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I broke my promise to the person who matters most in the world. I broke her heart.
I haven’t bathed in…days? Weeks?
I drink myself into a stupor every night. In the morning, I wake up and start drinking again.
Carter doesn’t look too hot himself. Tired and rumpled, he has circles under his bloodshot eyes. His hair, usually gelled back, is greasy and sticking up in all directions.
“I should get a fucking hazmat team to torch this place,” he growls. He walks away from me and heads into the kitchen. He returns with a box of trash bags and starts picking up half-filled takeout boxes.
“Cut it out,” I snap at him. “And get the fuck out of my house.”
He rakes me with a look of scorn. “Who’s going to make me, princess? You?” And he goes back to work, turning his back on me, dismissing me completely as any kind of threat. The man who should be prey, taunting the predator in his lair.You’re a weak little puppy,is what his scornful gesture says to me.
That’s it.
Fury roars through me.
Nobody speaks to me like that.You’re king or you’re nothing.
I leap up and run at him. He drops the garbage bag and turns to face me, so slowly that it’s insulting.
We start to spar. For the first couple of minutes, I’m dull and sluggish, my hangover clouding my brain, my muscles slack from lack of use.
But then the old instincts come roaring back to life, and the next thing I know, he’s down on the floor, his face purpling as I strangle him.
I almost laugh. This feels like old times. The gurgling noises he’s making are kind of funny, and so is the way his eyes are bulging from his head like a cartoon.
But he’s not prey. He doesn’t fit my requirements, so I let go and he sits up, gasping, wheezing and rubbing his throat.
“Call me princess again,” I challenge as I stagger over to the couch and collapse. There’s a mariachi band marching through my head. I never realized how much I hated mariachi. They’re pounding a brutal rhythm on the inside of my skull with their drumsticks.
“Oh really? Didn’t know that was your thing,” he sneers, his voice raspy from being choked. He remains unafraid and resumes picking up trash.
“I told you, knock it off and get out of my house, you piece of shit.”
He stops. “You’re talking to me about shit?” He picks up a takeout carton and tosses it at me. It splatters on the couch. It’s crawling with maggots.
“What the hell?” I yell at him, jumping up in disgust.
“You want to live like this? Like a pig in slop?”
A killing fury swirls through me like a tornado. Any sane man would run from me right now. Hell, I made even Tamara run from me, the last night I saw her, and she loved me more than the moon and stars. “Get the hell out!”
Carter has apparently lost all sense of self-preservation. He stands there, looking around. Still not leaving.
Then his squinty brown eyes focus on me again. “I guess you really did love her. Boo fucking hoo. Poor little baby. Of course she dumped you. What did you expect? You’re a fucking nut job.”
“I let her go. I sent her away.” Why am I even bothering to explain myself to him?
“Yeah, whatever.” He turns and heads for the door.
“Wait,” I call after him, my voice raspy. He’s the first person I’ve spoken to in days, unless you count the hallucinations who sweep through my house on a regular basis. And I don’t talk to them much—just scream threats or pleas.
He looks back at me with disgust. “Why? I came here to ask for your help. I wasted my time and my subway token. You couldn’t fucking kill a kitten.”
Someone needs killing? I feel vague interest stirring, underneath the heavy blanket of misery that’s wrapped around me like a reeking cloak.
“Hold on. Give me a few minutes. Please.” Saying that word nearly makes me vomit, but he pauses.
