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Chapter Eighty-Six
Point of View: Narrator


Desi had bought a gun illegally from a couple members of a gang that he knew who gave it to him for a $100. He'd stolen the $100 from a woman he'd slept with.

He was laying in the dark under a stairwell in a condemned building a few miles out of Los Angeles, the gun laying on his chest, fully loaded, stroking its' barrel.

He was going to kill himself. He just needed to get the guts up to do it.

Desi pulled out his cell phone and signed into his voicemail, and listened to Krystal's voice floor his ear, washing over him. She'd been in tears on the phone. It had been her spoken suicide note. She was going to Nick Carter, she said, and he was her only hope. If he didn't take her back, if he didn't want her, she would be dead by the end of the night.

"I'm sorry, Dez," she whispered into the phone, "It's not that I didn't enjoy my time with you, I did; but as I told you every day that were together, Nick Carter... we were meant to be together, we were soul mates, and as much as I've hurt him, as much as I've destroyed him in the past, I want this baby to belong to him. I know he'll be a good father, and I know he'll treat me and the baby right, and I trust him. If he doesn't want me back, there's nothing left for me to live and breathe for, and the baby and I would both be better off dead. I don't deserve to live after what I've done to Nick."

Desi closed the phone, cutting Krystal's voice off.

He closed his eyes.

He lifted the gun.

Suddenly, there were footsteps upstairs. Giggles.

A guy's voice was echoing unintelligibly down the stairwell, and a girl was giggling alongside it, nervously.

Desi laid very still, gun lifted, staring into the darkness with baited breath.

"I told you we could be alone here," the guy's voice was saying. Their footsteps were echoing closer and closer.

"This is so scary," she hissed, giggling even harder.

"They say the place is haunted," the guy whispered.

The girl squealed, "No! They do? Oh my God, I'm even more scared now."

"It's okay," he said in a deep voice that was clearly not his own, "I'll protect you, don't worry."

They were coming down the stairs Desi was hiding under. Shaking, he aimed the gun at the door.

"I can't believe we're doing this," she whispered.

"Neither can I," he answered.

They rounded the corner of the door and Desi sat in the dark, shaking, gun aimed, waiting, praying they wouldn't notice him, and they'd walk by. He didn't want to kill them, he didn't want them to have to die. But he didn't want to be seen, either.

Luckily, they scurried past, and disappeared through a door, which they closed behind them.

Desi quickly gathered up his stuff and ran up the stairs. He'd have to find some place else to go to kill himself, that's all. He wanted to be alone when he did it, and he wanted to be somewhere that he wouldn't be found. Somewhere that the things he carried in his bags would be lost forever with him.