Murder For Hire Read online

  You did that all on your own, I chastised, not allowing such bullshit to slide. I couldn't go around blaming other people for the mess I’d created, on my own, of my own free will. No one forced me to sleep with her. I knew it was a mistake and did it anyway, and it was on me to deal with the consequences.

  The saddest part was I still missed her at times. I was so messed up, on so many levels, that it was beyond tragic.

  "Outraged," Professor Cardamom's voice snapped me back to reality.

  "You are absolutely right, Professor. I ruined everything, but in my defense, I thought I was doing it for all the right reasons, for love." Even to me that sounded hollow, considering I knew the truth about Bella now.

  "It saddens me to discover we do not share the same moral values," he replied with a deep, painful sigh.

  Assessing the evidence, I couldn't quite argue that wasn't the case.

  "You were my best pupil, Dean. I had such high hopes for you, and you disappointed me the most."

  There was nothing else that could be said after that.

  I left his office in a daze, almost drunk-like as his words echoed inside my head. Professor Carmody's words and general demeanor toward me hurt me more than losing a job ever could. Even Bella’s dumping me couldn't shake me this completely, to the core of my being.

  Having the only father figure that I'd ever cared about say all those things to me made me feel utterly hopeless. I had nothing left in my life. I had no one.

  Roaming about the empty streets of the city I’d called home my entire life, I felt utterly alone. I walked until my feet started to hurt and beyond. I couldn't stop, I couldn't turn back because I had no place to go back to. I felt like I’d managed to hit rock bottom. Looking at all the bad decisions I'd made, I couldn't fathom what had propelled me to act in such a way.

  At some point, I had everything, a great job, students I liked, great colleagues, Professor Carmody, and a certain stature. And I fucked everything up because I thought I fell in love. Was I always that self-destructive without actually noticing it? Not that it mattered at the moment. I was all alone in this world and I hated every second of it.

  Up to this point, I'd never contemplated suicide. Not when I was seizing, not when I was nursing my wounds from my father's beatings. Not even when my mother left me did I break down. I looked at the bridge I was currently walking under. It would be so easy to simply call it quits . . .

  One small jump and it would be game over. It wasn't like anybody would care what happened to me or miss me. Professor Carmody was beyond disappointed with me, Bella had only used me, and my father . . .

  A vivid memory of my father smashing my science project since I only won second place came to mind. "Second place means you are a first loser."

  So, it was pretty obvious what he would think about the train wreck that was my life. I was sure he already knew everything. Some of his friends must have mentioned something. He must be loving that. His disgraced son was always ruining his life and reputation with each breath he took.

  What was I going to do now? With no job, I would lose my apartment. Not to mention that without insurance provided by my employer, I couldn't pay for my treatments, my medications. Maybe I should kill myself.

  Shelving that thought for some other time, I decided to return home while I still had a roof over my head.

  The seizure that followed didn't come as a surprise, considering what happened to me within mere days. It didn't last long. Unfortunately, I woke up in the middle of the highway in only my underpants. I had only a second to register my surroundings before a car hit me straight on.

  Chapter Six

  I was hospitalized. The poor driver tried to brake, yet it was too late for a miracle like that. As far as I could remember, it only hurt for a little bit before I lost consciousness.

  It was a divine intervention that the hit didn't kill me on the spot. I still wondered why whoever saved me had bothered. I knew that was highly ungrateful of me, but it couldn't be helped. Perhaps it would have been better if I became nothing more than a smudge, a bloodstain in the middle of the road. Better for everyone around me and certainly better for me.

  Unfortunately, I remained alive, if not quite kicking. I had so many fractures, internal injuries, and complications that at some point I believed every doctor in the entire hospital, from every field imaginable, had worked on me. They had to keep me in an induced coma for four days before trying to wake me up. I didn't for an additional twenty-four hours. As it turned out, I didn't like to be rushed.

  All joking aside, I stayed tied to the hospital bed for two and a half months. That was due to the fact that my injuries were severe, at some point life-threatening, and that wasn't all. Because my misfortune didn't seem like enough, the universe decided to add something extra, an additional torment for shits and giggles. I had several more seizures that were pretty violent and so severe my doctor feared they could cause permanent brain damage.

  It was like my brain injuries caused by the traffic accident added to my additional one, creating super seizures. Thankfully, I didn't end up a vegetable. All the same, I did sign a DNR just in case. I didn't want that kind of existence.

  Considering all of this, it was no wonder I became extremely depressed, even suicidal. Alongside a physical therapist, I was immediately appointed to a resident psychiatrist since nobody believed me, at least at first, that I simply woke up in the middle of the road.

  My doctor believed I’d tried to kill myself. Maybe on some subconscious level that had merit, I agreed. My psychiatrist set them all straight after one interview with me. That didn't mean she believed I was all right in the head. That wasn't a technical term, but as a psychologist, I believed I was allowed a little bit of leeway since I actually knew all the technical terms and could use them if I wanted to.

  My shrink, the one the hospital provided for me, Dr. Imelda Blake, was nothing like I suspected one would be at this place. What could I say? Even I had certain prejudices, yet I was man enough to admit it. She was extremely intelligent with a weird sense of humor, and her general demeanor really put me at ease.

  I found myself talking with her even when I didn't feel like talking. And it helped. I continued to see her, go to therapy, so to speak, long after I finally left that damn hospital, and on my own two feet, which wasn't that easy to accomplish considering my state months earlier.

  Eventually, I started looking forward to Dr. Blake's visits. Staying in the hospital was the worst. When I wasn't on physical therapy or having my sessions with the shrink, I was quite bored. Not to mention my mind did its best to torment me every second of the day with my greatest hits—read greatest failures—and it was a pretty hefty list.

  As much as I wanted to leave the hospital as soon as possible, I was also dreading it. I was practically an invalid who required special therapy for my busted shoulder and right leg, had to go and talk with a shrink regularly, had no place to stay, and no money since I’d never bothered to save any and was swimming in debt. I had my student loans before this delightful event, and now I had massive hospital bills as well. It was insane how much they charged for the smallest of things while being treated, especially when you didn't have any coverage.

  I was certain I would be paying these debts for the rest of my life and beyond. If anyone is stupid enough to hire me, that is, I thought glumly. If it wasn't for my daily talks with Dr. Blake, I would definitely try to end it all. I still thought about it from time to time. That wasn't the same as actually forming a concrete plan and trying to execute it.

  Dr. Blake was solely responsible for my being alive. She was my emotional lifeline. I liked her from the first moment she came into my room. I had been prepared to brush her off, but she beat me to the punch. She started talking as though we were long-lost friends and it felt nice.

  I found myself talking, actually sharing, and over time, small chips on my shoulders started to fall off.

  "Screwing one of your students isn't particul
arly interesting," she commented as I shared my story.

  "It was to me while I was doing it," I replied instantly, and she laughed.

  "What were you thinking?"

  "I know. I wasn't. It's such a cliché," I replied with a small shrug which brought discomfort to my busted shoulder.

  "Actually, that's not the first thing that came to mind," she countered.

  Dr. Blake was the first to point it out to me how I had a thing for inappropriate women. Considering all the women I had been with, she was right. It was only that I never looked at things in that way.

  They say you study psychology mostly so you can learn about yourself and try to fix what is broken. That was definitely true in my case. It was simply that eventually, I’d stopped looking in, not particularly liking what I saw, and refocused on everyone else. That denial had cost me everything.

  "I guess you're right," I allowed. "But don't we all have our kinks?" I tried to finish it with a joke. The operative word was tried since she didn't find it funny.

  I was trying to deflect. She knew it, I knew it, and she was having none of it. Her next question confirmed as much.

  "Are you attracted to me?" she asked, completely taking me by surprise.

  It was good that I wasn't in the process of eating or drinking since I would definitely choke on it. Was I attracted to her? That was a serious question that brought me to a precipice. I realized this was a defining moment for us. Depending on my answering it honestly or not could set the course, tone, for the rest of our therapy sessions.

  The problem was I knew how this worked. If I wasn't one hundred percent true with her, with myself, then I couldn't hope of ever getting better. I could never hope of being happy one day. It was as simple as that.

  "Yes," I heard myself say.

  It was hard not to be attracted to her. She was a tall brunette, about my age, maybe a little older, with interesting brown eyes and skin that naturally looked slightly sun kissed. Yes, she was a knockout, but her looks were not the most appealing trait. It was her presence. She simply shone, for lack of a better word.

  Hearing my simple confession, she didn't look disgusted or offended. That didn't mean she was flattered. Dr. Blake perceived that from a clinical perspective, remaining completely professional in the process. I really respected her for that.

  "At the same time," I continued, "I recognize how unhealthy that is and will never do anything that could jeopardize our professional distance, no matter if you choose to continue to treat me or not." And that was no bullshit, I really meant every word. If I really wanted to change, then I had to actually do the work.

  "Good, now tell me, was that hard?"

  I thought about it before replying. Our sessions in the future, were conducted in a similar manner. I would speak, she would make an observation, and then we would discuss it and find solutions together.

  With her help, I realized how toxic all of my previous relationships really were, all because of my notion that I could never be genuinely loved by another person.

  Thank you, Dad, for that.

  Concurrently, it was not all dear old dad's fault. Therapy would not be therapy if I didn't learn how much I resented my mother as well. I resented her for marrying my father and staying with him even though our lives were a living hell. And most of all, I resented her for taking the easy way out. She did save herself, but a true mother would find a way of delivering us both from hell without taking her own life. Discovering all of that, I had to learn to live with it, to find a way to make peace with her, which was easier said than done.

  Most of all, I realized that I was to blame for everything that happened to me, career wise and relationship wise. I felt really self-conscious regarding my seizures. Yes, my father had drilled into my head that I was defective because of them, but instead of dealing with that pain, I buried it. I tried to make myself feel better in all the wrong ways. Maybe this was a bit crazy of me, but there was one good thing from being hit by a car, and that was meeting Dr. Blake. She was really trying to help me and turn my life around.

  "I have some good news for you," she said weeks later, busting into my room all smiles.

  I mimicked the gesture. "Do tell."

  "You are being discharged next week." She held her hand up for me, expecting a high-five.

  I couldn't do it. I was too stunned, which was stupid of me. It wasn't like I could stay in that hospital forever. Of course, they would discharge me at some point when I got better. The problem was I wasn't feeling better. Physically, maybe, but emotionally, psychologically, I was pretty much all over the place.

  I grimaced. Discharged?

  She looked at me long and hard before speaking again. "Dean, this is a good thing," she insisted.

  Is it? I wasn't aware I said that out loud.

  "Yes. The purpose of hospitals is fixing people so they can return to their loved ones, their lives."

  "I don't have either of those."

  "Okay, maybe that was a bad example that doesn't apply to you. We just want you gone since you are no fun to be around, always moping about," she deadpanned.

  I liked her sense of humor. Dr. Blake could joke about anything. It was refreshing in this politically correct world.

  "Seriously, now, just because things look kind of bleak at the moment, doesn’t mean they will stay that way. You can have all the things you want, a loving family, a career. You have plenty of time."

  "I guess."

  "For now, be grateful you're alive."

  "Alive and homeless," I replied instantly, refusing to let go of my pity party.

  To add that up, I can seize up, do some shit, and be back in this place before I know it. I said as much.

  Dr. Blake was not impressed with my attitude. "You could seize up anywhere, anytime, all your life. That is one thing that didn't change."

  "Is that supposed to be reassuring?" Because it was not working.

  "Actually, it should be since having these episodes never stopped you from living your life before. If you recall, you did finish school, went to college, taught, and started screwing assistants," she jibed.

  I smiled at that. "Point well taken."

  "Plus, the walking cane you are now sporting makes you look super-refined, dashing."

  I suppressed a groan. I hated that thing. "It makes me look like an invalid as well," I pointed out stubbornly.

  Understandably, I was in a seriously piss poor mood learning I was leaving this place. Truth be told, I’d started to feel safe inside those walls. And although all these people tended to my every need because they were paid to do so, it felt nice being taken care of. I ignored how pathetic that made me.

  Above everything else, I was scared to leave the hospital. Nothing and no one were waiting for me out there in the real world. It was easier to pretend I wasn't a shell of a man in here. Out there, something like that would be impossible. All that was beyond depressing.

  Not even Dr. Blake’s promising I could still come to see her as much as I wanted could cheer me up.

  "You should really cheer up, considering I fixed your living situation. You are homeless no more."

  That did make me perk up a little. "How? Where?" I asked, already imagining her fixing up a janitor's closet for me down in the basement.

  Dr. Blake looked hesitant for the briefest of moments before replying, "I spoke with your father and he agreed you could live with him."

  "What? "I shouted, startling a couple of nearby patients. "Hell no."

  "It's only temporary until you get back on your feet," she tried to reassure me.

  That shit did not stick.

  "No, absolutely not, never." I would rather die, and that wasn't an empty threat. "How could you do something like that to me? Did you forget what I told you about him? The man is Satan."

  "He is also old now and had enough time to see the errors of his ways."

  She was naive if she believed her own words.

  "Did he sound like he saw the error of h
is ways while you spoke?" I challenged.

  "He agreed to let you come back."

  Yeah, so he can continue to torment me some more, tell me all the ways in which I disappointed him.

  "He's not a good man."

  "That doesn't matter at the moment. What matters is your getting better." I wouldn't be getting better if I stayed with that man. Eventually, I let Dr. Blake talk me into moving in with my father. What other choice did I have, anyway?

  Constantly reminding myself that it was only a temporary arrangement made me say yes. "As soon as I get another job, I am out of there," I insisted.

  "That goes without saying."

  In retrospect, jumping off a bridge would have been a better solution to all my problems than sharing living space with my father. It was no wonder one of us had ended up dead.

  Chapter Seven

  "On a scale of one to ten, one being on the verge of tears and ten wanting to slit your wrists with a dull razor, how do you feel?" Dr. Blake asked me cheerfully during our last session.

  Twelve?

  It wasn't technically our last session, simply the last we would have while I was still at the hospital. I was being discharged first thing in the morning, and the thought of leaving and facing my father was seriously stressing me out.

  As was proven many times in the past that bad things happened when I was stressed. Bad for me, of course.

  I would have to come back to the hospital regularly for my physical therapy and sessions with Dr. Blake. As it turned out, being sick was a full-time job. Who knew?

  "Wow, those are some serious options," I replied in the same manner. "I'll have to think about it." I pretended to do that before continuing. "I think around six, running naked through downtown."

  I said the first thing that came to mind then worried she would read too much into it. I was never an exhibitionist. While I was with Bella, we did have sex in some unusual places, places where we could get caught, but I wasn't particularly into it. I was doing all that to get laid, as any normal man would.