Sparrow

by L.J. Shen

All I knew when I drove away from my childhood church were two things: My father had sinned. But I was to be punished.

Catalina was a virus encased in a sexy dress. Easily spread, but you know that shit is bad for you.

Cat had a problem, and her problem was me. I was her ambition, her love, her hate and every other feeling occupying her cold little heart.

Hardened by her circumstances and toughened by our neighborhood—Red was no pushover.

“Don’t worry, Red. It doesn’t bite.” He yawned into his forearm, nudging me out of the way to reach for the coffee pot on the counter behind me. “But it can spit,” I offered over my shoulder, smiling coyly.

While I watched her cook, I suddenly realized it was her art. The pan was her canvas, the ingredients her paint. She cooked with fire in her eyes, with passion in her soul, with love in her heart.

Positive attention is the kiss of death to natural born killers. We just don’t know how to deal with reassuring feedback.

Admitting this to Troy made me feel more naked than I physically was—it was like giving up an imaginary bulletproof vest. A part of me wanted to see if it would push him away. After all, now I was damaged goods. Tainted by his father’s right-hand man. Troy’s shiny new toy was broken and cracked.

So Red didn’t mind riding my face like a cowgirl, but still had trouble letting me touch her in front of Connor and Maria. I was beginning to see a little bit of me in her.

A cheater, a criminal and perhaps even a murderer, my husband wasn’t exactly a catch in my book. And sadly, I still wanted him around.

“You should know by now, your sins always catch up with you at the end,”

He was like the first scene in David Lynch’s Blue Velvet, the insect underneath the well-kept lawn. That was Brock. A cheesy, Hollywood smile disguised the outside, while he was rotting beyond repair inside.

His expression relaxed when he scanned my face, looking for a hint of fear or disgust. There was none. He was a monster, but he was my monster.

The truth was one hell of a runner, and it would eventually catch up with you. It caught up with him. It caught up with me. It was delivered coldly, like revenge, on a plate of misery,