I can’t pull my eyes away from her as the two of them laugh, though her eyes don’t light up the way they used to when we were together. But even if it’s fake, I’m still fucking jealous of the dickbag for getting to be so close to her.
At least she doesn’t look like him like he’s a ghost she’s long forgotten.
Again, it must be nice to actually be memorable.
I do my best to steady the rage simmering in my chest as the two part ways, thankfully no phone numbers exchanged. Then again, maybe they know each other.
I don’t find out. I didn’t hang around to catch the conversation between them earlier.
Macho Man walks with a little less swag as Rue pulls out of the parking lot, and as he makes his way to his big, brand new lifted fucking truck, I smirk.
Rejection stings, doesn’t it, bro?
I wait for him to get in his truck, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls out his phone—something I haven’t seen in some time—and then answers what I assume is a phone call.
And damn, does he talk loud.
“Yeah, I mean, I’ll be back in a couple of weeks,” he grunts, visibly annoyed by whoever is on the other line until a few beats later. “I’m in this little shithole town and you’d never believe it. I saw this hot girl. She seemed easy.” He pauses, laughing. “Oh dude, I would’ve fuckin’ railed that fat ass.”
My mind jumpstarts.I’ll put this razor in the sorry motherfucker’s neck.
Rage simmers in my chest cavity, and I clench my fists at my side, trying to fucking breathe. I need to justwalk away.
But what the hell do I have to lose?
That thought is enough to launch me forward, and before reality connects with my brain to put on the brakes, my fist is crashing into the side of Macho Man’s temple. He drops to the ground with a sickening thud, and I stand over his big, limp, gym-honed body.
Well fuck.
It’s not nearly as satisfying as I’d hoped it’d be.
Still, I pluck his truck keys from his hand and shove them into my pocket. I have no desire to drive his piece of shit truck anywhere at all.
But I do like the idea of him not being able to.
I glance around the dead parking lot and then go for his wallet, leaving the cash and instead fishing out his ID. I shove it in my pocket, and step away, ignoring the way I’d love to crush his skull with the sole of my boot.
Too messy. That’s too messy.My brain kicks back into gear, like it’s finally fucking working again, and I slip back toward the far side of the building, heading for the trees.
I have to keep my eyes on Rue.
9
RUE
“You took forever today,”Mom’s voice echoes from the living room, wheremiraculouslyshe had moved in the time that I was gone to town. It’s like she’s nottotallyinept or something.
Shocking.
“Why are you not listening to me?” she continues with a heavy sigh thicker than the tension in the house.
“I’m listening,” I say back to her. “I was trying to put the stew together.” Which is mostly the truth, but also, I’ve been staring into the crockpot way more than anything else.
My stomach knots up, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I want to go back to LA—to the place I can exist in nothingness. No one knows who I am there, and I’m pretty sure they don’t care to know, either.
I like that.
“Did you see anyone you know?” Mom just won’t give it up, and the way she’s having to shout is grating on my nerves.
