I was in awe of the swiftness with which all of that had transpired. One life ended so another could flourish.
I realized I had a choice to make.
My life…or Samantha’s.
I wanted her to flourish.
My face knotted in agony. My chest tightened as jagged knives of regret stabbed me from the inside out. How the fuck had I fucked things up so badly? I inhaled deeply, ready to shout my lungs out in an attempt to release some of the tension ripping my heart apart.
Then I realized shouting would call attention to myself.
Nyyhmy Hall was shaped like a blocky letter H when you looked at it from the top. The balcony was on the top side of the fat horizontal bar of the H. The thick vertical columns of the H held all the dorm rooms, the windows of which faced the balcony where I stood. Because it was San Diego, and it was no cooler than sixty degrees outside, many of those windows were open. Since this was a college dorm building, several of those windows had lights on, and some had their curtains open. If I started shouting, I had no doubt heads would start popping out of those windows like gophers checking for eagles overhead. The last thing I wanted was an audience or someone calling campus security and telling them there was another jumper on the tenth floor. I was enjoying my peace and quiet.
I took a deep breath. My stabbing regret eased a fraction. I took another breath.
That was when I realized I’d been looking at my situation all wrong. Eagles, owls, gophers and mice.
First, the owl and the mouse. For all I knew, that was a mama owl with baby owls back in her nest that hadn’t eaten in weeks. No one wanted baby owls to go hungry. I know I didn’t.
Second, the eagle and the gophers.
We all know which animal I was in that scenario.
No matter how much confusion and pain writhed in my guts, I would never be a gopher. I was the predator in my life, not the prey. I was not going to live my life cringing away from danger, always wondering when the death strike might come raining down from above.
I was going to step boldly into life and dance with danger.
I wasn’t going to give up.
Like the eagle and the owl, I was going to bare my claws and teeth and do what I did best.
Fight.
For myself. For Samantha.
For my life.
No one was going to bring me down and tear me apart. Not even the judicial system. I never took the easy way out. That’s how I’d ended up in this predicament in the first place. Because I liked living dangerously.
I was up here because the day I’d met Samantha, it had taken me less than half a second to decide that Horst Grossman, the fat fuck who was up in her face, was way out of line, and needed to lay off her shit. The easy thing would’ve been to ride away and forget all about her.
But that wasn’t how I rolled. Not that day, not tonight, and not at my trial. If I was going down, I was going down fighting.
I still hadn’t told my attorney, Russell Merriweather, whether or not to accept the plea bargain from the District Attorney. The offer was one year in jail in exchange for a guilty plea. Probably only nine months with time off for good behavior. That was the sure thing. If I went to trial, I risked up to four years in state prison if the jury found me guilty. Fuck it. I liked risks and I liked fighting.
I was going to roll the dice and go to trial.
I grinned and shook my head. I don’t know why I’d been so stressed about all this. Like most women, Lady Luck had the hots for my shit. No reason why she wouldn’t back me up at my trial.
Still balanced on one foot with my knee in the air, I lowered my foot down to the railing and stabilized myself.
As I was about to hop back onto the balcony, my phone rang, startling me.
The sound cut through the nighttime silence.
I hissed and pitched forward, I was so surprised. My arms whirled automatically and my hips thrust back violently, counter-balancing my weight. If I over compensated, I was over the edge of this railing and three seconds later, over with permanently. I strained to regain my balance. Agonizing seconds later, I recovered my center of gravity and hopped onto the cold cement balcony.
Was Lady Luck calling to tell me something?
Before Your Love by Kelly Clarkson continued playing through the tiny speakers on my phone.
Not Lady Luck.
Samantha.
I rolled my head back and chuckled. “Fuck,” I mumbled to myself. She’d almost killed me. Tragic irony was a funny thing, as long as it didn’t happen to you.
I answered her call. “Hey,” I mumbled.
“Where are you?” Samantha begged.
“Out getting some fresh air.” I sat down on the cold cement balcony and slid my socks and boots on.
“Are you all right?” she asked, worried.
“I’m fine, agáp—” I stopped myself short. Calling her that right now felt like an empty promise I couldn’t keep for long. Shit was going to get real when I went to trial. I didn’t want Samantha getting her hopes up if things went bad. If I was acquitted, great. But if the jury found me guilty? Nobody was going to throw a party.
“Please tell me where you are, agápi mou,” Samantha said, her voice resonating with a penetrating fear tempered by her bold, fearless love.
Her confidence peeled back some of my reckless resistance. If I said nothing and kept her completely in the dark, I’d feel like a stubborn dick. “I’m at SDU,” I sighed. “Everything is okay.”
“I need to see you, Christos.”
“Now isn’t a good time.” I shook my head at how lame I sounded.
“What do you mean?” she pleaded. “We were talking about some really important stuff and you ran out. Why?”
Did I tell her I’d run because I felt like an idiot? That I was embarrassed by my past? Shit, I could barely admit it to myself. Or did I talk about how my life still balanced on a knife edge thinner than the balcony railing I’d just been standing on?
If I ended up in jail, I’d end up going back to my old ways. I’d have no choice but to harden up and fight my way through each and every day I was stuck in lock up. I knew from experience that prison would get under my skin and dirty my fingernails no matter how hard I tried to hold onto the life I’d been building for the last two years. What kind of institutionalized prick would I be after four years in prison? Would Samantha want to know me then? Would I want to subject her to whatever damage I was sure to suffer from living like a barbarian?
Who was I kidding?
She needed better options than that.
I stifled an insane laugh as I considered how her parents might feel about the whole thing. I was pretty sure I would agree with them.
I shook my head. “Look,” I said gruffly, “I really don’t want to talk about this right now. I need time to think.”
“Come home, Christos. No matter how bad you think things are right now, I love you. Your grandfather loves you. We’re here for you.”
Why did her words tear my guts apart?
Fuck, I couldn’t deal with this.
“Samantha, I need to go.”
“Christos! Please don’t hang up! Tell me exactly where you are and I’ll come right now.”
Her voice sounded jumpy, like she was running with the phone in her hand. I heard the beep beep beep of her VW’s warning bell and a door chunking shut.
“Are you in your car?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m driving out of your driveway right now. Don’t move a muscle. I’m coming for you.”