Mental Scars

 Ivan was… nervous. An emotion that he didn’t feel very often. It was a rarity. Especially now, when he had become a decently mellowed-out older man.

 His grip on the bouquet of flowers in his hand tightened. The Russian’s spouse had given them to him. Told him that for something like this, even a small gift could make a difference.

 At first, they had tried to dissuade him. They said that Amber’s recommendation of leaving Alex alone was his best bet. Alex absolutely did not want to see him.

 That thought made his chest tighten with another unfamiliar feeling. A sort of emotional pain that he couldn’t put a name to. Grief, maybe?

 Alex didn’t want to see him. The idea replayed in his head. That couldn’t be true. Back when they were kids, Alex followed him around everywhere. Clung to him like a desperate puppy.

 The memories of their childhood made the corners of his lips curl up. It was a sad sort of smile. One that showed a repressed sense of loss. Loss that he did his best not to feel.

 Stop being a pussy.

 He couldn’t even tell if the voice that rang out in his head was his own. Was it D? Regardless… It was right. Alex was his childhood friend. His best friend. They could talk this out. They would talk this out. And when all was said and done, in the future, they’d laugh about this brief hiccup in time. Just another silly mistake caused by miscommunication.

 Just knock on the fucking door already.

 Obeying the voice, Ivan reached out with his free hand, his knocks on Alex’s door less harsh than they’d usually be. He really was nervous.

 After several moments, the door opened. And there Alex stood. The short albino was in an apron and covered in flour. Messy. But… he didn’t look like he had aged a day since Ivan last spoke to him. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly how he felt about that.

 For a brief second, Alex actually seemed surprised. Likely, he was expecting his new best friend. Liam. An even shorter albino, and an incubus.

 While Ivan shoved down his jealousy, Alex’s expression became carefully detached. He appeared vaguely wary of the man before him. Ivan ignored this as Alex spoke first.

 “Hello, Ivan. What do you want?”

 Ivan gave a half-smile, teeth showing. It didn’t carry his usual confidence. In fact, the ex-mafia leader appeared quite sheepish. Certainly a first for Alex. But a first he didn’t visibly react to.

 “I just came to see my old friend-”

 “We’re not friends.”

 The words were sharpened by Alex’s firm tone, cutting through the air.

 “Come on Alex, you don’t mean that. Listen, whatever I did wrong, we were just stupid kids. Surely, you can forgive me. You can’t stay mad at me forever.”

 These words brought something out of Alex. A deep, bottled up rage filled with years of resentment and decades of pain. His response was accompanied with a swirling inferno in his eyes and a sneer on his face.

 “Are you fucking kidding me? I “can’t be mad at you forever”? You don’t know what you fucking did? A pathetic excuse for an apology isn’t going to fix what you did to me. To everybody you’ve come in contact with. You’re a disease, Ivan. One I don’t want anymore.

 “You constantly neglected and ignored me. You’ve raped Amber, repeatedly. Doll - your wife - is a shining example of the mental abuse you’ve forced others to endure. If you truly felt sorry, you wouldn’t fucking be taking advantage of their inability to remember how badly you’ve hurt them. But it’s too late for that now, isn’t it? And that’s your fault.

 “You can’t just use some “boys will be boys” excuse for this shit. Fuck off, Ivan. If I ever see you near my property again, I will get Hank to remove you.”

 Not even giving the other man time to respond, Alex slammed the door shut, locks clicking in place.

 …

 Ivan stood there, the flowers in his hand forgotten. Alex’s words hurt. They hurt because they were true.

 But above all, the worst thing was that despite how painful it was to lose one of his closest friends, he still felt no remorse for the terrible things he’s done. And he probably never will.

 A man like this couldn’t be fixed. He was rotten to the core. He always had been. Always will be. And even if by some miracle, he did change… There was no making up for what he’s done for others. The people he’s abused, murdered, raped. The victims were created simply by being unfortunate enough to know him in his younger years.

 There was no second chance for most of them. And, perhaps as a form of karma, Ivan now knew what it was like to have none himself. The first consequence of his actions. So many years later, when he thought his past could no longer affect him. But that wasn’t true.

 And there was a small chance that this wouldn’t be the only portion of karma heading his way. This pain in no way matched those of his victims and their families.

 Did Ivan think of this, though? No. He didn’t. He was self-centered. There was no changing that. As kind as he tended to act now, it was a front. A persona. At best, a sign of him aging. He was still mentally immature. A man child. Someone who wanted what he wanted no matter what it took to get there. With no regard for those he discarded and crushed along the way.

 There were no second chances. No sign of hope for his victims. And in death, they hoped that Ivan would finally feel the hopeless despair they were inflicted with in their final moments. Resentment was targeting him. Mounting. Growing stronger.

 It may affect more parts of his life soon. You can’t make amends with ghosts.