Page 47 of No Saint
HENDRIX: If I catch wind of you sinking your short stump of a dick in her hellhole, I’m stripping you of some pimp stripes.
HENDRIX: There’s already two pimps stripes gone from your pimp suit for even thinking about it.
BELLAMY: Like you can talk, fuckface, you ended up with the OG Medusa.
HENDRIX: You leave my used-to-be Medusa out of this.
HENDRIX: Serious, you Quasimodo-looking fuck, don’t screw up your life over Weirdo. She burned your ass.
That was the understatement of the goddamn century. She had ruined me. Sent me on a downward spiral that had landed me in a relationship I had no business being in. It wasn’t fair to Nora or me because I was with her for all the wrong reasons. I’d just wanted to prove to myself I could love someone besides Jade. And that kiss had done nothing but prove how wrong I had been. It showed me how much I’d been drowning. Her soft lipsagainst mine felt like my head had finally broken water and I’d pulled in a lifesaving breath. God, Hendrix was right. I needed my damn pimp stripes ripped off.
HENDRIX: Stop ignoring us, dickface. We’re worried.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I typed out:
It’s just a two-week suspension. Nice to have a vacation. Don’t worry about me.
Sent it, then silenced my phone. I didn’t want to read any more of their bullshit. To be honest, I didn’t even want to deal with my own bullshit.
Dog dropped his ball at my feet. I tossed it, and it ricocheted off the wall, straight under the bed. He wedged his chunky body beneath the mattress, pawing at the floor with a whine.
On a sigh, I rolled out of bed and dropped to my hands and knees. “How the hell did you nudge it back that far?” When I reached for the ball, my hand brushed the crumpled Adidas box hidden beneath the bed. The one I kept all of Jade’s notes in. I stared at that damned box for a solid ten seconds before I pulled it out. I’d tried to throw it out countless times. About a year ago, I’d even gone as far as tossing it into the trash, only to remove it an hour later. That box was the equivalent of a casket that held mine and Jade’s relationship, but I could never quite bring myself to actually bury it.
When she went to stay with Brent for the summer, I’d sat and read through those little messages every day for a week. And every time I did, that painful hole Jade had left in my heart grew and festered. I’d promised myself I’d give her space, but after a bottle of whiskey—there was a theme here—I’d taken a picture of the open box, the little origami swan on the top. Like a snivelingpussy, I’d texted it to Jade. Maybe some part of me thought it would tug on her heartstrings enough to make her message me back, even realize that she didn’t want a break.
The text never delivered. Neither did the next one or the one after that. That was when I’d realized she’d blocked me, and fuck did that hurt. She was the last person I’d ever expected to cut me out of her life like I was some malignant cancer. Everything I’d believed about her, about us, was nothing but a shitty lie. It was when I realized that caring about someone didn’t matter because I couldn’t force Jade to love me the way I did her. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I wanted it. Jade had been my everything, and I had evidently been nothing but a placeholder.
I crammed the box back under my bed, pushed to my feet, and went downstairs to try to fix what I could of my life.
I took my algebra book from my backpack on the way to the kitchen, dropping the heavy book onto the table before I put some leftover Roller Burger into the microwave. Dog sat at my feet, staring up at me while the microwave hummed.
“You aren’t getting any,” I said, just as the ding sounded.
I placed the plate beside my textbook and sat down. Dog pawed at my leg and let out a whimper.
“Stop being a scavenger,” I said, tossing him a fry anyway. I had a soft spot for the dickhead, which was probably why he was the worst behaved canine in the history of existence. He gobbled it up, then pawed again at my leg.
“Hey, Wolf.” Petey walked into the kitchen, Bellamy behind him. “That sunburn is turning into a nice tan.”
“Fuck off.” Saturday night, after downing an entire bottle of whiskey, I’d climbed onto the roof to be alone with my thoughts and passed out. By the time I’d woken up at one in the afternoon, I’d gotten my fair share of sun.
Bellamy stopped by the table, snatching a fry from my plate. “You okay?” He gave me a look that suggested he thought I wasn’t.
“I’m fine.”
“Missed a voice clip of Hendrix singing, ‘Wolf is a pussy-whipped bitch’ to the tune of the Oompa-Loompa song.” Because Hendrix had nothing better to do with his time.
I pointed at my textbook. “I don’t have time to listen to that dumbass sing his stupid jingles.”
He cracked a laugh. “We’re headed over to The Big Pickle to meet Rogue. Drew and some of the girls are going. One of them has massive jugs.” He whacked my shoulder. “Might cheer up your miserable ass.” Fuck him for realizing how miserable I was.
“Yeah,” Petey said. “We’re going for quiz night. You wanna come?”
“Fuck no.” Quiz night at some shitty bar—big-breasted women or not—was my idea of hell.
“Petey, you aren’t going for quiz night.” Bellamy half rolled his eyes. “There’s a wet T-shirt contest afterward.”
Not even the idea of girls in wet T-shirts made me want to go. “Put Petey in it,” I said, thumbing my pencil in his direction. “He’ll win. He has huge nipples.”
