by Cee Perkins
“No, my legs are fine,” I said, with some insecurity.
Ryan smirked, picking up on my hesitation. “Sure.”
So we had a leg day.
“Alright, you were kind of right. You don’t have chicken legs. Turkey, possibly, but not chicken,” Ryan said from the stall next to mine.
I grinned back, “Told ya.”
Once we were dressed, Ryan started talking about Cay. Wait…Cay?
“You mean the girl from the park the other day?”
“Yeah,” he said, and a dreamy look passed over his face.
Oh, no. Ohnoohnoohno. “You like her like her.”
His gaze followed the ground as we left the gym. “Well, yeah. I mean, she’s real, she’s driven, and god she’s good in bed.”
Uncomfortable, I could only respond, “That’s good. That you’ve found someone, I mean. So you’re seeing her again?”
His downturned gaze steadily followed the ground, “Uh yeah. I invited her to The Game Room tomorrow.”
I stopped short. He invited her to our night out? I struggled to maintain my breaths. In, out. In, out. Crap. He was changing things, with barely any warning.
This is the exact reason I didn’t like having many people around. They changed things, they made things unpredictable. I didn’t know if this Cay was going to bring her friend, would I have to talk to them—
“Dan. Dan! Come back, dude.” Ryan’s hand on my shoulder grounded me before I spun out of control.
I looked over at him and shook my head. “I can’t go. I have to check in on my mom, I haven’t heard from her since yesterday and she’s not answering her phone. Sorry, I won’t be able to go, but I’m sure you’ll have a good time.”
Guilt flashed over his face, which embarrassed me. “No, it’s ok, I’ll cancel with her,” he said.
“No, it’s not necessary, really. I do need to see my mom, and—”
“Dan, stop. I shouldn’t have invited her without checking with you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Now I really felt crappy. My insecurities were holding back my best friend, the one who’s been there from the beginning.
Whoa. I never thought of them like that. As insecurities. Maybe even…anxieties?
As hard and adamantly as I’d fought him on it, maybe Ryan was right. For that matter, maybe Mack was right. Did I need to be medicated?
“Dan? What’s going on? You look…lost.”
“I…I need to go. Thanks for working out with me, I’ll talk to you later,” I said, as I turned and practically ran away from him, despite him calling my name.
My head was spinning too fast. My world felt like it was crushing me, suffocating me. All my order, my routine, my planning…I knew I needed these things to feel safe and secure, comfortable day-to-day, but had I clung to them because I was too anxious about the unknown?
Enclosed in my car, I breathed deeply. I ran my hands over my head and tried to gain control. How did I get out of this?
Did I want to get out of this, to be free of anxiety, if it meant that I lost some of my security?
Chapter 6
Corra
The thing about being a hitwoman is that no one ever suspects you.
For example; my hit today was just outside a busy office building. The mark walked out the door, whistling (no shit, really), just as I came around the corner. My hand tightened around a small gun, it was positioned in a discreet hole in the pocket of my coat. I aimed for the target’s chest, then I pulled the trigger. As I got closer, he fell, blood spreading over his suit jacket. He was dead before he hit the ground. I screamed, “Oh my god! Are you ok?! Sir! Oh my god, someone call 911!”
And not one person batted an eye at me.
I’m sure you’re thinking. “What the fuck were you thinking, drawing attention to yourself?” But truly, it helped hide me. You know, hidden in plain sight. Plus, it was super fun to act. Maybe I missed my calling…meh.
It was afternoon, coming up on evening, when I did the job, so the sidewalk was busy with people leaving their stuffy offices. A couple of men ran over to me, one holding me back with concern. “You shouldn’t see this, ma’am.”
Another man bent down over the mark, turning him to his back and tried to administer CPR. I did my best to look like a shaken woman, faking violent tremors so the man thought I could have been going into shock.
Sirens sounded in the distance and suddenly the sidewalk was swarmed with paramedics and police. The man who’d pulled me back flagged an EMT and told them I could be going into shock, so I allowed them to check me out.
I was fine, though. I’d killed seventy-three people because I liked guns and disliked most of humanity. The mark even dressed like a douche with a polka-dotted bow tie and suspenders, and I’d taken that as a sign that he’d been a jerk.
One police officer came to me to ask what I’d seen and I answered his questions shakily, pulling the shock blanket tighter around me. I described what I was doing when I saw the man fall, and I told the officer that I hadn’t seen anything unusual before it happened.
I knew when I started in this business that I was going to have to learn how to bullshit like a master. I spent hours in front of a mirror and acting for Cay. While I loved shooting people, this part was my second favorite thing and I put my all into looking like a scared witness.
“Do you know who the man is? Did he have a family?” I asked, concern lacing my tone.
“I’m not sure, ma’am. All I know is that he was apparently an employee of one of the businesses in that building,” the officer answered, gesturing at the building behind him.
I bit my lip and looked up at the building, then back to the officer. “Am…am I done here? I think I…need a nap,” I said hesitantly.
The officer looked over his notes and said, “I think I got everything. Except, if I could have your contact information, in case anything else comes up.”
“Sure, sure.” I gave him my information and turned to leave. I grinned to myself— my seventy-third kill. I was going to make my goal.
Dan
After my run with Ryan last week, I’d decided to seek therapy to see if I did have anxiety or if I was just quirky. So that’s where I was, sitting in a cushy chair, in a bland office, and staring at a clock.
After two sessions with my new therapist, I was starting to doubt if I was benefiting from them. So far, in my third session, we’d been sitting in silence for four minutes and nineteen seconds. I knew he was waiting for an answer, but I didn’t have one to give him.
“You said your boss was murdered right outside your workplace yesterday?” Dr. Amato asked.
I only nodded. I didn’t know why it was so hard for me to say that I was blasted with fear because it could have been me.
“Let’s try a different avenue,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Ok,” I replied.
“What are you feeling right now?”
I took stock of my thoughts before I spoke. There was a lot in there, I just didn’t know where to start. “Um… Overwhelmed.”
“Good. Can you pinpoint what the source is?”
“No. If I try to pick one thing to work through, everything floods my brain and I can’t think of anything.”
“Ok. Let’s talk about your mother. Have you spoken to her this week?”
“No, she’s not answering her phone. I’m worried about her.”
“So, that’s weighing heavily on your mind. Where would she go?”
“The casino. Gambling.”
“Ah, ok, so you know in theory where she is. Do you think if you were to lay eyes on her, that would be one less thing on your mind?”
“Yes.”
“Ok, so when you leave here, head to the casino and look for her. If not there, try her home.”
“Ok, that makes sense. See, everything is so jumbled up in there that I can’t do basic thoughts.” I waved my hands around my head, gesturing to indicate jumbling.
“I want you to try something
for me. The next time you get overwhelmed, try and jot down what is on your mind at that time. Don’t try to prioritize it, just write. Then, jot down how you’re feeling once you’ve completed your list. I just want to see if it will help you manage the stress.”
“I think I can do that. Of course, I’ll need a notepad and new pen to carry with it—”
“Dan, I’m not asking you to do this to make things harder on you.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a fresh, pocket-sized spiral-bound notebook and a new ball-point pen. “Here, use these. They are brand new, so no additional stops on your way to the casino. Also, let’s not ever tell anyone outside this room that I told you to go to a casino with no stops on the way, shall we?” he stated, with a grin.
I nodded. “Of course not.”
“I want to take a few minutes to discuss your father,” Dr. Amato said.
“O-ok. What do you want to know?”
“You’ve told me that he’s recently passed,” at my nod, he continued, “and you have also expressed some guilt over the fact that you didn’t mourn him.”
“Well, yeah, I mean, it was my dad. If I don’t feel bad about losing him, it’s like some sort of serious disrespect, is it not?”
Dr. Amato shook his head. “Let’s talk through this. Tell me why you think you didn’t mourn him.”
Thinking for a minute, I tried to word my answer clearly. “I didn’t cry over his death at all. I’m not ruminating over our relationship, and I didn’t even though his death is fresh. The only memory I really recall, was when I first figured out why Dad would disappear for a few days at a time. Even now, I don’t remember any profound conversations we’d had, and I can’t recollect one piece of fatherly advice from him. All of my memories of him are of him stinking of cheap whiskey and stained shirts. I didn’t learn to throw a football until second grade, and it wasn’t even him that taught me. And…” I blew out a breath and ran my hands over my head, “I don’t feel bad that he’s dead.”
“Your father was the source of a lot of anxiety for you, I believe. When he’d disappear, did you worry about him?”
I nodded. “When I was a child, at least. Once I hit my teens, it had become so common that I rarely even noticed. When I did notice his presence, he either had a bottle in his hand or was reaching for one. I’d spend my time studying instead of hanging out with him.”
“Did you resent him?” Dr. Amato asked reasonably.
I paused. Holy moly, he’d hit on something. “Yeah, Dr., I do believe I did.”
“So does it feel a bit more reasonable to you that you didn’t mourn him?”
“Yeah…yeah it does.” The relief was palpable. Maybe I wasn’t a horrible son.
“And you’ve stated that despite his alcoholism, he always managed to make sure you had food and shelter, but at times you moved frequently, and some of the places were little better than a run-down shack. This instability throughout your childhood could go down one of two pathways; following in your father’s footsteps, which would also be the easy way, or doing the opposite of everything you’d seen as a child— which would be the hard way. You’ve chosen the hard way, Dan. So, your need for order and maintaining is logical.”
“So, you don’t think I’m anxious?” I asked, hopeful.
“Ah…no. You do have Generalized Anxiety Disorder. But we’re getting to the source of it, and in getting to the heart of the problem, we can find ways to let go or adapt so that you can live an easier adulthood. But that will be discussed in our next session, as our time is up.”
“Thank you, Dr. Amato. I was worried that I was wasting our time, but if you can really do what you just said, then I’m happy to admit I was wrong.” I stood and said goodbye to Dr. Amato.
As I headed toward the casino, I mulled over the resentment. Yes, I did resent my dad. And now that I was considering it, I resented my mother, too. Neither of my parents really provided me with a good example of how to be an adult, and they didn’t bother ever introducing me to my extended family.
I entered the casino and did a cursory scan. Now, if I were my mother…well, there’s a comparison that would never work. As I was trying to figure out where my mother would be in this place, I heard a large crowd cheering over by the roulette table. I had to start somewhere, so I guessed that was as good as any place. I glanced around the table and noticed Ryan with a vaguely familiar blond and brunette.
“Dan! Dan, wait!” I turned to see Ryan, followed by the little one— Cay?— smile as they pushed their way through the crowd to get to me.
“Hey, I didn’t know you were a gambling man,” Cay said cheerfully.
Ryan chuckled and replied, “He’s definitely not. Looking for your mom?”
I looked at the floor and mumbled, “Yeah. Do you know where the blackjack tables are?”
Cay’s small hand reached out touching my forearm. “Dan? I couldn’t hear you. Are you ok?”
Reluctantly, I looked up and noticed the blond. (Corra! That’s her name) had made her way over to us. My face heated as I repeated myself, “I’m ok. I’m just here looking for my mom. Do you know where the blackjack tables are?”
“Oh, yeah! We’ll walk you over there,” Ryan answered.
“Oh, I don’t mean to interrupt…”
“No problem! We’re getting bored here. Red or black, even or odd…how long can that really be fun?” Cay said, then grabbed Ryan’s hand and started walking.
“Hi Dan,” Corra said in greeting, falling into step next to me.
A polite smile and wave in her direction, then my focus returned to my purpose here.
“Oh! Right! They’re toward the back. Come this way,” Cay said, turning toward the back. I could sort of see why Ryan liked Cay. She was compact and sweet and didn’t appear to be messy. She chattered to Ryan happily about something I couldn’t hear.
Corra, on the other hand, was decidedly not compact and with a hint of sour aftertaste. In the two times I’d seen her, I’d decided that her personality was too big. Even then, she walked too close, her perfume overwhelmed and distracted me from my purpose. The scent wasn’t unpleasant, really, just...it enveloped me. And she chattered incessantly, something I wasn’t really paying attention to, until she said, “And the guy just dropped right in front of me! I’d never seen anything so scary.”
I brought my attention back to her. “What was that?”
“Oh, I was walking to the library yesterday and a man was shot right in front of me!”
I could only gape at her. She’d been there yesterday? “You— you saw the murder yesterday?”
“Yeah, it was nuts! He just fell to the ground! I was shaking so bad that the paramedics even checked me for shock.”
“Are…are you ok, now though?” I asked, then Cay butted in.
“Yeah, she’s fine now. Nothing a little shot of Jameson couldn’t fix, right, Cor?”
Corra gave an indelicate snort, then turned her attention to our surroundings. “These are the blackjack tables. Looks like they’re all full now, though. Wanna try slots?”
Cay jabbed her with a tiny elbow. “No, he’s looking for someone.”
I scanned the tables for the thinning gray hair and skinny body of my mom. “Thank you for your help, I think I might see her,” I told them absently before I started walking over to where I thought I saw her. I knew I wasn’t alone, though, because after a couple of steps, Corra’s scent hadn’t faded. I stopped and turned to look at her.
Her eyebrows rose before she said, “Oh, I thought, just in case you…needed…help…” Her words trailed off.
Another polite smile. “No, I’m just trying to catch up with my mother. To check-in. Thank you for your support.”
She smiled a little too brightly, then said, “Sure, I’ll…uh…just…” and turned back to Cay. Cay gave a small wave, then I turned toward my destination. I approached the table where my mother sat, a tall stack of chips in front of her and two cards in her hand. “Stay,” she mumbled to the dealer.
The other three players at the table only had one card each in their hands and noticeably smaller stacks of chips.
“Dealer has eighteen.” Two players folded, the other two lay their cards. Mom had twenty, the other man at the table had twelve.
“Pot to the lady,” the dealer said, sweeping the chips in mom’s direction. Mom smiled, stacking her winnings.
“Mom.”
Mom started, then turned with a guilty smile. “Hi, Honey. What are you doing here?”
“Just checking in. I’ve tried calling but you haven’t returned any of them. I was worried,” I said.