The Sound of Broken Ribs(69)
“How do you figure?”
“You’ve resorted to kidnapping, and I’m still not entirely sure I believe you only want answers. A part of me firmly believes you plan to blow my brains out the back of my head the second I answer all your silly questions. First a piece of my mind. Then the whole thing.”
“You should’ve been a writer.”
“You should fuck off.”
“I was being serious. You have a way with words.”
“Well, still, fuck off. You know damn well I have no future. Even if I make it out of here, it’s unlikely Carl won’t flip on me. He won’t go to jail if he can help it, which means telling the cops that I’m the only reason there’s a dead woman in the hotel room next to ours. Once he tells them that and they check for a second set of prints, they’ll give him a deal. I’ve watched enough news and crime shows to know how that kinda shit works. So, whether or not you shoot me, I’m fucked. Why don’t you just do what you’re going to do and get it over with.” It’s wasn’t a question. More of an order.
Lei sighed. “I don’t want to kill you, Belinda. I want to understand. I guess that’s why I’m here. I’d love nothing more than to bash your face in with this gun—”
Belinda pinched her blood-caked nose and said, “Been there. Done that.”
“I’m talking about bashing until I can see what the inside of your skull looks like. I won’t lie to you, Belinda. I’d like that. I’d like to—how did you put it? I’d like to destroy something. I’d like to ruin you. Simply shooting you would be boring and too quick. I want to rip your arm off at the elbow and beat you until I hear your ribs break and your kneecap shatter like glass, and your jaw needs to be wired shut for three months. I want you laid up in a hospital for weeks on end. I want you to worry that a man will never want to kiss you again, much less fuck you. I want you to lay awake at night with pain keeping your eyes pinned open and the pain meds not coming near to covering the amount of agony you’re in. And then I want you to go mad and start seeing shit. I want you to imagine the things I’ve seen. I want to watch you collapse under the weight of your own pain.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What?” Lei couldn’t believe her ears. “Did you just apologize to me?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry that you want to do all that to me. Must suck to carry that much hate with you. That kinda shit eats away at a person. Trust me—I know. I wanted to do much the same to my husband when he vanished on me. But we don’t get the revenge we want or need. You can’t bring yourself to do any of what you just said. Shit, you can’t even bring yourself to shoot me.”
Lei looked down at the gun and her trigger finger, which had once more reverted to laying against the guard.
Lei was quiet for some time, her eyes resting on the gun she pointed at Belinda.
Finally, she looked up, her vision blurry, and said, “Why are we here?”
“How the fuck am I supposed to know? You brought me here, not the other way around.”
Lei wiped away falling tears with the back of her gun hand. “Why did you take out your husband leaving on me?”
“I guess you were as good as anyone else.” Belinda shrugged. “See, that’s what you fail to realize. This had nothing to do with you. You got all smashed up because I had a temporary moment of insanity. That’s it. That one unfair moment changed both of our lives. You can bitch and whine and cry and complain all you want, but this hasn’t been all shits and giggles for me, either. Somewhere along the way, I became a fucking monster, and I don’t even remember when it happened. I almost killed you, and I stood around and watched your private eye choke to death on a pair of goddamn socks. Goddamn socks. Nothing but a freak accident that I likely could’ve stopped had I acted, but I didn’t. I just stood there. Carl, too. Neither one of us did a fucking thing to save that woman. There was a time when I might’ve jumped out into traffic to save a stranger from getting hit by a car. But those days are long gone. Because once you cross that line there is no turning back. Once you so much as attempt to kill someone, everything changes for you. Imagine not knowing who you are. Imagine how the fuck I feel.”
“I don’t care how you feel, Belinda.”
“I know. Nobody seems to. And you know what? That’s unfair. I didn’t do anything to anyone before I hit you with my car. Nothing. I didn’t deserve having my husband walk out of my life and take my livelihood with him. I didn’t deserve the desperation and terror and uncertainty I felt. I could lie and say I was a different person when I bounced your face off my car hood, but that would be a fucking lie. The truth is—it felt good. It felt fucking great to have control over something. If only for a single goddamn second, I had control over whether or not you lived and died. I had control over your future even if I didn’t have control over mine. It felt amazing. It felt… it felt right.”
“It wasn’t right. What you did was the furthest thing from right.”
“Why? Did I ruin your life? You seem to be doing pretty fucking good to me. Short a few pieces, but I think it all came out in the wash. Got a new book coming out. Face on the cover of magazines. Yet here you are, trying your best to fuck all that up. For what? For a chance to do to me exactly what I did to you? Is that it? If so—why? I’m nothing, author lady. Nothing and no one. I don’t even exist in your world. Had I not run your ass over, you’d be no different. Sure, maybe you could beat off your man with two hands instead of one, but you’re otherwise better off now than you were. You cannot tell me that the publicity you received from your tragic hit and run didn’t help your book sales. I bet everyone this side of dead ran out and bought your shit. Why? Because of me, goddamn it. Because of me!” Belinda repeatedly jabbed her thumb between her breasts. “And what did I get for my troubles? A dead brother and a life on the run. So fuck you, Miss Woe-is-Me. Fuck. You. Whatever you’re going to do, just fucking do it. If you’re looking for remorse, or any of that horseshit, you’re not going to get it. Because I did nothing wrong.”