Page 88 of Insidious Heart
“I seesomeoneis in a mood tonight.”
He grunts a few times as he stretches but doesn’t bother responding, and I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I don’t like that it makes mefeelat all.
While Little John Andrews is the only person I would have ever thought twice about over the last twelve or so years, I never put much stock into that until recently. And byrecently,I mean a few weeks ago.
The first couple years of ourrelationshipwere very teacher and student, John trying to hone my skills and use them for good while I fought the urge to go off the rails completely. Like I said, he was probably the only person I’ve ever met who knew what I was and looked past it, almost refusing to believe that’s all there was to me because he could seemorethan the monster, and for just as long I argued that theory.
But as time went on, as John started to do more than teach me to kill with efficiency and secrecy, that’s when things slowly began to shift for me.
I still fought against it, still tried like hell to hang onto the misdiagnosed mental illnesses I was slapped with as a teenager, then somewhere along the way, I realized Little John was the exception. In my own fucked up way, I actually gave a shit about him and what he thought of me, even found myselfwantingto make him proud and do right by him. For a long time, I chalked it up to how incredibly messed up my own parents were, and how even the worst of serial killers had mommy and daddy issues that manifested themselves in sick and bizarre ways, so giving my version of a shit about Little John was like that and nothing more.
Then he had his knees replaced.
I didn’t know it at the time, but seeing my mentor laid out and struggling through his post-op recovery screwed with me on some level, putting the terrifying man’s age and mortality more in my face than before, because even though things went as they should, I didn’tlikeLittle John being out of commission. And that’s why I took care of him the best I knew how during the entire time he was.
Did I think twice aboutanyof this between meeting John and a few weeks ago? Hell no, mainly because outside of him I literally felt nothing aside from murderous rage and a sick euphoria for anyone else, and that was when I was killing people.
Until I stumbled across a sweet little dove.
Hyper fixating to the point of obsession and stalking Stevie was one thing, a very expected thing to be honest, but everything else that’s come up since first seeing her in that dark parking lot was not. And the amount of reflecting I’ve been doing over the last few weeks wasn’t either.
At some point, I jumped head first into my very own existential crisis that includes wanting to claim an absolutely delicious little woman as my own in a permanent kind of way, and make friends with broody assholes, as well as experiencingguiltwhen it comes to the one and only person I was ok with developing a connection to.
How the fuck do normal people navigate all of this shit?
I would very literally rather have someone rip out my arm hair, one strand at a time, than struggle with trying to understand how other people feel and how I’m supposed to react to it in return.
But… “Well, since I make it so difficult to get anyone to help out around here, why not hire me?”
John’s brow furrows as he lowers his arms. “What?”
“I mean, you wouldn’t have to pay me so hiring me isn’t really the way to phrase it, but I could work for you.”
My mentor just blinks at me.
And I immediately regret opening my mouth.
Which has apparently developed a mind of its own as I shrug and say, “I already do a decent amount of shit around here. Not directly business-related shit, but I could take in the new vehicles and scrap, bring it all back and organize the yard more than I do now. I could run the machines and shit. And I could take the tow truck out and pick up calls when they come in so you don’t have to anymore. I know that stuff is… Ah, fuck it. Forget I said anything.”
“Hold on.” Little John blinks wide brown eyes at me before he shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re saying you want to help out more than you already do? Same way an employee would if I could hire someone?”
I nod with a shrug and feign indifference as my stomach twists in knots.
This feels too much like it did when I was a kid, like before I knew any better and would try to get on my father’s good side only to have the shit kicked out of me instead. John won’t do that but for some reason I’m already anticipating the let down and Ireallywish I’d have kept my trap shut.
“I…” Little John looks at the ground as he rubs the back of his neck. “The junkyard is legit, Tor.”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms against my chest. “I know that,Johnathon.”
“Which means if I hire anyone, you included, I need shit like a social security card and ID. Not to mention, I—well, I’d never call you selfish because that would mean you cared about yourself more than other people and you genuinely don’t care about anyone, but that said, I don’t understand what’s in it for you to help me out.”
What I can only describe as disappointment lances through my chest before it mixes with the anger I’m all too familiar with. “Forget it, then. It was just a stupid, impulsive thought brought on by watching your big ass pop out of that clown car like a busted can of biscuits.” I turn and start walking away, pissed more at myself than my mentor. “Shouldn’t have said any—”
“That’s not what I meant.” I can hear John try to catch up with me, his work boots eating up the gravel path as fast as his legs can work. “Tor. Hey, listen for a second.”
The only reason I stop is because it’s Little John, and regardless of the foreign sense of embarrassment, he’s still the only person to give any semblance of a shit about me since I was fifteen.
He huffs and puffs as he comes up next to me. “It just surprised me, that’s all. You’ve never shown interest in helping beyond the hits, and honestly, I never asked cause I’m in denial about how hard this shit is getting for me as I get older. I didn’t mean nothing by it, Tor.”
