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She’s mine yet …
I clutch the sink and stare at myself.
This beard I’ve grown for the past three years is looking right back at me, and I fucking hate it. So I grab the razor and start chopping away at it until nothing is left but pruned stubble, maybe an inch thick.
I wash my face again and look at myself while scratching my chin. It feels empty. Exposed. Less of a caveman, more like a man … a mobster.
My nostril twitches.
You are nothing like them. Nothing.
But that girl in there … she seems to think I am.
I take in a deep breath and march into the kitchen to grab a big chopping board and knife along with some potatoes, and I start thrusting away to release some pent-up rage.
When she spit in my face, I wanted nothing more than to force her on her knees, rip off her lingerie, and thrust into that sweet, velvety pussy of hers.
But something stopped me.
Something intangible, like a fire burning between us.
I throw the chopped potatoes in a tray and continue chopping other vegetables.
She tried to kill me. She deserves to be in there, even if I promised to let her out.
I blow out another sigh and chuck the vegetables into the tray as well. Some of them tumble onto the floor, and I yell out, “Goddammit!”
I’m not mad. I’m not fucking mad at all.
With the tray in my hands, I march outside to the oven that’s been smoldering for hours and stuff the tray inside. I slam the door shut so hard it almost falls off its hinges.
I have to calm down, but what the fuck do I do?
My axe is right there next to the door, so I pick it up and swing it around on some random tree, pouring it all out until nothing is left, and the tree falls down in the middle of the forest. Then I grab my saw and start cutting it into pieces, leaving the stump for later.
It takes me about an hour to destroy it and turn it into neat round pieces, along with some longer, thicker parts I may use for furniture.
I turn around and blow out another breath, staring out at the forest beyond. Its tranquility doesn’t even manage to quell the storm raging in my mind.
Doesn’t take my thoughts away from the girl sitting in that cold freezer room right now.
Jasmine.
She’s probably cursing me under her breath for leaving her there when I promised more.
But she tried to kill me, and she spat on me. She deserves this …
A pang of guilt shoots through my body.
Guilt I’ve never felt before. Ever.
A smoky scent enters my nostrils, and I turn to the origin. The oven.
Fuck.
I rush to it and open the doors with my gloves, taking out the tray with vegetables and potatoes that are only partially burned. Still edible but too crispy.
“Goddammit!” I growl, and I march back inside and throw the tray onto the kitchen table.
