Page 26 of Satan's Spawn
Throwing the shirt over my head, I do the same with the hoodie slung over my desk chair, then drop onto it to pull on my boots.
Saint already knows not to push the issue, so he falls face first onto his bed. “Where you goin’? It’s almost eleven.” he asks, throwing the blanket over his bare back.
As if either of us gives a shit about the schools mandatory curfew.
“Out.” Is all I give him, needing to get the fuck out of this room before I do something stupid.
Like strangling him for trying to be a decent human.
“You do know the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, right?”
I roll my eyes as I tie up my last boot, snatching my wallet off the desk. “Which is exactly what you should be telling yourself before attempting another one of these conversations.”
I stuff my wallet into my back pocket once I stand, ignoring the middle finger that’s pointed my way from the shirtless guy on the bed.
“You’re an asshole,” Saint mumbles into his pillow.
Tell me something I don’t know.
“Yet somehow you still love me.”
* * *
“Six bucks is your change,here you go.” The twenty-something year old guy behind the liquor store counter hands me the bills, along with the bottle of Jack in a brown paper bag.
“Thanks.” I take the bag from him first, then the money which gets stuffed into the front pocket of my black hoodie.
“So, did it hurt?” The guy asks, pointing to the horns on my neck.
What is it about my face that screams:I love to engage in small talk?
Especially when I make it a priority to seem as unapproachable as possible.
“Not as bad as the piercing on my cock.”
This makes his eyes widen. “You for real?”
“I can arrange for you to find out.” I raise an eyebrow, my gaze dropping to his lips so I can drive the intention home.
Maybe a quick blowjob in the back is all I need to rid these fucking nightmares.
He audibly swallows, no doubt appalled with what I’m suggesting. “I don’t swing that way, man. I was just curious.”
Well, this will teach you to belesscurious when a pissed off guy walks into your store.
Reaching for a pack of spearmint gum in front of the counter, I shove it in my pocket. “What’s that saying about curiosity?” I reach for a bag of chips, too. “It killed the…?”
“Cat?” He offers nervously after a brief silence.
“Pretty sure they meant thecashier.” My lip twitches as I turn, boots pounding against the floor as I exit the store.
I ignore everything and everyone around me as I trudge toward the park, taking swigs out of the bottle and reveling in the alcohol burn that coats my throat. I need to feel anything other than the nerves from the memories that have been ambushing me non stop.
How can one person do this?
A girl I don’t even know.
Other than what the background check told me when I looked her up.
