Page 24 of Rudimentary Distortion
Please forgive me, Billie.
I’m an idiot, Billie.
How can I live without half my heart?
Cain hates me sometimes. Can’t blame him. I’m surprised he’s still here.
The only time I don’t feel dead inside is when Cain hits me. Who would’ve thought being beaten black and blue would numb the pain? Well, at least for a short time. Then I come down, and terror stirs in my heart because you’re not here, Billie.
Tears brim my eyes as I read Lars’ words. I recognize the lyrics from my two favorite Gutless Void albums and finally realize why they mean so much to me. They’re about us. The four of us. The pain, the love, the rejection.
Lars wrote about it all, put everything in his lyrics, and bared his soul to random strangers as catharsis. Lars chose wordscarefully. He guarded them under a cloak with his emotions, only taking them out when he was alone. He was raised by a woman who taught him that his words didn’t make a difference in how others treated him.
Nervous energy coursed through my body. My foot tapped repetitively, and my fingers drummed my thigh. I glanced at Lars, his eyes focused on the road, lips moving to the lyrics blasting from the speakers. He didn’t speak a word until we got to his house.
He turned the music off, and we sat in silence, staring at the small bungalow with peeling siding and decaying wooden steps leading to a small porch with a white plastic chair by the door.
“It’s not much now, but it used to look good.” He pointed to the front door. “The door was blue, and we painted the porch yellow. My dad repainted it every year. He was a little obsessive about it. Apparently, he used the wrong paint. Two years after he died, it all went to shit. I wanted to fix it up, but by that time, money was scarce. Everything we had, she sold. I’m sure we’d lose the house if it weren’t in my name.”
“Your dad left the house to you?”
Lars cut the engine. “On the stipulation that my mom lives there as long as she wants, but she can’t sell it. The property has been in my father’s family for over two hundred years.”
Lars opened the door and got out before coming to my side. I smiled when he opened my door, offering me his hand.
I’d never asked to see his house. I’d never even talked to him about his mother; I'd let him talk at the meetings and left it at that. Dealing with addict parents was difficult at best, and I knew better than anyone how, as their children, we carried a sense of shame and dread. But after the meeting, he’d asked me to go for a drive, and we ended up here.
Lars kissed my hand and tugged me toward the little house. But as we entered the doorway, reality punched me in the face.
Roxanne Morgan was naked beside a big man with a needle sticking out of her arm.
Lars said nothing. He turned, grabbed my arm roughly, and dragged me back out.
“Lars, you okay?” I asked worriedly as I saw the tears he fought to hold back.
Seeing Lars cry was alarming. When he experienced sorrow, it was a bone-deep, chilling dread caused by despair. His tears were misery trapped in the belief that love brought no joy, no hope of happiness, and no promise for a brighter future.
As I bore witness to the tears silently falling from his golden eyes, my heart ached in ways I couldn’t understand or explain. I only knew that I never wanted to create that magnitude of strife in his life. I would be a source of solace for him, someone he could turn to in times of need. His shelter from the storm. I’d do for him what his mother couldn’t. I would love him.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. I wipe the tears from my face, shut the notebook, and walk to the door.
Cain stands there, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot. He looks tired, but I can only see how handsome he is. I smile and move aside so he can enter.
He kisses my cheek. “You forgive him yet?”
“Shouldn’t you be more worried about whether I’ve forgiven you?”
He leans against the desk in the corner. “I’m not the one you’re mad at.”
“You’re awfully cocky.”
Cain smirks, and I swear my panties incinerate. “We both know that’s true.”
It’s always been easier with Cain. He’s better at caring. He shows kindness and love effortlessly.
It was Cain who attracted me first. The tall, tatted, motorcycle-driving bad boy had given shelter to two lost souls because he could.
Cain is a juxtaposition, hard on the outside, but one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. Maybe that’s why I’m not as hurt by him. Deep down, I understand that he did what he felt was right—made an impossible choice with the least amount of fallout. But Lars had cut me to the bone.