Page 19 of Beast

One tear burned my skin, and it was like I had opened up a floodgate. I wept for Rafael, I wept for myself, and I drowned myself in self-pity. What had I ever done to deserve this fate? I was caught in an endless cycle of surgeries, excruciating pain, agony and no relief.

I grabbed my bottle of whisky and downed it, the smooth liquid coating my throat, taking the edge off my aching. The framed picture of the President awarding me the medal came into my view, and my breath hitched. I was not worthy of such an accolade—the highest military honor in the country.

After staring at my gun, I stood up and placed it back in my nightstand. Once again, I’d cheated death. I would make no promise for tomorrow, but tonight would not be my end.

10

Isa

My hand shook, my coffee spilling through its tiny plastic slit. This bank opened at nine in the morning, and I’d been standing outside for the last half an hour. Worry gnawed through me. This was more than money—this was my life, my future, the only lasting benefit of my past.

The teller finally opened the door at a minute past nine. I marched to the back of the bank and sat in the manager’s chair.

A middle-aged man with a glint in his eyes and an ill-fitting suit greeted me. “Good morning, Miss. How can I help you?”

I handed him my driver’s license and bankcard. “There’s a mistake in my account. My tuition check bounced. I looked online last night and it said there was a negative balance. That can’t be correct. I had over thirty-five thousand dollars in it a few months ago.”

He glanced at my ID. “I see. Please swipe your card in the reader and enter your PIN, and we will get to the bottom of this.

I followed his directions and pulled my hair.

The manager gave me a sympathetic grin and perused his screen. After the annoying tapping of his old-school keyboard, he nodded his head toward me.

“I’m sorry to say that unfortunately your balance is in the negative. It seems a transfer of funds was made into another account last month.”

“No, that’s not possible. This is my college fund. I don’t ever transfer out of it.”

He turned the screen towards me. My eyes registered what I was seeing, and I could feel my heart drop. “It seems the other owner of the account went into a branch in Temecula and transferred the money to a personal checking in his name.”

Temecula.

My hometown.

My temples throbbed with rage.

“I see. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” I stuffed my cards in my purse, grabbed my coffee, and dashed out of the bank, praying I would reach my car before tears welled in my eyes.

My father had stolen my money.

All of it.

No wonder he was avoiding my calls.

I slammed the car door and hunched over the steering wheel. I knew my dad was an alcoholic and hadn’t written anything worth publishing in years. But to steal from his own daughter?

I turned my keys in the ignition and pressed on the gas pedal.

My father would not get away with this. He better pay me back every damn penny, or I’d have him arrested.

But no matter what I had to do, I’d find the money to graduate.

11

Grady

Another fucking waiting room. Man, I was sick to death of doctors. Probing my flesh, their compassionate yet condescending smirks, insincere offers of hope. Today, I’d get another skin graft, fuck my life.

I shifted in my seat, wishing I were anywhere but here. This place was stuck in the eighties, like I was on a Miami Vice set: Kenny Loggins played over the speakers, the walls were painted pale peach, the air reeked of baby powder and bleach, and a vase of plastic flowers was placed on the floor, not even worthy of a cheap coffee table.