The downpour was merciless, unapologetic. It covered the earth in a constant sheet of rain, leaving the alley way road oil-slick (as black as the hair of a man standing nearby) and everything else sopping wet. The wind was sharp and crisp, sending wave upon wave of cold air rushing against the fierce hollows of the man's cheeks. He hadn't sleep, hadn't rested, in days and it was painfully evident. A bell rang solemnly through the air some distance away, alerting the town of the midnight hour. It reminded one of a funeral, the end of something. There was a girl a few steps behind the man, screaming in a shrill, horrible voice -- but in his frenzy, he could not tell whether the girl was actually screaming or whether it was the horrendous roar of the winter wind, instead. It didn't matter either way.
 
"Zay! Don't! Please-please-please, God, please don't! He doesn't know anything, baby! I swear he doesn't!" She was screaming and watching with horrified, wide eyes, begging and pleading with her lover to stop the violence. To let the man he had a hold of go. Isaiah didn't listen. Every few moments, he was sending a cracking blow against the side of the other man's face.
 
"Lexi, shut the fuck up!" Blind rage, it had its possession over Isaiah. White-hot behind the eyes, a throb of blood through the veins. It hurt. It all fucking hurt. "I can't think straight with you fucking yapping! Shut the fuck up!" His yell was terrifying. Loud and thunderous, it seemed to fill all those empty spaces left in one's soul. It could be felt in the body, in the blood. That's how angry he was, how bad he was hurting.
 
Upon closer inspection, one could see Isaiah held a man against the brick wall of an abandoned building. The man was a bit shorter than Isaiah, with blond hair that was plastered to his forehead and curled around his ears from the rain. Any evidence of blood (for surely there were lots of it) was being washed away by the heavy fall of rain. All of it, all the evidence, being swept away by the winter storm. "Where is she, Terrance?" Strained, Isaiah's voice, his eyes wide and blank, and his teeth -- God, his teeth -- were clenched together so tightly you'd think they'd crack any second.
 
"I-I-I don't know, Isaiah, swear I don't! I told ya, I don't work for him no more. I don't know what they do behind closed doors no more, Isaiah, c'mon, it's me!" The man was trembling. He'd never in his life seen his friend so angry, so filled with hate. It scared him. But what scared him even more was the sharp sound of a switchblade, the cold feel of metal pressed against his throat. Terrance was so scared, in fact, that he pissed his pants -- yet another thing the rain hid and swept away. "C-calm down, calm right the fuck down now. I don't know where he took her, Isaiah! All I know is that one minute he needed to talk to her and the next she was go--" He trailed off, words garbled, as Isaiah pressed the knife harder against Terrance's throat.
 
Wrong answer.
 
"What do you mean 'he needed to talk to her'? You never fucking told me that before!" Isaiah was losing it. He sent another crashing blow to the side of Terrance's face, bloodied and bruised, and began pacing. He was grunting in frustration, dragging his fingernails so painfully against his scalp that the others could almost hear it. He kicked at cardboard boxes, tin trash cans, anything within his reach.
 
And Lexi, God, Lexi kept screaming and screaming. Isaiah couldn't tell whether or not she was crying -- tears and rain look just alike, you know -- and he didn't care at that point. He just wanted her to shut up. He didn't want to hear her anymore. He turned to Lexi, his stare deadly and determined.
 
She immediately started rambling, voice cracking. "Baby? You don't look like yourself. Let's go home. Please, let's go home. Terrance doesn't know anything, he would have told you. You know he would have. I want her back just as badly as you do, I promise you, but there's nothing we can do right no--"
 
The sound that came next was almost more terrible than that of the switchblade. A sharp slap to the face, and the sound of it echoed -- no, it bounced -- off the rain-wet walls on either side of them. Lexi stopped talking, stopped breathing, and for a moment, she looked stunned. Her lower lip quivered as she stared at Isaiah in disbelief.
 
And then, lowly: "I said shut the fuck up." Isaiah didn't even acknowledge the red print against Lexi's cheek.
 
"Now, look here, Isaiah. That ain't necessary, yanno?" Now that Isaiah didn't have Terrance against the wall anymore, the blond-haired man felt brave. "Let's all just go have some drinks and talk it out, yeah? I'm sure Emmaline will come turn up, Isaiah. They always do. Hell, she ain't been gone that long anyway. Just a few weeks. Maybe she ran off with somebody?"
 
Terrance was pale white and scared, but he still had the audacity to try to sneak up on the other man.
 
Isaiah was caught off guard -- it wasn't my fault -- by Terrance's sudden movements. One moment, he felt an excruciating pain at the side of his jaw (Terrance had managed to find a brick while Isaiah was dealing with Lexi, and had attempted to knock Isaiah out with it), and the next he felt the sticky-hot trickle of blood on his hand.
 
On his own hand. A sudden flash of lightening, illuminating the sky with a blinding white light, made the scene seem so much more surreal, so hard to take in.
 
He'd stabbed Terrance in the stomach, but God, God, it wasn't my fault, not my fault, and he took a step back. Lexi was screaming again, running to Terrance to check his wound. As if on cue, a loud crack of thunder vibrated through the air, synchronizing precisely, eerily so, with Terrance's fall.
 
"Oh my God, Zay, did you kill him?! Did you?! I have to call an ambulance! I have to--"
 
But Isaiah didn't remember what happened next. He was twitching too violently, and then everything went black.    

It was an unusually dark day, gloom-swollen storm clouds blotting out the morning sun, the soft drizzle-drip of rain bouncing off the ground, the windows, the roof. A clap of thunder, flash of lightning, was what really woke the man up, though, stirring him from his almost peaceful slumber. He was fierce, even back then, with strong arms wrapped around a slender, tousle-haired blond, holding on for dear life as if he simply couldn't go on unless he had that anchor. He was stirring, eyes peeling open, the sharp bridge of his nose shoved deep in the girl's hair.
 
"Em," he muttered hoarsely, his heart kick-starting to life. That was back before he'd lost it, before his heart grew stale, before it died. A large hand was caressing the slender column of her throat, ready to wrap around it and squeeze. Squeeze-squeeze until Emmaline would be forced to rock her body back against his. But when the girl roused, when her mouth opened and she murmured a sleepy little "..Zay? What are you doing?" he paused, veins freezing over again. No, no. That wasn't Emma. It was Lexi. Alexia Garner.
 
As if by instinct, by some strange repulsive response to the fact that he'd mistook Lexi for Em again, he rolled onto his back, hands resting behind his messy head.
 
"Ain't doing anything," he all but growled, breathing out harshly though his nose, trying to calm himself. Why was Lexi still here, in his bed, eating all his food? Had she moved in now? Chunks of his life were missing, he'd been taking too many pills, spending too many nights passed out after drinking to the bottom of a bottle.
 
Alexia was lifting from the bed right then, the sheets spilling off her fucking beautiful little frame as she stood and stretched, wild blond hair falling down the back of her neck. If he squinted his eyes just so, if he stared from such a severe angle, she looked just like Em. Like my love, Emmaline. Mine-mine-my heart. It pissed him off, always, that when he focused, really focused, he could see the blatant differences between the women so clearly. Like a slap in the face, a kick in the gut. She's not my Em.
 
It wasn't as if Lexi was hideous. It was the complete opposite, actually. She was simply breathtaking, soft blond hair that curled at the ends, large hazel eyes that portrayed everything she felt. She had the face of an angel and a body like one, too, and even though she'd started spending all her nights with Isaiah, helping him search for Emma relentlessly, keeping him calm, she still love-love-loved him with all she had, fragile little thing. She needed his protection, too, and Isaiah was always a sucker for trying to protect people. Probably a trap..
  
The worst thing about it, the thing that made Isaiah's blood absolutely singe with guilt, was the fact that this girl sleeping in his bed, claiming him as her own with her mouth and fingers, was Emma's little cousin. Her baby 'cuz Lex, and really, there was only about a four year gap between the women but it made all the difference. All the fucking difference. Lexi was much more girlish, much more insecure, while Emma had the air of a woman with confidence. She'd been around, experienced things. She knew how to handle shit, handle him. She always liked it rough, could always take it when Isaiah took his anger out on her between the sheets. She wore his bruises like one would wear jewelry, and goddamn it, he was proud of that. It made him feel so smug, so good--
 

"Zay? Are we goin' down to the library? Look up records and all that?" Such a soft-voiced question, it was easy to tell Lexi was walking on eggshells around him. So careful-careful was she that Isaiah often got the feeling he really didn't know her at all. What was she so afraid of?
 

His rejection. "No." He didn't say anything else and instead focused on the ceiling. The same ceiling he and Em used to stare at not more than a year ago. They'd talk about everything and nothing, and Em would go down on him while he tried to count the cracks in the corners, the walls. "Today's just one'a those days, baby doll. Come back to bed."
 
And even though he loved her with his mouth, his hands, he never fully loved her with his heart (how could he? he just couldn't), and that was quite possibly his second biggest mistake.

(okay, so, this song is awesome, but unfortunately i can't find it anywhere. it's a lost hit, apparently, so i had to scrape the internet just to find this clip. if anyone can actually find it, though, and make it so that i am able put it on a play list, that would be amazing. otherwise, enjoy!  war- outlaw.)

So I'm sitting here in Vega's den and I can hardly contain my triumph. Why had I been so surprised to see that ridiculous fucking girl again, especially when I know this is her goddamn home? What was I expecting? And, you know, she was wearing the most ugly dress-thing I've ever seen in my life. It literally looked like a goddamn birthday cake. I can't figure out what it is about women that makes them think we like seeing that shit. It's just there to frustrate us when we're trying to get the clothes off and you have to go through layer after fucking layer just to get her naked. Insufferable.
 
And she was making a show of strutting around in front of me, too. I don't know anything if I don't know women, and this girl was seriously just asking for it. She kept peeking over her shoulder, making bedroom faces at me. And it was like, man, I could just tell she wanted to sleep with me. She even offered to give me a detour of her bedroom, which of course, under any normal circumstances I probably would have taken her up on that. But I have to be serious if I want this job. I can't just fucking come waltzing in here, fucking Vega's batty sister and expect things to be cool.
 
Even if he is fucking my sister, and wouldn't that be fair?
 
I briefly entertain the idea of some sick-twisted sister-exchange and it's then that I realize how huge this fucking room is. I don't know why I hadn't noticed it before, but god damn, the room is as big as my entire loft I bet. Makes me so fucking mad. Black and white marbled tile, those old-fashioned expensive paintings hanging around everywhere. I swear to god it makes me want to just aim higher. Makes me stop and think about what I'm really doing with the casino. Do I really need to be wasting my time with shit like that? I mean, fuck, I want a large fucking wooden coffee table with all this expense shit strewn out on it, too. No, seriously. I bet this cigar right here costs more than my goddamn rent.
 
What does this guy do?
 
What does Antoinette do, for that matter? From what I've seen, she just walks around snapping orders and wearing expensive things. In fact, it kind of pisses me off that she has any kind authority at all. She didn't earn it, she doesn't do anything that contributes to anything her brother is doing, and in fucking fact, she ratted him out like two weeks ago to me, didn't she? She has a big mouth. A big fucking mouth, and she evidenced it again when she all but shared some family secrets without pausing to filter herself. But maybe that was just her trying to do that woman thing where they try to 'connect' with you. Like I said, she was wanting it pretty bad, and I know when I rejected her and left her up there on the balcony all alone to tend to her little 'one-person-party' she was fucking pissed. 
 
Running around, shouting at my back in that shrill little tone. She even attempted to throw her shoe at me just because I wouldn't stick around. And man, if that had hit me, I swear to god-- You're so mean, she said. I'm still thinking about it, she said. Damn straight she's still thinking about it. I don't even have to do much with this one and she's all but falling over my feet, fussing to make sure I pay attention. Which naturally I don't. When a girl tries that hard, it's funny to deny them. They get so frustrated. I know, I know, I'm too old for these games, but seriously. She's a riot.
   
She wants me to show her something 'awful' and I really don't even know what the fuck to show her. What's awful to a girl like that, anyway? Killing puppies? Watching someone die, cut up, murdered? What? I get the feeling maybe it's a sexual thing, which actually makes me laugh, too. I could be awful to her if I wanted. But, all games and laughs aside, I need to just ignore her and stay away from her entirely 'cause she will fuck this up for me, I bet. And no girl is worth that, even the ones that are fun messing with. She's not anything special, and the only thing even noteworthy about her is that, underneath that fucking girl-innocent act, she actually is quite intelligent. It's so clear, so evident, that anyone would be stupid as hell to believe she's anything but.
 
Anyway, whatever. I'm used to women throwing themselves at me. This is nothing new. Oh shit, I hear someone coming. Better put this cigar down and make myself look serious.