𝗢𝗙 𝗦𝗜𝗡 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗥𝗘𝗗𝗘𝗠𝗣𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡. Twenty-three year old Vince Marquez was on the brink of destruction. A sinner of sorts that lived his life through a substance induced haze. Then one wrong choice after a series of bad decisions ends up chang...
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There was something about seeing Logan again that had me almost comparing it to coming back from active war. Granted, I had never been deployed a day in my life, but the trauma I had endured for the past six months, all on my own, to return home as a somewhat changed man made me believed this was close to what that would feel like.
It made me think.
There was a time in my life where Logan had been my pilar, as well as the mallet actively trying to take down the infostructure. It greatly summed up what he meant to me the more I thought about it. We enabled each other to do things we shouldn't. And it had taken Tony dying and me going to therapy to start seeing that.
"I heard about Tony."
Logan was blunt, but there was an apologetic tone in his voice that made me feel like I wasn't being judged on it. Mostly everyone else did. The town had labeled me a murderer, but then again, I couldn't really complain because I actually was one. It didn't matter how much mom said the opposite, I knew what I had turned myself into the second that truck hit Tony's door.
"Yeah?" I puffed out smoke.
Logan nodded. "I came back a month after it happened. You were gone by then."
I hummed in response.
"What happened to you?"
Prison happened.
Then rehab.
The process was long and dire with various court dates before I was tossed in a cell to await trial. It came to the point I had thought I would never see the light of day again. But, as always, my father swooped in and made a few bribes to the judge before I was walking free days later. It was short lived though, considering I ended up in some fancy rehabilitation center down in Sinaloa, Mexico.
"Damn."
That was Logan's only response to my confession. And honestly, I was completely fine with that. It wasn't like I was expecting one of my oldest friends to lay a soft hand on my shoulder to tell me he was glad I was okay and that he had missed me as much as I had missed him after spending six months away from each other, not knowing how either one of us was doing.
Except, I wanted him to.
But realistically, that was something I would never admit to him vocally.
My therapist had said that was one of the reasons I acted out. Paired up with the little to no attention I would get from my father because that made me feel vulnerable. It was like every single time I did something stupid or flat out illegal, dad would always appear to make the problem go away. But when I needed him for advice, or anything that involved having an ounce of emotional maturity, the man was nowhere in sight.
