We Told Six Lies(60)

“Fuck,” I yelled. “Fuuuuuck!”

I was going to lose my job.

I was going to lose you, Molly.

I was going to lose everything I’d grown to care about.

My phone vibrated, and I glanced down. It was you. You were going to be late coming over. You were grabbing ice cream with Rhana and Nixon.

Fucking Nixon, I thought.

Fucking Rhana.

If you and I broke up, you’d have them.

And I’d be left alone.

Again.





NOW


It’s dark outside as I lie in bed, remembering the life I nearly stole for Molly and me.

It was supposed to be the two of us together with that money. I was going to steal the cash, and she was going to meet me at a gas station. We’d take her mom’s car as far as we could, and then dump it and take the bus. Molly’s favorite thing was imagining the place we’d have together. What color she would paint the walls. What kind of couch we’d buy together. She liked to take walks and stare through people’s windows. Watch them making dinner, make note of something they had inside their home that we’d need.

I imagined I’d get a new job at another gym. Eventually, I’d start buying art online. I’d learn something about art. Or maybe I’d realize I liked the idea of being an art dealer more than actually being one. That was something I’d figure out in our life together.

Either way, that dream died when I lost my job. When I lost our chance at getting away easily. I didn’t tell her I failed at robbing Duane, so why did she run without me? She should have been waiting. I promised her I’d get it.

Why didn’t she believe me?

Frustration grows inside my gut, parasitic. As I’m slipping into a fitful sleep, my mind’s needle snags on the vinyl, the lyrics repeating until I’m a moment from snapping— Trees, green trees.

The smell of water.

A white dog.

Barking.

Breathlessness.

My hands on Molly, shaking.

My hands on Molly, shaking.

My hands on Molly’s…neck?

I bolt upright in bed, sweat drenching my body. What the fuck?

It takes me half an hour to calm down enough to chance closing my eyes again. And then, finally, release. I succumb to sleep.

But when I wake, the images are still there.

And they scare the hell out of me.





PART IV

   where did you

sleep last night





MOLLY


Blue treated her differently after the night they danced.

He brought her gifts—smooth stones from the lake, or pinecones that filled her room with an earthy aroma. He let her out of her room more often but stayed nearby.

It was on one of these days that he brought her to the water. He wrapped her in a coat and slipped boots that were two sizes too big onto her feet, made comfortable with a pair of thick black socks.

Blue motioned for her to sit on a fallen log, and she obliged. He sat next to her and stared toward the water. She watched his face, her eyes tracing the lines of his mask. When she realized he hadn’t brought along the contraption to manipulate his voice, her pulse picked up. She’d have to get him to speak. If she could hear his voice, she’d know.

But didn’t she already know?

“It’s beautiful out here, don’t you think?” she asked.

But he only nodded.

Molly thought of her father. Dug deep into the recesses of her brain to produce a nugget of twisted teachings.

People are desperate to speak of themselves, Molly. And there’s no way to get someone to open up faster than to present an opinion on something they feel passionately about. Then—and here’s the real lesson, baby girl—then you must pretend to come to their side. When they feel they’ve won you over, two things happen: they like you better than they did before, and they feel guilty for convincing you. That’s when you can ask for what it is you really want.

What was it she really wanted?

Freedom.

But could she simply ask for it? Would that even satisfy her at this point in the game? Because that’s what this was…a game.

Molly pulled her hair over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at the water. “Some people wouldn’t appreciate all this beauty.” She gave him a small smile. “Or how to just sit quietly and appreciate what it is they have.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “I knew a girl at school who never appreciated anything. She would complain about everything. One time she said it irritated her when she got too much ice cream on a cone. That she’d have to dump some out so it wouldn’t melt everywhere before she could eat it. Can you believe that? Complaining because someone gave you too much ice cream? That can’t be a thing.”

Blue scratched his wrist and continued staring forward.

“Daddy always said everyone begins the race at the starting line. And when the gun fires, some people run, and some find excuses for why they can’t keep up even though they’ve got two good legs.”

Blue cracked his neck, and Molly weighed her next words carefully.

“Out here, you’re really reminded to just be appreciative. And to stop making excuses.”

Blue held up a hand, silently telling her that was enough.

But she was far from done.