Constance thought she could finally stop looking over her shoulder. She has a steady job as a hairstylist, rents a small apartment next door to her best friend, and keeps a routine that distracts her just enough to not have to dwell on her past.
All...
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What is wrong with me? I had fallen out of my chair, yelled at the twins and planned on yelling at Scissors for her choice of clothing- if you can even call it that- and I learn there is a bounty on my head but the second she held my hand all of my anger went to the back of my mind.
I have had my way with plenty of women but not one of them has been gentle with me. They wanted to scratch and bite, not that I minded it. With Constance, she is soft when she feels I need it yet holds her ground when she thinks I'm pushing too hard. She didn't cower when she learned I had killed before and seemed disinclined to ask me about it. But most of all, she defied me. People don't argue with me and definitely don't ignore me but Scissors does. I both admire and hate that about her.
When I told her to change, she came back with a more revealing . . well, I'm not sure what to call it. A dress? Lingerie? Whatever it was, it would have been fantastic had nobody else seen it.
At some point she had forgotten that our hands were intertwined or maybe she didn't. Sure, the twins gave us some strange looks but if she didn't care then neither did I. The problem is that her hand fits in mine so comfortably. Mine just about engulf hers and it seems almost natural that they stayed that way until I left her at her door.
"I need my hand back, Scissors." I told her.
Not that I wanted it back. I'd much rather her be holding onto it for safe keeping but I can't give her what she wants or needs. I can't kiss her today, love her tomorrow and stay with her like she deserves.
If I take that step with her, it'll hurt because when she wakes up one day in her own bed, I'll be gone. Constance can do much better than me so I push her away.
It's what's best.
So I find myself laying in bed, staring at the ceiling contemplating my life choices up to this point.
I think about Darlene, the woman that raised me after dad died and how she cared for me better than my own family did. She didn't care about my trust fund or the old money I came from like everyone else in my life. She wasn't afraid to show me tough love and teach me the most important life lessons like how to wash my own clothes and to balance a checkbook but also other minor things like how to treat women like an equal worthy of all my devotion.
When she died, I promised her I'd do good by her. I swore to be the man she knew I could be.
So what have I done to honor her memory? I got drunk and slept with every available vagina until I got black listed from the FBI.
The years passed by with me numbly trudging along. I've killed, stole and fought my way through most of Europe in the name of chasing thieves and retrieving artifacts. Those years I fancied myself the real Indiana and walked the earth as if it was created just for me. I slept with women from around the world and accumulated more money than I inherited.
