Page 54

FIFTY-FOUR

Habits (Stay High) Rain Paris

I’m happy again!

‘No, you’re drunk again.’

Same thing, Buff. Same thing.

But deep down, I’m sensing that there is a difference. I used to think being drunk was being happy. It was the only time I truly felt at ease.

Until now. Until Logan and his annoyingly protective and slightly obsessive interest. His rings and syrup and dominating power. Until Dakota and his scared, sweet submission. His Cheetos and freckles and Sir Ellington.

As soon as Dakota confronted me, I downed a few more shots to keep the world in place. And yet, everything is still spinning out of control. It’s happening again. I can never get away from the injustice. No one ever gets justice. Not Ember. Not Dakota. Not Greyson.

Not me.

I’m back, spinning in the same circle. But this time, it feels worse. This time, I’ve actually been…happy. So this time, when the past happens all over again, dragging me down with it, it feels even more cruel.

I stare at the wall in Dakota’s bathroom. I’ll never defeat this cycle. I was never meant to. I’m the clean-up sponge. I’m the opened mayo jar.

I was always meant to expire, which is cruel because maybe this is the first time I actually didn’t want to.

I squeeze my fists together.

The rage is back. It’s my old friend. It smothers the happy parts in me and makes me feel like I’m in a fog. But, occasionally, it makes me funny, so I guess that’s cool too, right?

Logan told me that Greyson’s case was swept under the rug. That the cop barely spent any time on it, giving some bullshit excuse about why they couldn’t investigate. It turns out Apex has been around for a long time, even before I started my shift. Because power breeds corruption, and there will always be a little pedophilia in corruption.

I stare at the sunscreen on the sink.

Logan said that there’s a new player that Callum and Vox work for—some Damien Ryker shit. He’s the guy who we pissed off by our kills. Because he has a soft spot for the money that high-level pedophiles have. And he employed the cop who let Greyson’s abuser go.

It’s clear that no one else will demand justice. Just me. Just me speaking up for all the voices who could never speak up for themselves. I came to this conclusion as soon as I quit my job all those months ago: This is my contribution—to take back power for every child who couldn’t do it for themselves. To kill until I’m killed. It’ll never reverse time and make things right. But it will make things fair .

Buffalo’s voice comes into my head, ‘But if you have to pick between being fair and being happy…why don’t you pick being happy?’ He sounds….sad.

“I don’t get to pick.” I stare at the bottom of the sink, the drain where everything gets washed away.

‘Maybe you do.’

I don’t, though. The rage that’s been my constant companion is already here. It’s already filling my body in a manic, murderous state. I can’t get rid of it. I’ve tried. Nothing makes the injustice better. I wish I could wash it away. Open my head, get in the shower, wash the rage out, then go back to life as normal. But I can’t do that. Nothing can.

Nothing except me getting my own justice for those who couldn’t.