Part 3Bleeding On Your Blade

I turned and walked out.

She scrambled out of the booth, chasing me down the sidewalk, begging me to listen.

I reached into the bed of my truck, grabbed my heavy gutting knife, and spun around, pointing the tip directly at her chest.

"Don't take another step."

She froze for exactly one second. Then, she smiled.

It was a smile that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Without a word of hesitation, she stepped forward, driving herself right into the blade.

The steel pierced her silk blouse, sinking a half-inch into her collarbone. Crimson blood immediately bloomed, dripping down the cold metal onto the pavement.

It took three pedestrians rushing over and physically dragging her back to stop her from impaling herself further.

She didn't look at the blood. She just stared at me, her brown contacts slipping, her real blue eyes flashing underneath, bloodshot and unhinged.

"Dean, it took everything I had to finally get out."

"Just look at me, please? I've been going crazy missing you."

"Just pity me, okay? Just like you did when we were kids. Please, Dean..."

I turned my back on her and walked to where her luxury sedan was parked.

Ten years of repressed humiliation, bitterness, and grief erupted all at once. I crouched down and took my knife to all four of her tires, slashing them until the car hissed and sank onto its expensive rims.

Staring at the ruined rubber, I felt a vicious, fleeting sense of satisfaction.

Serves you right.

When I finally got back to our dingy apartment, Sam was zoning out on the couch. He didn't even notice the bag of his favorite chips had spilled all over the rug.

Seeing me, he shot up, his eyes wide with anxiety. "Dean, how did it go? Did you guys..."

I walked over, ruffled his hair, and shoved every ounce of my chaotic emotions down into a dark box.

"Don't talk to her anymore. She's not a good person, Sammy."

"You just focus on your books. Get your degree. Let me worry about the rest of the world, okay?"

"Huh?"

I turned toward the cramped kitchen to start dinner, but he grabbed my arm, puffing out his chest defiantly.

"I'm eighteen now, Dean. I'm an adult. I can take care of you, too."

He pulled my hand away from the stove and dragged me to the small dining table. With a theatrical flourish, he pulled off the plastic covers.

A massive feast. Fried chicken, spicy noodles, boba tea, a small cake...

"You cooked this?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrank back, looking guiltily at the floor. "I mean... me, the restaurant, and the DoorDash driver teamed up. But I did the plating!"

A laugh punched its way out of my chest.

In that instant, the crushing weight of the afternoon temporarily lifted.

Later that night, after Sam had finally gone to sleep, I quietly took his phone from his nightstand. I opened his social media app and clicked on his chat with Audrey.

The screen was a wall of bright green transaction notifications. Wire transfers.

She had sent him close to eighty thousand dollars over the last few months. And Sam, like an idiot, had been happily accepting it.

Honestly? I felt a grim sense of vindication.

She owes us.

I wired every single cent from his account into mine, deleted the transaction history, and finally went to bed.

At 4:00 AM, I rode my bike down to the docks.

Rows of harsh fluorescent lights buzzed beneath the corrugated tin roofs, casting a sickly pale glow over the wet concrete. The shadows of the early-morning vendors stretched long and thin.

I was running late today. The market was already bustling with produce haulers and meat vendors.

Charlie, the butcher at the stall next to mine, leaned over the ice bins and gave me a knowing smirk.

I frowned, thoroughly confused.

But when I stepped into my stall, I stopped dead in my tracks.

The cutting boards were scrubbed raw. The water tanks were full and crystal clear. Everything was spotless.

Even my old, rusted gutting knife had been replaced with a brand-new, high-end blade.

And in the plastic crates beside the ice? Every single fish I was supposed to sell today had already been scaled, gutted, and perfectly organized by size.

Bass in one crate, cod in another, flounder carefully stacked in a third.

I crouched down. The gills were still bright red. They were fresh off the boats.

Charlie popped his head over the partition.

"You're late to your own party, Dean. Your haul came in around 3 AM. Someone was already here, netting them and cleaning them for you."

"Who?"

"Didn't catch a face. Wore a hoodie pulled low. Definitely a woman, though. You lucky bastard."