Page 3 of Bleed Me

Red shook his head. “That’s the question of the night, brother. And no time for answers. To the ground he goes.”

“No shit?” asked the biker, appearing surprised. “Where’s JB?”

I was surprised by how everyone knew of Delilah. I was with her every day, yet had never seen Red nor the biker in the truck.

“Home. Diesel’s headed there now.” Red walked to me, pulling out a knife. “Take it like a man, kid. Let your last breaths be with pride.”

I was in shock as he cut me down. I just stood there, dumbfounded that I had hurt Delilah and was now dying for it. No, I didn’t struggle as they put me in the truck. I agreed, I deserved to be killed. And I didn’t struggle out on Highway 94—the dark road with a hell of a curve that, if you misjudged, your car would ram into a huge oak tree. After being shoved behind the steering wheel of Delilah’s car, Red and the ‘cage’ driver prepped the car to self-destruct. I stared out the windshield and at that tree. It was where they wanted me to crash and die.

“I’ll do it.”

I was numb. It was somewhat serene to know it was almost over. Even though I didn’t know why I had multiple personalities, I could still feel the sadness that caused them. I think I could always sense the darkness that was there, hiding, waiting to be discovered. Can’t explain how or why, but I was sure I didn’t want to know the truth. So, that tree became a beacon—a calling to end all the underlying pain I lived with every day.

My eyes drifted down to the passenger floorboard and saw Delilah’s purse. It was haunting. I had driven her home from school yet never remembered seeing it there, but I knew what was in it. A buddy had told me he saw her buying some pills at school. Reaching over the gear shift, I blindly searched the inside of the purse until I felt the bottle. I pulled it out, a typical orange bottle with the prescription label scratched off. Had my actions driven Delilah to this?

Viola screaming at me, flashed in my mind again. My chest seized in painful regret.

My eyes drifted back to the tree. I don’t deserve to live after causing Delilah unforgivable harm.

My hands gripped the steering wheel, and again I said, “I’ll do it.”

Red and the other biker chose to not use the rope for the steering wheel or the stick for the gas pedal. With the car in park, I was already pressing on the gas. As the engine roared and I built the courage to shift the car into drive, Red and the biker shut the doors and backed away. Art was yelling, but I didn’t bother to listen. As soon as the coast was clear, I whispered my goodbye to Tucker, my best friend who should never forgive me, to Delilah, a girl who should have never loved me, and to my mother, who probably didn’t care whether I lived or died. Then, I slipped the car into drive.

The wheels spun, fighting the power of the engine, trying to gain traction. Fishtailing, the car surged forward with force. My eyes never left the tree. I watched it get closer and closer until it became embedded in the car.

Blinking awake, my ears rang from the pressure and shock of the collision. The tree was now so close, it took a few seconds to understand what I was seeing. The hood had caved and was bent around the trunk. I was sure the engine, as designed, had dropped and slid under the car because the rest of the front of the vehicle was pressed against my feet.

The windshield was cracked, and the car was now making hissing noises that sounded like water hitting a hot surface. Boots pounding on the ground is what I heard next. Then yelling voices. “Holy shit! The crazy fuck! Get him out of there!”

What?

Did I deserve to be rescued? Maybe not, but that didn’t stop the bikers from trying. After learning the driver door would no longer open, the window shattered with the impact from the butt of a gun. In shock, I barely lifted my arms in time to block the glass from hitting my face.

I’ll never forget the look on Art’s face when he took hold of the front of my shirt and started yanking me from the car. His expression was full of disbelief and… respect. He grunted, due to my weight, but managed to say, “Whichever personality has that set of balls, hold on to him, Kenny.”

Without another word, he dropped me to the ground, then helped Red shove the body of the overdosed man through the broken window. Red, with urgency, said, “There’s pills in the car. This will make sense.”

As if this was not the first time to a scene that was staged the way they needed it to be found, the other biker came running around the back of the car. “I got the tank leakin’. Set this bitch on fire.”

Art grabbed the back of my shirt I was laying on and dragged me across the dirt while Red pulled a pack of matches from his front pocket. Also backing away, he lit the whole package then threw it underneath the car. Waooom! The car set ablaze.

Stunned. I was absolutely stunned. “W-What the hell are you guys doing?”

Art yanked me up from the ground. “Diesel must have had a change of heart.”

I don’t know when he had pulled up, but another biker was there, talking over his rumbling Harley. “He said get your asses out of here. Now. They’re comin’.”

Everyone was rushing, dragging me toward the truck. I asked, “Who’s on their way?” When no one answered, just kept hustling, covering their tracks, I figured it out. I begged, “Wait! Let me see her! I need to tell her I’m sorry!” But no one bothered to oblige.

I was shoved into the truck, and we raced away.