you across the lawn.”

  It’s a low blow, but I don’t care.

  “I’ll chase you, knock you down, shove your face into the snow, and then bring you back to hell with me.”

  “Nice,” AJ says. “God, you’re a dick, Logan. He’s not gonna do that.”

  “No, maybe not. But only because if she runs it’ll be to make me take the responsibility off herself. Why did you wait so long? If you want to die? Why today, of all days?”

  “Are you trying to talk her into this?” AJ asks.

  Maybe I am. Maybe I’m the coward, not her. But I don’t say that. I say, “Hey, if it makes my life easier, why not? Just go die somewhere then. No one wants to be around a pathetic victim, Yvette. The world loves a winner. And you are so clearly a loser—”

  She throws her cider into my face. “Fuck you.”

  And then she walks out.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” AJ asks.

  I walk over to the sink, grab a paper towel, and wipe off my face before I turn to look at him. Then I shrug. “Being the monster,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “Because someone has to play that part.”

  And I walk out too.

  Chapter Sixteen - AJ

  By the time I follow them out of the kitchen Logan is behind the bar pouring two glasses of whiskey and Yvette is standing in front of the jukebox. Leaning forward a little, her long, blonde, still mostly wet hair hanging over her face, as she stares at the list of songs.

  Logan comes out from behind the bar holding two glasses. I’m not really in the mood to drink, but I take it anyway.

  He stares at me as he sips. No shirt. The muscles of his bare chest looking cut and contoured in the dim glow of yellow sconce lights. I don’t know the last time I’ve seen him in such casual clothes.

  His feet are bare, like mine. And his jeans are well-worn and faded. Like mine. Usually Logan is a suit guy. And that look fits him, I guess. I’m used to it. So I don’t bother checking him out much, but I can’t help myself now.

  He does the same to me. Even though he sees me casual all the time. I don’t really do suits. Not my style.

  He smiles a little. And even though I’m having a hard time finding something to smile about, I smile back.

  I think he’s provoking her to try to change her mind. Which doesn’t make much sense. We are here to kill her. There’s no getting around that order without completely upending our worlds. But I really do believe he’s just playing devil’s advocate.

  Good cop. Bad cop.

  OK. I’ll play.

  I take myself and my drink over to the jukebox. It’s at the end of the bar, near the front window—which is high up on the wall so you can’t really see out of it. But it’s iced o
ver with snow anyway, so makes no difference. I take a seat on the barstool closest to Yvette and lean back on the bar to watch her pretend to be interested in songs.

  “I lost my mom to cancer,” I say.

  She turns her head to the side just enough to peek out at me through her hanging hair.

  “I was about…” I look over at Logan. “What? Fifteen?”

  He nods. Not that Yvette notices. She’s turned back to the songs.

  “So I know how bad that sucks. She went pretty fast too. It wasn’t one of those long, drawn-out processes. So it was weird, ya know?”

  Yvette straightens up. Looks at me. Nods.

  “It felt like one day everything was cool. Then she got diagnosed and just like that”—I snap my fingers—“shit changed. It sucked too.”

  “What did you do?” Yvette asks. “Did you have a father to help you?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “He died couple years earlier. Actually,” I say, correcting myself, “he killed himself.”

  Yvette’s mouth forms into a tiny o shape.

  I nod. “Yeah. Blew his brains out in our basement.”

  She looks over her shoulder at Logan, who is leaning against the bar a little farther down the room.

  He says, “No. I didn’t know him then.” Like she asked a question, when she didn’t. “So I wasn’t there for that one.”

  Yvette looks at me again and I continue. “So, yeah. No. I don’t know you. I just know me. I know how it felt both ways. To watch someone die of disease and to be told someone was dead due to suicide. And I don’t know much about your life, but I do know this, Yvette. You have one. Here. Up on this mountain with all the weirdos who live up here with you. So even though you think you’re alone, you’re not. You’ll be gone, but everyone who comes in here will hear about you and what you did. And every one of them will hurt because of it.”

  She sucks in a deep, deep breath through her nose. Grimaces. Probably picturing these tangential people who pass in and out of her bar and her life. And how she does the same for them.

  “You’re a fixture. I think that’s something people who want to give up don’t realize. You’re a fixture in this world. And maybe that’s not the best thing to be, but it’s more than nothing. Very, very few people are nobodies. Very, very few people can take their own life and not leave destruction in their wake. And sometimes I think… you know what? Why should I care? Why should I care when there’s no point to any of it anyway? Life has no point, ya know?”