Chapter Seventy-Three: My One

Marko’s hold on the tweezers is precise; it doesn’t hurt when he pulls the shards lodged in me…then again, it could be the alcohol in my system numbing me to high heaven.

I am stuck with him for lack of proper means of escape despite my insistence.

His men cleared the road only after he shuffled uncomfortably and settled beside me in the cab. A pharmacy stop had sidetracked our visit to the liquor store, but because West wished to close, we returned to my mother’s house with the bulk of Whisky he purchased out of insistence. I should say my house now, shouldn't I?

After all, what claim do the dead have on the living?

But, calling it ‘mine’ would imply I have a place to call home, a place to run to when no such place exists, not in Red Graw nor Ketria, not even in the arms of my mate.

I do not trust myself with Marko in an enclosed space, so I insisted we remain in the backyard, seated in the cold. I settled on the table of the rundown picnic chair, watching the lights in the distant h