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Once I’m sure, I flick the light on in the bedroom and change my blades to a different set of prosthetics. It takes me a little while, but the blades would attract too much attention for what I have in mind.
When I’m done, I freshen up in the bathroom, running some product through my hair so I can brush it into a high ponytail. When I’m satisfied, I start on my makeup, going for a dark, vampy look with smokey eyes and dark red lips. Returning to the bedroom, I pull out clean clothes, opting for leather pants, flat biker boots with lots of buckles, and a glittery gold halter top without a bra. Once I’m dressed, I check myself out and grin. The bottom half of me looks ready to fight and the top half ready to fuck, which sums up my overall mood tonight. I just want to get lost for a while.
I consider driving since I won’t be drinking much, but an Uber gives me more anonymity. Plates are easy to trace, and though that sounds paranoid as fuck, some things are just ingrained in me.
I take my key off its ring, slip it into my back pocket with my cell phone, and shove my ID, bank card, and a few bucks into the other. I don’t want to take a bag out with me tonight. I have a habit of leaving it behind. Having the guys around is handy because I can usually make them carry my stuff, but I can do without. Besides, I’m not going to be gone for long. Tonight is all about getting the release I didn’t get earlier. If I don’t burn off some of this aggression, I’m going to lose my shit.
I lock up and set the alarm before waving down a cab as it passes by. I was going to call an Uber, but this is even better. I climb in the back and nod to the driver.
“Where to, love?”
“Somewhere where the drinks are cheap, I can get lost in a crowd for a while.”
“I’m guessing you’re less of a wine and dancing kind of girl and more of a beer and people-watching person?” He looks at me in the rearview mirror with knowing eyes.
“What gave me away?”
“The shit kickers.” He laughs, referring to my boots.
“Most women who want to go out dancing climb in here wearing contraptions so high I have no clue how they walk in them, let alone dance.”
I laugh. “Even if I wanted to wear heels, I couldn’t. My balance is shit.” I pull my pant leg up and raise my leg so he can see.
His eyes widen a little. “Now that’s a beauty. My brother lost his leg in Afghanistan. He had some guy up in Washington come down and spray it with the American flag. It’s badass, but yours might just be better.”
I look down at my leg. The metal ones I’m wearing tonight are covered in flames. In parts, they look like they’re melting. In other sections, rivets are exposed, and grooves etched into the metal make it seem like my skin has been torn away to reveal a Terminator-style robot skeleton beneath. They cost more than my car, and I had to wait two years for the guy’s waiting list to clear, but they were worth every penny. My blades might be my favorite because of the way I can move with them, but visually, these are so beautiful. When I wear them, they feel like an extension of my personality and not just replacements for something I lost.
“Were you in the armed forces?” he asks me as I slide my pant leg back down and lean back.
“No. I was in an accident when I was a kid. I was trapped when the roof collapsed on top of me. My legs were so badly damaged that it was impossible to save them.”
“You lost them both. Damn, that had to be hard. How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Holy shit. I broke my leg last year, and I’m man enough to admit I was a fucking pussy when it came to recovery and PT. And it was nothing compared to what you went through.”
I shrug, not knowing what to say to that.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How did you manage, you know, after?”
“I don’t know, I think being young helped me. I went to a rehab center for a while. There were a few guys there who had come from a military hospital with amputations, like your brother. They found it hard to adjust because they had all had active lives where they were these big, strong, and tough guys. And losing a limb made them feel less somehow. I never felt that because I still hadn’t grown into my own skin. I hadn’t found my strength then. Losing my legs forced me to find it.”
“You’re amazing.”
I shrug off the compliment, not used to hearing them. I mean, Nico and Rex tell me shit all the time, but it’s not the same when it’s family. They have to say it.
“Well, I know the perfect place for you. It can be a little rough, I won’t lie, but you look like you can handle yourself. Mostly they are good guys, a lot of ex-soldiers reminiscing and all that shit. You won’t find wine there, though,” he teases, leaving the decision up to me.
“Sounds good. I’m not looking to dance. I’m looking to get lost, and I love listening to people’s stories. I swear I should have been one of those radio hosts, the late-night ones who people call for advice.”
“Oh, I used to love those. You don’t hear many these days. Everything is all podcasts and things I don’t know much about. I liked the interaction.”
I grin. “I’d probably get fired during the first show, so it’s just as well. I’m not the most empathic person on the planet. I can be blunt, even brutal at times.”
