I came out mostly unscathed.
A few bruises, one broken nose and a night in a holding cell.
That too only because I insisted.
I said I’d go back to the Adlers’ and finish what he had started, and so they kept me inside until I was sufficiently calmed down. And well, because I told my brother to not throw his weight around and lawyer up.
If my dad was alive, I’d stay there forever; he’d make it so.
As it is, he’s gone and my brother has this delusion that I’m a good guy and don’t deserve to spend my life in jail. Not to mention, he has enough money to make these things happen and here we are.
Me riding back in his Bentley after spending a night in jail.
“You could’ve fought back.”
“No.”
“Don’t you go to that boxing gym? So it’s not as if you don’t know how.”
“Didn’t want to.”
He makes a non-committal sound. Then, “Well, maybe this will help with your dwindling street cred. Given that your old bruises were fading away and now you have new ones.”
“Yeah, meetings should be interesting again.”
I hear a chuckle. “So you love her.”
I watch a tree with pink flowers go by. “Yes.”
No use denying it.
No use calling it something it isn’t.
It’s love.
Although I’ve only recently been informed of this.
That the thing I feel for her is called love.
This irrational jealousy. This insane obsession. This crazy need to get close to her, to somehow get inside her body and live there. To somehow get her inside mine so she could live wrapped around my heart.
If I had my way, I’d call it sickness.
But I guess love works too.
Or maybe on someone like me love does look like sickness, I don’t know.
All I know is that I do.
I do love her.
“And the problem is?” he prods.
“Me,” I tell him, still looking out the window. “I’m the problem.”
A couple of minutes of silence.
Then, “How’s that?”