Target on Our Backs

by J. M. Darhower

  And maybe he's right.

  Maybe I didn't come here to kill him.

  But that doesn't mean I'm buying his bullshit.

  "So," he says, "did she tell you what happened?"

  "She told me everything."

  "Everything." Lorenzo says that with a laugh. "Did she tell you the name of the man driving the cab?"

  "What does it matter? He's dead."

  "Precisely," Lorenzo says, pointing the bottle of rum at me. "I told you, you should be thanking me."

  I narrow my eyes at that. "What was his name?"

  "Abele Abate," he says. "Ring a bell?"

  It does.

  He knows it does.

  "He was one of Ray's guys."

  He nods. "Did she tell you she's taken this particular cab a few times? That this wasn't the first time he drove her somewhere? That whenever she needed a ride, he just happened to be in the area? Did she tell you that?"

  No, she didn't.

  "I caught him sniffing around her a couple weeks ago," he continues. "It was entirely coincidental, you see, because I just happened to be sniffing around her, too."

  "Why?"

  "Why?" he asks incredulously. "Come on, I ask around when I get to town and the first thing I find out is you're married. Again. And to not just anybody. You're married to her. Never in my wildest dreams. So call me curious... I wanted to see the girl who finally thawed that frozen heart of yours."

  He smiles, but I don't find it amusing.

  "So, what... thought you'd hit two birds with one stone? Take out another one of Ray's men while going after her?"

  "Never went after her." He sounds adamant. "And Abele? Seems he's been working for someone else these days, someone who took a special interest in your girl."

  "Who?"

  He hesitates. "Hard to say."

  Hard to say.

  Either he doesn't know or he doesn't want to tell me.

  "Cut the bullshit, Lorenzo."

  "Look, all I'm saying is I stopped your wife from being truly harmed. You're welcome for that, by the way."

  I don't thank him.

  I don't know if I believe it.

  It feels too convenient.

  I look around the room, my eyes skimming over the man on the floor. He's moaning, still moving around.

  "He's still alive," Lorenzo points out.

  "For now," I say. "What happens to him depends on if you plan to help him out."

  "Oh, I'll help him out, don't you worry about that."

  I glance at Lorenzo.

  He takes another swig of the liquor, staring at the man on the floor. "When was the last time you actually killed someone, Ignazio?"

  It's a question I don't want to answer.

  It's one I really don't have to think about.

  The last life I ended was Raymond Angelo's.

  Everyone since then, I've left alive.

  I hesitate so long he knows I'm not going to answer, but that, I suppose, is answer enough for him. "That long ago, huh?"

  "It doesn't matter," I tell him. "Whether it was a year ago or an hour ago, it doesn't make a difference. There's so much blood on my hands they'll never get clean."

  "It doesn't matter, but yet you're trying."

  "For her."

  "Well, don't worry," he says, motioning toward the writhing man on the floor. "I'll make sure he's taken care of, so the last blood on your hands won't be today."

  I don't know if he expects me to thank him, but I don't. I don't say anything.

  I just slip right out the back door.

  Heading around the house, I go toward my car in the neighbor's driveway, when I hear it. I hear the lone gunshot from the back of the house.

  BANG

  Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I just lay in bed and wonder.

  I wonder what my life would be like if Naz hadn't happened.

  If I hadn't walked into that philosophy classroom, maybe nobody would've ever noticed me. Maybe I would've continued on, undetected, building a life for myself right under their noses, living out my days oblivious and happy. Maybe I would've never known the truth of my parentage, and I could've existed in an eternal ignorant bliss. Maybe I'd be an art major, or maybe even do something in science. Maybe I'd still be living in this very room with Melody. Maybe I'd forever be eating ramen noodles while fielding a dozen messages from my mom every afternoon.

  Maybe she'd still be alive.

  Maybe.

  Maybe.

  Maybe.

  I imagine myself having another life, in another place, surrounded by other people... people I haven't met yet, people maybe I'll never actually meet. And so much feels right about it, so much feels freeing, but there's always this pang in my stomach, a tightening in my chest, like there's a big, gaping void that's growing and growing.

  Something's missing.

  Him.

  When I think about a life without Naz, I start to feel lonely. It's like I'm standing in a crowded room, screaming, but nobody is even listening. That day, outside of the classroom, when he handed me my phone, was probably the first time in my life I felt like someone truly noticed. That someone paid attention. I like to think he heard me screaming, even if, at the time, it was for the wrong reasons.

  And as I lay on the dirty floor in Melody's dorm room, a room that holds so many memories, I'm doing it again… I'm imagining a life without him.

  A world where he doesn't exist.

  It's dark. I don't know what time it is. I don't have it in me to look. I feel like I've been here forever, each tick of the clock taunting me. I'm silently screaming and tonight, nobody's listening, nobody's hearing me, nobody's coming to save me from this heartache.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  The longer he's gone, the greater the chance he's never coming back. He promised he would, but he's not indestructible. He's human. He's flawed. He has a heart that beats in his chest, just like me. All it would take is a twist of a knife to rip it apart. I know. I know.

  I feel it.

  The void.

  The part of me that's missing.

  I feel it.

  Tears fill my eyes as bile burns my throat, forced up by the expanding mass in my chest, the vicious darkness that's eating away at me. "Oh God," I whisper, shoving myself up, my vision blurring from a sudden rush of dizziness. "I'm going to be sick."

  I run to the bathroom, tripping over shit in the darkness, grateful to find it empty. Collapsing to the floor, I start gagging, but nothing's coming out. There's nothing left in me to give.

  Please.

  Please come back to me.

  I need you.

  The light flicks on, harsh and blinding, and I squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I continue pleading.

  Please.

  "Karissa?" Melody's voice is hesitant as she steps into the connected bathroom. "Are you okay?"

  Am I okay? No. I'm not okay at all.

  Words have been scarce from her since I showed up an hour… a day… a year ago. I don't know. I told her what happened to me, the Cliff Notes version, leaving out the parts having to do with Leo, but spilling secrets that even Naz doesn't yet know.

  Naz.

  Oh God… Naz.

  What if he never knows?

  The shock of it all rendered her speechless, and if I hadn't felt lonely enough before, now I certainly do. Nobody understands. Nobody hears me. Melody tried to listen, tried to rationalize what was going on, but no amount of 'everything happens for a reason' will ever be enough to keep me calm.

  Instead of answering, I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying to imagine another world again. A world where we're happy, where we're together, where we're away from all of this.

  A world without a target on our backs.

  A world where Naz comes home.

  A world where we can live in peace.

  A world that's just ours.

  "It'll be okay," Melody says, switching her course of action. "He's Ignazio, you
know? He's, like… he's just him. He'll be all right."

  I really want to believe that's true.

  But sometimes, people don't come back.

  And Melody knows that.

  She knows that more than a lot of people.

  And she's trying to be positive, being the best friend she can possibly be, but I can hear the apprehension in her voice. I can sense the shred of fear. This is heavy, way too heavy for such a naturally cheery girl. But it's always a possibility, every time somebody leaves, that it might be the last time you ever see them. It might be the last time they grace your world.

  "If he doesn't come back—"

  "Don't think that way," she says, cutting me off. "You can't think that way, Karissa."

  Pushing away, I sit back on the floor and pull my legs up, wrapping my arms around my knees. Silent tears stream from my eyes. I don't even know I'm crying until I feel them on my cheeks. "I'm just… I'm just so tired of never having the ground under me. I feel like we're free falling, and everything around us just keeps moving in a blur, and I don't know how to make it slow down so we can land on our feet."

  "I know," she says quietly, "but that's what happens when you fall in love with a force of nature."

  I tilt my face, looking up at her.

  She smiles sadly. "Look, I get it… I don't know really what Ignazio is like. I know the guy he wants me to know, and really, I don't think he wants me to know any part of him, but he tolerates me… because of you. So I know that side of him. And he's… intense. I'm not saying he's not nice, because he's never been not nice, but he's overwhelming. Honestly, Karissa, the man scares the shit out of me. But you love him, and I know you do… I can tell you do… because he's all consuming. It was like he got inside of you, and he gripped tight, and there's no way to get him out again unless we rip half of you out along with it. He's a force of nature. So it's really no surprise a shitstorm follows him, you know?"

  I don't know what to say as I stare at her, absorbing those words. She's never made quite so much sense before. She does heavy better than I thought.

  "Guess all those classes are paying off," I mumble. "You'll be the greatest philosopher of our generation."

  She laughs. "I'm pretty sure Kanye already holds that title. Haven't you heard?"

  I smile at that. "I'm sure we've all heard."

  "So, yeah, I know you're fed up or whatever," she says, holding her hand out toward me, to help me up, "but you gotta keep your head up."

  I get to my feet, shaking my head. "Tupac."

  "Who happens to be the greatest philosopher of the twentieth century," she says. "Screw Wittgenstein and Sellers and Rawl… Pac is where it's at."

  I appreciate her trying to lighten the mood, and it almost works, almost distracts me from reality, but a loud banging coming from the dorm room overshadows everything.

  Oh my God.

  I push right past Melody, darting into the room, almost knocking Kimberly over as the girl heads for the door. She backs up, hands up, muttering angrily, but I don't listen to what she's saying.

  Yanking the door open, my heart stops.

  It stops for just a second.

  It's the worst pain I've ever felt.

  It's like the world stopped turning, nothing more existing, before everything kick-starts back into gear. It nearly knocks the breath from my lungs when I see him standing right there.

  Naz.

  He doesn't move. I don't give him a chance to come inside. The rush of emotions, of adrenaline, of hormones, is just too much to bottle up. I let out a cry as I fling myself at him, knocking into him hard, shoving him further out into the hallway.

  He's here.

  He's alive.

  He laughs softly, wrapping his arms around me.

  He holds me tight.

  "California," I mumble against his chest.

  He's quiet for a moment before asking, "What about it?"

  "That's where I wanna go."

  Another moment of silence. His hand comes to rest in my hair, pinning me against him as he kisses the top of my head. "If that's what you want."

  It is.

  It's all a blur after that. Naz thanks Melody. I'm too much of a mess to say anything. We leave and walk right out of the dorms, his hands never leaving me. His car is haphazardly double parked out front. It's pitch black out. Midnight? Maybe later.

  The clock keeps on continuing to tick.

  It brought him back to me this time.

  He opens the passenger door but I stall there, clutching tightly to his hand, not getting in. Tears continue to stream from my eyes, and I really want to stop them, but son of a bitch... I can't.

  He pauses, too, using his free hand to brush the tears from my face. "Hey, now... it's okay. I told you I'd be back."

  "I know, but—"

  I can't even finish.

  I just cry harder.

  My chest hurts just as much with that void again filled. Now it feels like it's going to burst, like there is not enough of me to contain all of this. My world is shipwrecked and I'm clinging to that goddamn plank, desperate to believe there's enough room for both of us to hold on. But my shoulders are heavy, too much weight pressing on my chest, and if I don't unburden myself really fucking quickly, I'm going to drown.

  "But—?"

  "I'm pregnant."

  I blurt it so fast that it sounds like one jumbled word, a word that carries the weight of the world. Pregnant. I can feel the pressure on me lessening. Secrets are hard to keep. I've only known for a few hours myself, but every second that passed it ate away at me.

  This isn't how I wanted to tell him.

  I didn't know how to tell him, period, but this? This isn't how it's supposed to be. I'm not supposed to blurt it out in a bout of frightened tears.

  I don't know how he's going to react. Don't know if he'll be happy, or angry, or just as shocked as me. We weren't trying. We haven't really talked about it. I was still on the pill, but I kept forgetting to take it, and I'd try to catch up later, but a lot of good that did.

  Pregnant.

  A baby.

  Ugh, I'm gonna be sick again.

  He stares at me.

  And stares at me.

  And stares at me some more.

  I really need him to say something, but he just keeps staring, like maybe he didn't hear me. Did he? I almost blurt it out again, but I'm still crying, and the words just aren't forming like I want them to.

  He stares so hard I think he burned right through to my soul, before he tugs on my hand, pulling me closer, and says, "Get in the car."

  That's it.

  That's all the reaction I get.

  I listen and finally let go of his hand, climbing in the car. This isn't the place for it. He shuts the door for me, and I put on my seatbelt, my hands shaking. Ugh, I wish they'd stop. I wipe away my tears and try to pull myself together, expecting we'll have a conversation any second, but instead he just gets in and drives away without a word.

  I'm trembling the whole way to Brooklyn.

  I don't know what to make of anything.

  He pulls into the garage when we arrive, locking the car up, and ushers me through the side door, into the kitchen. Killer starts barking excitedly when he sees me, jumping up and down, nearly knocking me on my ass. I head to the back door, letting him out into the yard, and am considering heading right upstairs when Naz appears behind me. I see his reflection in the glass. "How sure are you?"

  Turning, I eye him warily. "On a scale of one to ten?"

  He studies my face before saying again, "How sure are you, Karissa?"

  "Uh, pretty sure, I guess... as sure as I can be. I haven't, like, peed on a stick or anything..."

  "Then how do you know?"

  There's a hint of anger in his voice then. He's trying to restrain it, but it's coming out.

  "Because the doctor said I was."

  "The doctor."

  "Yeah, when we were at the hospital."

  "At the hospital."


  "He ran some tests or whatever, and I guess he kind of just happened upon it."

  "He happened upon it."

  He's doing it again.

  Repeating my words.

  "Yes," I say. "He happened upon it."

  Naz nods, crossing his arms over his chest, his stance almost defensive, like he's trying to keep me from getting in. His face is still passive, even stoic, but his eyes are blazing. "How far along?"

  "Eight weeks."

  "So... two months."

  He looks away from me, taking a deep breath, like he's trying to steady himself.

  "You're angry."

  "I am."

  Ugh, he's not denying it.

  "Yeah, well, maybe you're not the only one."

  I try to storm away, but he grabs ahold of me, pulling me to him instead. My instinct kicks in, and I start to fight him, shoving and trying to get around him, but he just tightens his hold, pinning me there.

  I give in right away.

  When Naz wants something, he gets it, and truthfully, I feel better in his arms. He might be angry for whatever reason, but I'm terrified.

  "A month ago," he says quietly. "I choked you."

  "So?"

  "You were already pregnant."

  My stomach drops.

  That hadn't even crossed my mind.

  Leave it to Naz to fixate on that out of everything going on.

  "You didn't hurt me... or us... or whatever."

  Us. There's an us.

  There's me and this... baby.

  "I could've," he says. "I haven't been easy on you."

  "That's because I can take it. And this... uh, you know..."

  "Baby," he says quietly.

  Baby.

  Jesus Christ, I can feel the tears coming on again.

  "It has your DNA," I say. "So obviously it's stubborn as shit and gonna be resilient."

  He doesn't say anything to that.

  I don't know if I'm making a difference in how he feels.

  Probably not.

  Naz already lost a family once. He lost a baby he never got the chance to know, so I'm not really surprised by his overbearing worry.

  I just don't want him to beat himself up about it.

  People tend to get hurt when that happens.

  He lets out a resigned sigh. "So, California, huh?"

  "Yes," I whisper.

  One of the last conversations I had with my mother, she mentioned running away there. Maybe she was onto something. It's about as far away from New York as we're going to get without leaving the country.