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Dom is slumped into the chair in her childhood bedroom – a bottle of wine in one hand and her pistol in the other. She raises the bottle to her lips—takes a sip before looking through the hazy yellow glass. The Sauvignon she stole from her mother’s wine stash is almost gone. Dom sighs, grumbles, and places the bottle on the floor beside stacks of old CDs.
She needs the alcohol. At least that’s what she believes. Needs the haze to numb the anguish of her trauma—of what her life has become. Sleepless nights and long days spent perched by the bedroom window. Always on the watch for danger. Always on edge. Her eyes catch on the FBI jacket hanging from the room handle—a constant reminder of every value she was betraying. ‘Nothing would make me betray everything I stand for.’ The quote plays in her mind on loop. Despite her submission to Irving’s axe and her bitter defiance of his job proposal, in the end, she was no better than Santiago and she couldn’t stand it.
Her thoughts roam to Darlene. They always somehow find their way there, whether she wants them to or not. Darlene is an easy target for Dom’s fury, and other times the subject of her subconscious fantasies. She thinks about Darlene, her wide startled eyes pleading with her from the backseat of Santiago’s car. Wishes she hadn’t gone searching for her. Dom backpedals further in her mind. Wishes she hadn’t asked her to stay at the bar, wishes she didn’t invite her for another drink, wishes she didn’t take her back home. Curses herself for not throwing Darlene out the first time she had kissed her. Curses herself for closing the distance between them when Darlene had started stepping backward. Hates herself for letting Darlene lead her back to her bed. For being so foolish. For believing her lies.
Dom hates that she still thinks about that night—hates that she still thinks about Darlene at all. The way her body warms with desire when she thinks about that evening infuriates her. Darlene is a terrible person. Darlene is absolutely beautiful. Darlene is the catalyst of her nightmares.
Through the fog in her mind, she can distantly hear her mother singing along to Patsy Cline’s I Fall to Pieces in the kitchen. Her mother—so embarrassing and at times completely irritating, and always so wonderful. She thinks about the first time she came out to her back in college. Her nonchalant response that had surprised her – despite being so incredibly like her. “Oh, hun, I knew you liked girls since you were in high school—it was so obvious!” She cared more about her bringing someone home than what their gender was and Dom appreciated that. She always appreciates how much her mother cares about her happiness. It’s the reason she set up fences around her emotions and problems—she doesn’t want to worry her, doesn’t want to upset her.
Her mind shuffles through memories at random—the hours she spent at home studying for the LSAT, the night she told her mother she got into law school, and when she graduated as well. Her mother had yelled and cheered so loudly at her commencement that Dom’s face flushed bright red as she crossed the stage. At the same time, she couldn’t help but smile. Her mom has a magical way of doing that. Dom thinks about her mother’s smile and her gut churns at the thought of never seeing it ever again. Or even worse—having to watch as the Dark Army butchers her loved ones.
Recollection flashes sickeningly behind Dom’s eyes—remembers how Irving swung an axe down into Santiago’s chest. How he had collapsed onto the ground like a sack of potatoes. The squelching sounds his flesh made when Irving yanked the steel back out—spraying her old bosses’ blood across her face. The way that blood and viscera splattered thickly across the countryside grass. Dom shudders—wonders if the Dark Army would slaughter her family that viscerally or if they would simply erase them with a bullet to the head. The thought makes her head spin and drives nausea into her throat.
I can’t let that happen. I have to protect them—no matter what. This is all my fault. If I wasn’t so stupid, they wouldn’t be in danger. As long as I’m alive, as long as the Dark Army has their claws in me, they’ll be in danger.
She looks down at the black handgun in her palm. Remembers how the kickback ricocheted across the skin on her arms when she fired at one of the Dark Army operatives in China. The familiar rumble of it in her hands during late nights training at the shooting range. Her index finger brushes against the trigger and she imagines what it would feel like to have a bullet barrel through her skull. She presses the muzzle right under her chin and closes her eyes. Imagines blood spraying across her childhood bedroom wall and the comforting embrace of oblivion. She won’t do it. She knows this. (That’s why the safety is still on.) Still—she likes to toe the line. Hopes and wonders if one of these days she’ll gain enough courage to pull the trigger with no safeguards. Perhaps with the warm encouragement of alcohol buzzing through her system.
But she just can’t do it. There are too many factors. She could never do it here—where her poor mother would hear and inevitably find her. Dom could never hurt her like that. Even if she found some other place to vanish, the missing persons case would haunt her mother for the rest of her life. And even if she did take a bullet for her family, there was no guarantee that the Dark Army wouldn’t slaughter them like cattle anyways. Vengeance for her final bitter and defiant act. Lingering underneath all the variables and unanswered questions is fear. Dom is afraid and she hates it. She has always accepted that she could die in the line of duty—but resigning to death and doing it herself is different than being taken out while fighting. Pulling the trigger herself and knowing that would be it. Dom sucks air in through her teeth and places the gun back in her lap. Self-preservation courses through her veins and makes the gun in her hands rattle against her shaky leg.
She’ll have to figure something else out. She will—she has to—there is no other option. A sudden noise shakes her from the recesses of her mind and grounds her back in reality. “Dominique!” The door handle to the bedroom is rattling. Dom shoves the pistol under the seat cushion and makes her way over to the door—tucking her hair back behind her ear as she unlocks it. She cracks it open, but her mom takes it as an invitation and weasels her way inside.
“What, uh, what do you need, ma?” Dom asks, folding her arms nervously. Trudie looks around the room and then back to Dom—a bit aghast. “Jesus, Dom, I've been callin' for you for forever! Were you sleeping?” She sounds a little irritated but hopeful at the same time. She knows that she hasn’t been sleeping very well. Trudie had caught her rummaging around in the kitchen late at night and on her laptop early in the morning quite a few times. She bought her a bunch of melatonin gummies that Dom had tossed onto the nightstand and hardly touched.
“Yeah.” Dom lies—hoping it will quell her mother’s nerves. “Oh, good. Listen, I’m cookin’ dinner and I can’t find the bottle of Sauvignon anywhere. Have you seen it?” Dom’s chest fills with air and her eyes subconsciously drift to the bottle over by the chair. “I—uh—can’t say I have, ma…” Dom mumbles noncommittedly – she hates lying to her like this. She isn’t stupid though. Dom knows this.
“Dominique, don’t lie to your mother, I’ve seen ya takin’ my wine at night and you smell like a distillery.” She sighs—her weary eyes darting away, unable to look her mom in the eye. “Yeah… it’s, uh, there’s not really much left…” Trudie walks over to the bed and takes a seat on the edge – patting the spot on the comforter beside her. Dom reluctantly trudges over and sits beside her.
“Dom, you know I love ya, but you look awful. What is goin’ on with you? And don’t feed me any of that promotion at work crap because I can tell when you aren’t tellin’ me the whole truth.” Dom fumbles around for an answer that will satisfy her. “Um—I guess… I’ve just been going through a hard time, with, uh, a girl.” Trudie’s face lightens up a little—with surprise, or perhaps happiness—Dom can’t figure out which. Maybe both.
“A girl! Oh, Dom, why didn’t you just say so!” Her mother places a hand on her knee and gives it a little squeeze. “Well, things didn’t really work out. I guess… I didn’t want you to get your hopes up, or anything like that.” Dom replies, keeping her gaze to the floor. “You must’ve really liked her if you’re this upset about it. What happened?” God, she doesn’t want to get into this with her mother. “We had a fight. She, uh, she didn’t really like me back, I guess is the short of it.” There’s a twinge of pain in her chest with the words. She can still hear Darlene’s lies clear as day—I like you—how stupid could she have been to believe her?
“Is she not into girls?” Dom chuckles—she actually doesn’t know. Not really. Darlene had said she was into girls—had placed her tongue between her legs and masterfully driven her into droves of pleasure. If Darlene wasn’t into girls, then she was one hell of an actress. “No, that’s not it—I don’t think.” Trudie scoffs a little. “I can’t imagine a girl not likin’ you, Dominique. You’re a stunner!” She reaches up and gently runs her hands through Dom’s hair – pulling it back over her shoulder. “Any girl who turns you down is really missin’ out, I’ll tell you what.” Dom chuckles softly, the smallest smile creeping onto her lips. “Thanks, ma.”
“You think it might be a misunderstandin’? Maybe you could try talking it out with her.” Dom’s stomach drops with the thought of speaking to Darlene again. She’s thought about it plenty of times—thought about knocking Darlene’s daylights out, thought about berating her for the hell she’s been put through, thought about holding her tightly, thought about kissing her again. The fantasy always shifts depending on her mood. Either way, she burned that bridge down back in the New York countryside and with any luck, she’ll never have to see Darlene again.
“No, I don’t think we’re going to talk again.” Trudie’s face drops a little—Dom hates disappointing her like this. She hates getting her hopes up that she might find some kind of love or companionship or happiness. But at least this is better than the actual truth. “Aw, Dom. Do you miss her?” The word tumbles out of her mouth before she can fully process what she’s saying. “Yes.” She doesn’t know if she’s being honest or if she’s just trying to play it up so her mother believes her. Dom decides it’s the latter—she doesn’t want to deal with the implications if she actually misses Darlene. Trudie moves her hand and places it over Dom’s—squeezing it tenderly. Her touch is so warm and reassuring that tears start to well up in her eyes.
“Oh, hun. Come here.” Trudie coos and places her other hand on Dom’s head—guiding it into the crook of her neck. Dom is sobbing. Softly. Quietly. Her body quivering and trembling between each ragged stifled cry. She doesn’t want her mother to see or hear her break down like this. But under the guise of a broken relationship—Dom thinks it’s okay. Just this once.