Volume IX: The Art of Sauntering Vaguely

10. Identity Fraud

For the record -

My name is Deacon.

Yes. I’m aware that it’s a boy’s name. What can I say? My family was insane.

This is me running away from my old life. This is me starting over. You see how well it’s going? Maybe one day, I’ll tell you what I was running away from, why I got up and left. Until then, here we are. This is my new life. This is starting over.

I ran away from gang troubles and Linkon and all else. And here I am. Back in the same city I started in. Hopefully this time, the mess will clear itself out.

Saying I have no family is a lie. I have one, somewhere, but they’re not important. I’m not getting into that right now. Right now, I’m here, in this.

I knew I had to get away but I had no way out at the moment. I would have to suffer this until the end. I’d run the course and try to survive. This was a game of survival now. I had nothing left to lose. And dangerous is the person with nothing to lose.

My body was wrecked. My soul was sold. My heart was bleeding. All I had left was the absolute, indestructible drive to keep moving. I’d come this far and the road wasn’t getting any shorter. I’d get up and keep going. Running away didn’t seem to be doing anything for me. So I’d fight this war, one way or another. I just needed to heal up first. Not even fully, but enough to stand. I couldn’t let them think I was running scared. I couldn’t let them think I was afraid of them. Linkon would get off on that. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

My only real option was lack of failure.

I stayed in bed for about a week then went home. I gave my thanks to Irish and Colt, and walked there myself. I didn’t want help or protection anymore. It would only get in the way, cause more trouble. I just needed to figure things out on my own for a change. I needed to stand my own ground. And from there, I could do anything. I got home and laid down on my own bed for a while to think. My eyes stared into the surface of the ceiling, then past it for miles. My mind wandered to the possibilities, to the infinite. I just needed to make it past this.

Past this one last man.

Linkon Ransom was my downfall. Because I didn’t deal with him when I was supposed to, now he’d come for me. He’d always be there unless I finished this. But I couldn’t exactly walk up to him and blow his brains out, no matter how much I wanted to - it would be a suicide mission. But I decided then and there, that I would have to. Despite all else. It was my only escape. I had to end this. The gangs were already at war. Fuck this. The waiting and wondering. This was a new day. This was the rest of my life. This was my taking the reins and pulling this fucker back into control. My control.

I got up, took a shower, and changed. I grabbed my coat on my way out the door, taking a quick glance around the place to see if I’d forgotten anything. I’d done a lot of writing since...the incident. I couldn’t say the word, I could barely think it; I was still fairly scarred. And I closed the door behind me. There was no point in locking it - I had nothing worth stealing. It’d all been stolen already.

See also - my innocence.

I walked to the bar. I didn’t have anything with me but ambition. I walked fast, not wanting to waste a moment. I got there to find it busy, as usual. Irish was behind the bar, talking to Colt who was seated close to her, in a distant corner. They both turned to see me as I walked in. Dusk was standing next to his brother, in his circus attire; ready to turn and leave when I stepped in. I felt like the whole place stopped because I walked in.

Aren’t you tired of being weak?

Yeah. I am.

Straight up to the bar. Step. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Hand on the counter. Make eye contact. Look and sound convincing.