Three days.
That's how long Cody allowed himself to rest before he forced himself out of the bed.
He was still covered in bruises that were turning blue and yellow, and he still looked like Frankenstein's monster, but at least he could open his eyes now and the blinding headache had eased.
Still, it hurt to pull up the tight, black jeans. He cursed silently when he had to button them up, and pulling the black, long-sleeved T-shirt over his head was pure agony as the battered muscles on his arms and back ached with every move he made.
To push the pain away, he let his mind wander to Sky.
Hell, she occupied his thoughts every moment of the day and these past days had made his feelings a thousand times more intense. She had spent so much time here with him, that now, without her, he felt empty, hollow, desolate. He had already gotten used to having her by his side, listening to her sweet voice when she talked about anything and everything, or when she read a book to him. He couldn't believe that she had spent hours just reading to him. No one had done that since—
Well, since before David and Leigh were born, when Mom hadn't yet given up on him.
Cody took a deep breath, trying to drive away that painful memory, and Sky's scent filled his nostrils, filled his heart. It was like breathing in love, he could never get enough of it. She had only left half an hour ago and her scent still lingered in the room - vanilla, roses - and he hoped it would never fade.
He knew he didn't deserve the kindness she was giving him, the care.
No one had taken care of him like this, not in a long time, and even if Sky said it wasn't a big deal, to him it was.
She had been here every day. And every time she left, she said that she would come back the next day, but he never believed her. Why would she? He knew he was nothing to her, barely even her friend. She had no obligation to visit him, to show him kindness, to help him. But every day she came back, proving Cody wrong time after time, filling his heart with hope that was the sweetest thing he had ever felt.
Determinedly, she had removed the filthy, blood-stained sheets and washed them, replacing them with a set of clean ones. She had helped him to take a shower and as he had sat on the floor, leaning on the tiled wall barely able to stay conscious, Sky had gently washed the sticky, dried lumps of blood and puke off his hair. She had brought some kind of ointment and messaged it carefully on his bruises, and after, she had helped him to change into a clean set of clothes. She had made sure he ate and drank and took his meds, and not once had she complained or said she had better things to do.
And how had he repaid her?
With lies.
Sky didn't know he loved her, and the longer he kept it a secret, the heavier it grew. But how could he be honest about it, remembering how it had ended the last time?
I love you too, Eli.
Those words still hurt more than the bruises and the cuts, and now, after the beating her ex had given him, they were even harder to take than before.
Love. It makes fools of us all.
And he was the biggest fool, getting in the middle of that unfinished drama between Sky and Hawk - a drama that had almost gotten him killed.
Cody pushed Sky off his mind the best he could and stepped in his sneakers, letting out a pained groan as he had to bend to tie the laces. There were things he had to do, things he had pushed on for too long already, things he had to focus on, and if he was thinking about Sky, he couldn't do them.
He took his black denim jacket, shrugged it on with a silent curse, then slowly walked to his closet, unlocked the door, and took the silvery case that was hidden on the highest shelf behind a pile of old T-shirts and comic books. It wasn't much bigger than a large book, but a lot heavier. Carefully he laid it down on his desk and opened the code lock, flipped up the lid, and hesitated only for a heartbeat or so before taking the gun.
It was cold in his grip, and as always, surprisingly heavy for its size.
It was a small handgun, nothing fancy or expensive, easy to use, and inconspicuous enough to be hidden under the jacket. He made sure the gun was loaded and that the safety was on before he pushed it under the waistband of his jeans against his back, where it fitted perfectly. No one would know it was there, no one could see that he carried death with him.
His chest felt heavy, his senses extra sharp as he made his way downstairs, hoping he wouldn't run into anyone. The pain shot through his bruised body with every step, making his jaw clench tight.
"Where are you going?" asked Mom, as he walked past the kitchen towards the front door.
Cody turned to look, a tension spreading through his spine, turning his shoulders rigid.
Mom was sitting at the dining table, cradling a glass of Chianti in her hands. The shade of her painted nails was exactly the same as of the wine in the glass. Her long, blond hair fell around her face in soft, flawless waves, but her eyes were cold, as always, cold and tired and disappointed.
"Out," Cody replied, after a short silence.
"You should be in bed—"
"Awww - it's so sweet when you pretend that you actually care." There was a hint of steel in Cody's voice, and he didn't even try to hide it.
Mom's tone turned icy. "Go back to your room. What will the neighbors think if they see your face?"
He didn't show the hurt those words caused. For years he had tried to do everything right, to be the perfect son, to get the best grades, to do anything and everything he could think of that would make his parents proud, to prove to them that he was worthy, that he could be the son they deserved, the son they would love. But nothing had ever been enough, and he knew by now that the day when they were proud, the day when they cared, would never come. For them, he would always be a failure - so he might as well act like one.
"I don't know. Maybe they'll think you did this?" Cody said, not waiting for Mom's reply as he walked out of the house and slammed the door behind him.
The drive wasn't long, the person he was going to meet lived in the same neighborhood, but Cody had left early, just to be sure, and now he had to wait in his car for a while before he saw the other car arriving and stopping in front of a big, expensive house. Cody felt his pulse quickening, a nervous tension spread to his body as he stepped out of his car and tucked the gun into the back of his jeans. His heart was ticking in his throat as he watched how the door of the garage opened and the other car drove in. He followed by foot, slipping in quietly, like a shadow when the driver wasn't paying attention.
The tall, dark-haired boy stepped out of the car, oblivious to Cody's presence. He took the gym bag from the back seat, his eyes on his phone as he laughed at something, scrolling through Insta, and that sight made Cody's anger stir, it brought a venomous taste to his lips that were pulled back in a sneer.
That asshole.
Cody knew well enough it had been him, who had posted the photos on Instagram. Those damn photos of him on the bathroom floor with a caption that said the best role of his life.
Those words hurt even more than the pictures because they captured the worst fear Cody had. The suffocating fear that he would never make it out of here, that he was never going to be an actor, that what he was running away from would find him and he would end up just like that, just like his birth mom, high as fuck and bleeding to death on the floor of some random bathroom without anyone giving a shit.
But he wasn't here to get revenge, no matter how much he would want to. He was here to do a job, to play a part, and for that, he needed to calm the fuck down.
Cody stepped out of the shadows and pulled his gun, his hand trembling only slightly.
"Kyler Park," he spoke slowly, very clearly. "You have something that belongs to me."
The phone slipped from Kyler's fingers as he swirled around, it fell to the concrete floor and the screen shattered.
"Cody—?" He frowned, and then, noticing the gun "What the fuck—!"
"Keep it down," Cody stated. "Don't even think about calling for help."
"Jesus—! Just put the gun down! What— what the fuck do you want?"
Cody tilted his head to the side and listened, but the night was silent. If there were people in the house, they probably hadn't heard Kyler, at least not yet.
"You took something from me." It was a struggle to keep his voice even, but he managed. "If you think I'm the dealer you can rob without consequences, think again. Either you give back what's mine, or it's your brain on the wall."
Kyler's face went pale, his legs were trembling.
"Jesus—! I don't have it anymore! I swear—"
"Sucks to be you, then," Cody spoke and cocked the gun.
"No, no, no, no, fuck! Dude, I can pay—"
"Well, in that case." Cody clicked the safety back on but didn't lower the gun. "My money. Now."
He had never seen Kyler Park this scared, and on any other day, he would have enjoyed it. But now, Cody was only tired. His arm was trembling slightly as he tried to hold the gun steady, there were droplets of cold sweat on his forehead and his legs were weak. He desperately hoped he wouldn't faint.
"Now—!" He growled, still pointing the gun at Kyler, who was rummaging through his wallet, his fingers shaking so that the bills were raining on his feet.
"Just— just take everything!" Kyler stuttered, emptying his wallet onto the floor. "Take all I have, just don't fucking shoot me—"
Cody scoffed, looking at Kyler's pathetic face.
"If you or any of your friends bother me again, I will shoot you in the head, Kyler. Tell me you understand."
He swallowed hard. "I— I understand."
Cody kept the gun pointed at Kyler, as he crouched down to pick up the money. There was more than the drugs had been worth, but Cody took all of it. Hell, after what that asshole had put him through, he was entitled to some kind of compensation.
"Are we—" Kyler had to clear his throat. "Are we good now?"
Cody stood up slowly and stuffed the bills into the pocket of his jacket. "Care to open the door for me?"
Kyler's hands were trembling when he searched his pockets for the car keys, finally found them and the remote control for the garage door. The door behind Cody's back started rolling up and the cool night air flowed into the room, easing the dizziness that was threatening to overwhelm him.
"That's a good little bitch. Now, run to mommy." Cody tilted up his chin and flashed Kyler a dark smile.
Kyler did as he was told, he backed off from Cody as quickly as he could, almost falling down once or twice before he reached the door at the other end of the garage.
With a silent groan, Cody finally lowered the gun and stuffed it back under the waistband of his jeans.
Every muscle in his body ached and hurt as he slowly made his way back to his car and started it, but that wasn't the worst part.
His heart was heavy, his thoughts darker than the night that surrounded them. He couldn't feel any joy or triumph about this encounter, even if Kyler had deserved it.
Hawk would deserve to be scared shitless too, and the rest of that gang, but Cody wasn't going to go down that road. It was one thing to use the gun to settle a drug debt, but to point the gun at some guy just to make them scared?
No. It felt wrong. It was like JD taking the baseball bat just because he was bigger and stronger and he could. Cody didn't want to be him. He didn't want to be the guy who ended up shooting someone. It would ruin everything, he would never get out of this place, and Sky—
She had a scar from a gun wound on her shoulder. Cody didn't know the story behind it, but he was willing to bet Sky wouldn't appreciate it if he shot her ex-boyfriend.
Who she was still in love with.
With the thought of Sky, came a sudden sadness. It was hopeless, the love he had for her, hopeless and sad, it was a net of lies and yet it was the only real thing in his life, the only thing that made sense at all.
Cody's hands on the steering wheel were trembling from exhaustion. When he parked the car in front of his house, he found no strength to stand up, to face Mom, to climb the stairs back into his room where the air still smelled like Sky. He sat in the car for a long time, staring into the night. The gun lay on the passenger seat, the money in his pocket was dirty, and he was tired, so tired of this life.
What am I, but a shadow?
Sometimes he felt like he didn't exist at all.
Sometimes I feel like that too. As if I've already ceased to exist. Who would even notice if I melted away like a shadow?