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Neon Moon
chapter five

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❛ all of my mistakes, there's nothing
i can do to fix it now. i just wish you
would understand. ❜
— We Were Just Kids, Emmure

                    "RIGHT NOW, WE'RE HEARING FROM POLICE THAT THE GECKOS DID IN FACT ESCAPE."

          Marisol stared shamelessly at the side of Seth's face. She tried so hard to separate him now from his past, and yet she couldn't. He still had those small quirks, those little details that she seemed to notice alone when they were kids. Like the way his tongue prodded his cheeks when he was deep in thought, or how he rubbed at his thumbnail when he was formulating a plan.

          Her brain knew that she needed to ignore the burning in her chest. She needed to ignore the gravitational pull trying to reconnect them in some way. The universe may have gifted her life, but not every plan was meant to be. She and Seth, for one, were not meant to be.

          A smile snaked its way onto his beautiful, tanned skin. The hand holding his gun patted the passenger seat forcefully. "Best news I heard all day!" he exclaimed, tearing her away from her train of thought. The next second, his eyes were meeting hers, full of twinkling ambition.

His eyes scanned her face, tongue darting across his bottom lip, before landing on her still bleeding arm. The red stood out against her warm skin. He swallowed. "You got a first aid kit in this beast?" he asked. Marisol's eyes narrowed.

When Jacob didn't respond, Seth whirled around to face him. He cleared his throat to gain the old timer's attention. "Let me explain something to you here, Jacob," he began. Marisol looked toward the back where Richie sat with the kids. "Now, there's only one song that we're gonna be singing on this little road trip, and it ain't "99 bottles of beer on the wall"."

"Jesus," she muttered under her breath. Her face screwed up at his words, his tone. "The song is called "My Way"." She snorted. "By Frank Sinatra?" she asked. He glanced over his shoulder only for a moment, amused that she found his choice funny.

"I'm not too sure you have the chops for that, Seth." The amusement drained from his eyes and was replaced by irritation. He turned to face her, arms crossed over his chest. "I'll have you know, I'm an excellent singer," he replied seriously. "Just ask anyone in cell block c. They can tell you."

He shook his head upon noticing his drifting from the subject. Marisol always did have a way of getting inside his head and screwing up his thought process. With a huff, he turned back to Jacob and continued his intimidation act.

"So, if I say make a turn, you're gonna make a turn. If I say don't talk, you don't talk. But if I ask you for a first-aid kit, you're gonna..." Jacob pointed over his shoulder toward the cabinets behind Seth's head, cutting his rant off. Seth looked down at the old man curiously before turning to the cabinets.

Inside was a first aid kit. It didn't look fully stocked to help a bullet wound, but it didn't seem like Seth was too worried. He let the cabinet fall closed and turned to Marisol with a silent demand in his eyes. Move, they said. No, she replied without a word.

          "Bathroom." Her eyes didn't leave his. She tiredly crossed her arms over her chest, visibly wincing at the pain in her bicep. Defiantly, she leaned back into the built in sofa and turned her head. Seth sighed heavily.

          "Don't make me drag you in there," he warned her. She ignored his threat, instead choosing to close her eyes. Her head moved with the vehicle, hair tickling her nose. "Marisol."

          Before, the use of her full name would worry her. The only time he uttered those two syllables was when they were fighting. Her cheeks flushed at the memory. "Okay. Have it your way."

          Thinking she had won, she let a small smile sneak across her features. It disappeared, however, the moment she felt two hands grabbing her arms. Her body was jerked upward, chest falling flush with his own. A gasp ripped from her throat, her eyes shooting open to meet his.

His arms wrapped instinctively around her, trapping her arms at her sides. Her wide eyes snapped toward his in surprise. "Le–Let me go!" she exclaimed. Her heart drummed wildly against her ribcage, echoing in her ears, bleeding into her throat. The gun pressed against the small of her back stopped her from fighting against him.

"Walk," was all he said as he began moving toward the bathroom. She swallowed nervously, taking steps back to match his going forward. She squeezed her eyes closed to avoid the gazes locked on her and Seth. Her face felt as if it was on fire.

The bathroom door swung open and her body was shoved into the small space. She braced herself on the wall, the back of her calves hitting the side of the toilet. The door slammed shut behind them, trapping her in that small room with him.

She ground her teeth together, stepping over the toilet to put distance between them. Seth sighed through his nose. "Don't be like that." His tone had grown softer. It sent a shiver down the length of her spine.

"How else am I supposed to be, Seth?" she snapped back. "You're a killer. A cop killer, and I – me, hello – am a cop!" Her hand has unconsciously raised to her arm. The pain, though she had dealt with similar feelings, was becoming unbearable. Blood seeped between her fingers, dripping onto the flooring.

"I am not a killer," he hissed. "You know that. You know better than anyone that that is not true." He grabbed the neck of her shirt and fisted it between his fingers. The space between them decreased due to his advances. She drew in a shaky breath, emotions fueling her veins. She turned her head, avoiding his dark eyes.

He used his handle on her to force her to sit. She plopped down on the closed toilet lid with a frown. Seth struggled to kneel beside her, ripping open the first aid kit. "You're so different," she whispered.

          He tore the alcohol wipe's sleeve with his teeth and spat out the small piece. "Yeah, well, that's what happens when you live alone, I guess." After unfolding it, he pressed the wipe to her arm. She hissed at the sting, her bicep tensing. She scoffed at his answer. "You didn't have to be alone," she argued. "You chose to be alone."

          "Did you really expect me to ask you to run away with me?" he questioned, brows furrowed. Slowly, the blood began to leave her skin, save for the steady stream from the shallow graze. "Yes," she answered honestly. "And I would have. In a heartbeat."

          He knew that. He knew that if he would have come back and told her what happened, she would have left with him that night. She wouldn't have had to think about it for but a second. If it meant being with him, the one person she truly loved, she would have given up everything. And maybe that's a big reason he couldn't do that.

          He held the bloodied wipe to her skin, digging through the first aid kid for gauze. "This isn't a Disney movie, honey." The blunt edges of her nails dug into the skin of her palms. Her jaw tensed in anger. "No shit," she responded. "No, in a Disney movie, the love interest wouldn't have killed his dad and ran away."

          Suddenly, her face was taken into a firm grip and yanked in his direction. Flames erupted within his furiously green eyes. "I didn't kill him," he snarled. His brows fell over his eyes. "Do you really think I did?"

          "I don't know what to think, Seth," she fired back, her words muffled by his hold on her face. "I didn't, not until you killed those cops in Abilene and then you shot me."

          "I wasn't aiming for you," he argued.

          "It still hit me, didn't it? And, to start with, you did have the gun pointed directly at me."

"Hey, you had a gun pointed at me, too. You saying that you wouldn't have shot me if you had to?"

She pondered on her answer. There was no point in lying now, but did she want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she most likely couldn't? That he meant enough to her to impair her hindsight and scramble her brain?

"Maybe," she replied mysteriously. "I think I could, but I just don't know. You didn't give me a good enough reason to pull the trigger." She sucked in a breath through her teeth as he pressed the gauze into her arm with a firm grip. "Easy," she hissed.

          "You sure you're a cop?" he teased. He held the gauze tight against her skin, searching for any type of tape to hold it there. She glared at the side of his face, teeth digging into the inside of her cheeks. "That's not funny," she fired back in annoyance.

He ripped the tape with his teeth before plastering it to her arm. The gauze had already started to turn red with her blood. "There," he breathed out. "Good as new."

          "Fuck you," she spat venomously. Seth only grinned in response. "Most people say thank you, but if you're offering—"

          She didn't hesitate, or rethink her choice. Instead, she let her body act accordingly. The contact bounced off the walls of the small space and hung around them like a fog. Seth grunted at the impact, his head jostling to the side, cheek stinging.

She pushed him away just enough to stand and leave the bathroom. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. Seth couldn't turn and watch her leave. His fingers prodded gently at the reddened skin.

The two moved to opposite ends of the RV. Marisol sat between Kate and Richie, much to the man's dismay. He looked at her with a frown, only to be ignored. She leaned back into the seat, tangled hair hiding her face from Seth's view.

She didn't get to ask him why he left. She didn't get to ask him if he missed her just as much as she missed him; if he dreamed of her the way she did of him all those nights, full of worry and fear for the other's wellbeing. All of her plans, her course of action, deteriorated every time he came near. Her brain stopped working properly, despite the space they had gone through for so long.

The wailing of a cellphone drew her back out of her cage. She glanced around Richie to see Seth peering down annoyedly at his throw away phone.

"Did you dye your hair?"

Her eyes snapped back to Richie. His eyes were narrowed, examining the hair sprouting from her roots. She sighed through her nose, nodding her head. "Yeah, I dyed it black in college," she responded. Richie tsked in distaste. "You had such pretty hair before."

A small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. "It's close to my natural color, though. So... how could you tell?" Richie's head tilted a bit. His own lips cracked into a familiar grin. "The highlights sort of give it away. It's a nice touch, though. It looks pretty."

"Did you two know each other?" Kate asked, eyes wide with curiosity. Both Richie and Marisol glanced toward her, nodding their heads. Scott's face dropped. The hope he had felt with Marisol drained away like water in a bathtub. "So, you're with them, then," he stated, though the end of his sentence lifted into a questioning tone.

"No," Richie replied. "No, it's just me and Seth. Dos hermanos." Marisol cringed at his pronunciation, but let it slide. Scott's eyes flickered toward her before dropping down to his hands in his laps. "We lived in the same town as kids. She dated Seth."

"Richie," she warned. "The past is in the past. Okay?" Confusion creased between his brows. His elbow rested against the table, his gun jumpy as it pointed toward the three. Precautions, Marisol had thought when she sat down. It's the paranoia.

"Okay. Then, can I ask you a few questions?"

          "A–Actually, I have a question," Scott spoke up. Kate's eyes widened fearfully as she turned to look at her brother. "Can you not point the gun at us? If we hit a bump, it could go off. And then one of us is dead."

          Richie looked impassive. His eyes rolled over the young boy. "It won't go off," he responded monotonously. Scott scoffed. "That's a Taurus nine millimeter, seventeen shot capacity magazine. And a hair trigger."

          Marisol looked amazed. Richie finally cracked a smile. "So Bruce Lee does know his guns." Mari had to fight the urge to elbow Richie in his side. Scott frowned. "I'm just saying we could hit a bump, or a pothole, or something."

          "Maybe I don't care if we hit a pothole. Maybe I'm hoping we hit seventeen potholes so I can empty this entire mag in that smart ass mug of yours."

          "Leave him alone, Richie," Marisol hissed. Richie had started to lean closer, over the table, his hand steady. Scott stared down the barrel, his bottom lip trembling slightly. Slowly, Richie's head turned in Marisol's direction.

          The coldness behind his eyes made her clench her teeth. "You don't get to boss me around," he told her calmly. "I'm the one with the gun." She shuddered, her hands closing tighter, her nails breaking into the skin.

          She wanted to say more. She wanted to spit in his face for talking to her like that, but she couldn't move. Her body was struck with fear. He had killed people. She knew he would use the gun if he thought it was necessary. There was no remorse, not conscious inside of his head.

          There's a chance that Richie may be too far gone. Her journey may have been for nothing. The idea that she did this, only to die by his hands, made her skin crawl. Perhaps that was the best way to go, though. He'd make it quick, hopefully painless. Before he had looked at her the same way he had as a fourteen year old boy, depending on her opinion for his english homework.

          She released a sigh, letting that one thought calm her. If it was her time to go, she'd let it happen. The peace washing over her didn't last long. Frightened, Richie jumped from his seat, pulling the hammer of his gun back. He pointed it at Scott's head, finger ready on the trigger.

          Kate screamed, her body shaking. "Richie!" Marisol exclaimed. Seth was quick on his feet, yanking Richie back by his collar. Marisol's arm instinctively wrapped tight around the trembling girl, hand pressing against Scott's shoulder. "You guys okay?" she asked.

          The two nodded. Fuck, she thought. He's insane.

═══════ ❃ ═══════

"Can I ask you something?"

          Marisol stared out the curtain at all of the vehicles surrounding them. They had finally reached the border, and all of her hope finally dwindled to a charred wick and melted wax.

          Kate's voice tore her away from her scouting. Her sweet eyes were transfixed on Richie, his own eyes full of curiosity. "That stuff you said by the pool... How did you know all of that?" she asked gently, brows pinched. Mari felt lost. "'Bout me."

          Richie settled into his seat.  His arms rested atop the table. Kate sucked in a shaky breath. "'Bout my mom." Scott's expression was tense. He stared at Richie with hatred that burned like a forest fire. Richie didn't even seem to notice. "Like I said... I can see things."

          See things, Marisol echoed in her head. She rolled her eyes. What a pile of crap. She turned back in her seat and pulled the curtain back just a bit. She didn't want to hear any other insane word that came out of his mouth.

          "Did you ever think it might be God trying to communicate with you?" Kate asked. Richie snorted. "It's not God," he argued. He glanced toward Marisol for a moment before meeting Kate's eyes again. "God wouldn't ask someone to kill innocent people," the older woman muttered.

          Kate met her eyes. They were hard, unlike before. Marisol's jaw was tense, face void of emotion. Slowly, she turned back to the sunny distance, resting her chin on her hand. With a sight, Kate turned back to Richie. A small smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "Do you know the story of Moses?"

          "I know the Chuck Heston version, which is the only one that counts," he answered truthfully. Kate breathed a chuckle from her nose. "Well, Moses didn't believe either. Not until God spoke to him." Scott looked down to his joint hands. The skin was white around his knuckles.

          "I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering," Marisol recited from memory.

          "So I have come down to rescue them from the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey--the home of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites.
And now the cry of the Israelites has reached me, and I have seen the way the Egyptians are oppressing them.

          "So now, go. I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt."
But Moses said to God, "Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?" And God said, "I will be with you. And this will be the sign to you that it is I who have sent you: When you have brought the people out of Egypt, you will worship God on this mountain."

          "Moses said to God, "Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, 'The God of your fathers has sent me to you,' and they ask me, 'What is his name?' Then what shall I tell them?" God said to Moses, "I AM WHO I AM. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: 'I AM has sent me to you.'""

          Kate stared at Marisol with admiration. She hadn't expected her to be a woman of God, let alone someone who memorizes scripture. Richie stared, as well, brows furrowed. He had known that Marisol was raised Catholic. She had attended Saturday night mass, gone to Catholic school for three years, and went to most if not all of her church's events.

          He had noticed a change in her, a darkness that surrounded around her like a storm cloud. It was strange to hear such pretty words of a loving God would come from lips shrouded with lies and deceit. Kate cleared her throat, returning to her talk with Richie.

          "God might... make His message clearer if you pray." Richie backed away when Kate moved closer. Marisol was trapped in the middle, somewhere she had never truly wanted to be. She was always in the middle of Seth and Richie as kids. She had wanted to finally be on top, or on someone's right side.

          "Close your eyes," the teen girl directed the people at the table. Marisol felt a lump swell in her throat. Richie scoffed. "Mm, don't think so," he responded. It wouldn't be very smart of him to take his eyes off of his hostages anyway.

          "I promise it won't hurt." Her tone was teasing, honey sweet. Richie fell quiet. He would always be a man who falls to the whims of a beautiful woman. He inhaled, finally deciding to holster his gun in his waistband. Kate, feeling proud, waited until he had slipped his hand into her palm to begin.

          Her eyes fluttered closed, her hands enveloping Richie's. Seth and Marisol shared a look before following her lead. "Our Lord who art in heaven, hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come, Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

          "Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts as we have also forgiven our debtors. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

          Marisol fumbled with the necklace hidden under her shirt. The small, golden cross felt heavy against her skin. Kate pulled her hands back, nudging Marisol in the process. The click of a hammer caused her eyes to snap open.

          A pistol was aimed at Richie's temple, the hands holding it there belonging to Scott. Marisol's heart leaped into her throat. "Scott," she whispered. He didn't spare her a glance. "Scott, put it down."

          "Seth," Richie called out and Marisol winced. Scott looked to his sister. "Kate, grab his gun." Kate, wide eyed, shook her head. Marisol noticed Seth standing, his face full of irritation. "Don't do it, Kate. You're not like them," Richie said calmly.

"Just do it!" Scott exclaimed. "I'll put one in your pretty head before you ever touch the grip, sweetheart." Seth cocked his own gun and pressed the metal directly to Scott's head. "As for you, take that gun off my brother before the ounce of forgiveness that I have on reserved goes the way–"

Seth whirled around, his gun pointed at Jacob's face. With the distraction, Marisol swiftly snatched the gun from Richard's waistband. She didn't know where to point it. "Kate, scoot over," she directed the younger girl. Slowly, she moved around the small table, gun pointed at Richie, until she could stand.

"Are you fucking—" She spun the gun back at Seth. He rested his own against Scott's temple. "I told you, Seth," Richie began manically. "I told you. Just shoot this kid in the head!"

"Shut up, Richard!" Marisol exclaimed. Her eyes met Seth's. "Put the gun down, Seth." A single brow rose. "You gonna shoot me?" he asked, his tone challenging. "Because I thought we already established that you couldn't do it."

Scott's hands trembled. Kate breathed heavily, gasping for air to calm her stuttering heart. Seth was calm, so calm that she almost didn't believe he was real. How could someone press a gun to a kid's head and not react with remorse or nervousness, or disgust? She grit her teeth. "I already shot you once, honey," he warned her. "I could probably do it again."

"I thought you said it was an accident. Or was that a lie too?"

          "Can we press pause on your lover's quarrel?" Richie asked, clearly annoyed by the two adults. "I've got a fucking gun in my face." Marisol bit back a laugh. Not fun, is it?, she thought to herself.

          "Hey, uh, Padré, why don't you talk some sense into your son before I have to take my brother's advice?" Jacob, who had obediently returned to the driver's seat, looked ashen with fear. He pleaded, "Son, put the gun down!"

          "Dad, this is bullshit!" Scott exclaimed. His nostrils flared with every deep, ragged breath he drew in. "I know how you feel!" Jacob explained. "You want to protect the family, but this isn't the way!"

          Marisol didn't stray long from Seth. His eyes were pools of uncharted emotions. He stared at her over Scott's head, not caring if anyone noticed. Her heart wanted so desperately for her to reach out and push his hand away, maybe even embrace him. It sang that familiar tune, hoping to get a song in return.

          "They're bullies and they're assholes, and they don't deserve to win. As soon as we get across that border, they're gonna bury us in the desert. And I know that you think I can't do it, but I can." He rammed the tip of the gun into Richie's forehead, forcing his head back. Marisol took a quick step forward.

          "Scott, wait!" she blurted out, her tone shaking. His finger trembled against the trigger. "Why? Do you really think they're gonna let you live? You're as dead as the rest of us."

          For the first time, her aim faltered. She took a stumbling step back, lowering her arm. He's right, she thought. Her eyes trailed over Kate, over Richie, over Scott, finally landing on Seth. They're going to kill her. She was a threat alive. How stupid could she actually be?

          "Now, wait a minute." A smirk crawled across Richie's stone cold face. He peered up at Scott like he was a game. "Now, I know that you thought you could. I do," Seth spoke gently, tearing his eyes away from Marisol to look at Scott. "But that was before you had your finger on the trigger, wasn't it?"

          "Do it," Marisol whispered. "He's less of a threat if he's dead." Her heart was breaking. Long cracks spread under her skin like an old mirror. Tears collected within her deep, brown eyes. No one knew just who she was talking to. Was she talking to Seth? Did she want him to kill a young boy for getting in his way? Or was she talking to Scott? Did she want Scott to shoot Richie, stopping his reign of evil and mutilation?

          "Mari," Seth warned. Richie took a peek toward the woman as she fell back onto the seat. She looked at him with fire of pure rage. "Scott.." For a split second, hurt flashed behind Richie's cool eyes. "Shut up," Seth hissed. "You're not helping."

          "Then shoot me," she retorted. "Get it over with, huh?" Scott took a step back. His body was shaking furiously. Slowly, he lowered the gun. "Good choice, kiddo," Seth sighed. "That's it. Good." Seth took the gun from the boy's grip.

          "You wanted me dead!" Richie suddenly yelled. He got to his feet, slamming his hands on the table. He shoved Scott out of his way, stomping toward Marisol at a fast speed. Her life flashed before her eyes. Their life.

          She gasped upon feeling the callouses of his hands pressed to her throat. His face was close now. Tears, something she had never expected, glittered in his eyes. "You're sick!" she fired back. It was starting to get harder to breathe. His grip tightened with a bruising force.

          "No, no!" Seth shouted, grabbing the back of his brother's jacket. "No, Richie," she wheezed. "Kill me. It's what you want, right? Kill me like all of those other women."

          Black spots littered her vision. She could vaguely hear Seth demanding Richie to stop. A part of her felt elated that he was so worried. Maybe he did care, after all.

rumi says . . .
let's goooo drama <33

this chapter was so hard for me to
really get into and i kind feel like it
might be all over the place (?) but
DAMN do i love it! yeehaw

i hope you guys enjoyed it!
feedback is seriously appreciated!