Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Washing my body, I’m overwhelmed by the fact that even if I don’t want to admit it to myself, I still care. It’s why I didn’t push her into traffic that day, why I couldn’t actually go through with forcing her to give me a blow job.
Clenching my fist, I lash out at the tiled wall with rage. My teeth grind together, and I hate myself a little more for not being able to fully hate her, for there being a morsel of care beneath it all. Why? I just want to hate her, to forget that she ever mattered to me, and yet every time I look at her, I see the little girl who hugged my sister on the first day of kindergarten. I see my sister’s best friend hugging her. I see someone that should’ve protected her, instead of harming her, and maybe that’s half the problem. I never should’ve expected that from Kennedy.
Punching the tile a couple more times, my knuckles are a meaty mess as I get out of the shower. Blood drips all over the pristine white tile, but I don’t give a fuck. Drying off, I walk into my bedroom and pull on a pair of shorts. As soon as I step out into the hall, I hear a knock at the door. Gritting my teeth, I stop at the front door. I swear to god if it’s Kennedy, she is going to wish she didn’t show back up here.
My patience to deal with her is non-existent at this point, and though I don’t want to physically hurt her, I’m toeing the line between right and wrong at this point. Unlocking the deadbolt, I tug the door open, a barrage of words cling to the roof of my mouth when I find it isn’t Kennedy at all, but Talon.
“Hey, fuckface, got out of there fast enough,” he says, shoving into my apartment. Fucker wants to get punched in the face, doesn’t he?
“What the fuck do you want?” I whirl around to face him, slamming the front door since I already know he isn’t going to be leaving right away. I’m not really in the mood for company tonight. I’d rather drink myself to death at this point.
“Is that any way to greet the person who comes with twenty-five thousand dollars in his pocket for you?”
My face deadpans. “Just give me the money, jackass. I’m not in the mood for company tonight.”
Talon wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Oh, really? Is that why you ran out of the pit and to that chick? I saw her walking down the street on the way over here. Did you fuck her?” I don’t say anything, mainly because there isn’t anything to say. I don’t have to tell him who I fuck and don’t fuck. Does he think he’s my dad or something? Agitated, I roll my shoulders. It feels like I’m being interrogated.
“I’m going to take your silence as a yes since you aren’t denying it.” He smirks. “Did you at least make it hurt? She deserves some pain after the story you told me. Hell, you should’ve kept her here, maybe I could’ve fucked her too. Made sure she got the point.”
I don’t understand my reaction to what he’s said, but I pounce, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. “Don’t fucking touch her! She’s mine. Do you hear me? Don’t touch her. Don’t look at her. Nothing.”
“Jesus, dude.” Talon tries to push me off, but my grip on him is too tight. I’m tempted to rearrange his face, but I hold back. I’ve hurt enough people tonight. “I heard you loud and clear. Don’t touch the blonde. I got it.”
I release him with a shove, and he stumbles back. The shock over my outburst is written all over his face, and I don’t want to see it. I’m ashamed to be feeling this way. I hate Kennedy, fucking hate her so much, it’s all I can feel sometimes, but every once in a while there is something else, something deeper. It comes out of nowhere and makes me think twice about what I’m doing to her.
“You okay, man? You’re acting weird,” Talon says, pushing me to my limits. His voice is a saw cutting through me. I want to flatten him.
“I’m fine. Now get the fuck out of here before I beat the fuck out of you. I want to be alone,” I yell at him, pointing to the door. He backpedals, his entire face ashen now. I can’t imagine how I look at this point. Like a beast that’s ready to explode.
Slamming down onto the couch, I take my head into my hands and listen for the door to close. When it slams shut, I shove up from the couch. Her fucking scent is all around me. It’s in my head, under my skin. I hate her. I fucking hate her. There is no room for anything else inside of me. Walking into the kitchen, I grab the bottle of bourbon off the top of the fridge, twist the cap off, and bring it to my lips.