“Yeah? Fuck you right back,” Levi retorts.
I try to shush him as she sticks her middle fingers in the air and waltzes off to her car. She races off, barely staying on the road as she takes a few inches of grass off the campus while speeding out the gates.
“Why did you let her go? Fucking hell,” Grey growls before he stomps his way back up the stairs.
“You think you want her anywhere near you right now?” I yell back. “Goddammit …” I mutter, closing the door. “She wasthisclose to actually killing us.”
“Yeah, well maybe we should’ve just let her.” Levi throws his hoodie back over his head and walks out the door.
“Hey, where are you going?” I ask him.
“I’m done.”
“Done with what?”
“Nothing.”
I don’t even know what that means.
“Fine. Go be depressed as usual,” I say, swatting the air because I’m done too. “I’ll deal with the mess that firecracker left.”
I know she liked what we did in my bedroom, which is why it’s so tough to watch her turn on me. But I have this lingering feeling that all this might not be about me, but aboutthem.
Aspen
I driveuntil I can no longer stand it, until I can’t even reason with myself any longer, until my mind ceases to exist. Tears roll down my cheeks, clouding my vision, clouding my judgment, as I park my car at the nearest seedy-looking joint near the outskirts of town and walk inside.
I’m drowning. Losing myself in the hatred, and all I want is to let it all go.
So I hop on a stool near the bar and signal the bartender. “Whiskey on the rocks.”
“No mix?”
“Do I look like I need a mix right now?” I growl back. “Give it to me straight.”
He judges me with his eyes, but without saying another word, and he slides the whiskey to me.
I down it all in one go, then slam the glass down. “Another one.”
“Damn, girl,” the man beside me says, but I ignore him. “You must’ve had one hell of a day.”
“Hell doesn’t even begin to describe it.”
Even when I tried to burn it all to the ground … even when I tried to end it all … they managed to stop me. Even when I try my best to be my worst possible self, somehow, someway, they still break through.
I’ve had it.
I chug down the next drink and hit the bartender for another.
“So tell me, what kind of hell?” the man beside me says.
“Nothing.”
“Let me guess … a break-up?”
“If you count wanting to kill your boyfriends a break-up,” I reply in a stone-cold voice. “Then sure.”
“Killas in actually killing him? Shit.”
