I stop outside the building and take my phone out.
Pandora
Where are you? I need a good, violent fuck.
Wannabe Hot Stuff
Seriously? Go find Asch.
Pandora
Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll carve him up. Maybe I’ll deliver all of him in little chocolate boxes. Every piece but the head.
Wannabe Hot Stuff
I’m by the greenhouse.
Where we’d had our lovely public fuck several weeks ago. I put my phone away and start jogging in that direction.
I’m so focused on the strange itch inside me, the thing clawing its way out of my skin, that I don’t pay attention to anything around me.
Stupid fucking mistake.
Never let your guard down, Panda, Uncle Slayer had said, and Daddy had agreed with him for once while explaining what kind of stupid things could happen if you don’t pay attention, like walking straight into a carjacking.
How do you walk into a carjacking?
I still haven’t figured that one out, but I do know it’s possible to walk into a bunch of frat guys.
Tate and two other guys block my path. Tate is in front, the leader of this little group. One of the guys behind him has a crooked nose, and he has a cast on his hand. The third guy’s face is all red, with a wicked burn scar going up his neck. He’s also holding a cardboard box, the top open. I can’t see what’s inside.
I stop and glare at them.
“Out of the way,” I snap. I reach into my hoodie pocket and grip my knife. “I’m not in the mood for you.”
“Funny,” Tate says, taking a step closer. “We’re never in the mood for you, either, yet you keep popping up. Like some fucking nasty STD that won’t go away.”
His two friends chuckle at the terrible joke.
I don’t react at all.
I think he’s trying to insinuate that I’m a slut or diseased, but it’s not like I haven’t heard worse from them.
“Okay?” I prompt. “Are we done? I’m in a hurry.”
Tate’s expression morphs into one of extreme anger. “Done? No, I’m not fucking done, you psycho bitch. After what you did to me?—”
Psycho bitch.
Yeah, I guess that’s me.
I smile at him. “Me? What are you talking about? You’re the one who can’t hold his bladder. But you’re into that, right? The whole watersports thing.”
Tate’s friends shuffle awkwardly. I try to remember who they are, but all the Kappa Assholes blend together at this point. I hope the dude’s burn scar is because of the fire I set.
I hope he lost all his stuff.
I hope his dick burned off.
