Page 82 of Played
I reach for the handle, but he’s already out of the car and rounding the rear. Seconds later, he opens my door, scanning the lot. Only when he’s satisfied does he step back and let me exit. His big hand settles on the middle of my back as he walks me to the rear entrance of the firehouse.
“Thanks, Graham. I really appreciate it,” I say, grabbing the door handle.
He nods. “I’ll see you in the morning. If you need to leave before then, don’t forget to call me. Please don’t go on your own unless it’s work related.”
“Got it.” Waving at him, I pull the door open and enter.
The familiar scent of Pine-Sol greets me, but unlike most mornings, it doesn’t bring familiarity or solace. There is nothing familiar about my world as of two days ago. If not for my job, I would’ve stayed curled up in my bed, under the covers, hiding from everyone.
But no one’s trying to hear I have to call in because of a sex tape. Hell, I don’t even know if that would be a valid excuse. For damn sure would be a new one.
“Huh. So you’re actually here. I’m surprised you showed your face here today. I just knew you were going to call in.”
I tell my feet to keep moving, but the shame barrels into me in waves, crashing down over me. Freezing me midstep.
He must’ve been waiting on me. Like a spider hiding, waiting for its prey to enter its web.
Slowly turning around, I face Matt.
He smirks. “Not so mouthy now, are you? Not when everyone—and I do mean everyone—has seen you getting fucked. Must be a very proud moment for your father and brothers.”
His low laugh creeps over my skin, leaving a filthy film behind.
“Good to know. Thanks for that.” I start to walk off, but his next words jerk me up short.
“I’m not even gonna lie. I’m glad this happened. It’s what I’ve known all along. You’re a whore, and now everyone knows it.”
His words are blows to my chest, abdomen, and soul. I’m bleeding internally from each strike, and I can barely breathe. The pain is physical and nauseating.
But quick on its heels is rage. Pure rage. Maybe because I’ve been called a ho so many times over the last two days by people who don’t know me, hearing it from this piece of shit, who does know exactlywhoI am andwhatI stand for, sends my fury through the roof.
Maybe because I’ve been adamant about handling it on my own, about standing in my own strength, butI haven’t. I haven’t done anything but let him get away with denigrating me, tearing me down, and stealing my power.
I’m tired.
I’mdone.
I whirl around on him.
And snap.
“A whore.” I take a step toward him, and the sneer riding his lips starts to slip. “You’re pathetic. A joke. A bitch-ass muthafucka who probably got up extra early this morning so you could be right here to unload all of your bitter, petty, insecure bullshit on me. Did you stand in the shower and plan what you were going to say? Make sure you delivered it with the correct affect? Well, good for you.” I slow clap. “Are you feeling better, Matt? Did you get that one off your chest? I want to make sure you’re good.” I cock my head, baring my teeth at him in what couldn’t possibly be considered a smile. “Because,bitch, you will never talk to me like that again. I’ve let you slide, and now you feel alittle too comfortable disrespecting me. You shouldn’t have come for me today, Matt, because I damn sure didn’t send for you. But now that you’re here, get this, okay,bitch? If you ever fix your mouth to speak to me in any capacity outside of our job, then I will report your ass. And that’s after I knock your fucking teeth in. You better find something safe to do, Matt. Because this ain’t what you want,bitch.”
Spinning around, I don’t give him time to reply but continue up the stairs leading to the locker room. My heart pounds in my chest, the throbbing echoing in my ears. His expression spurs me faster up the steps.
I’d seen Matt angry.
But what I saw before I left? The ice-cold, almost blank look flattening his features sent a chill tripping down my spine. I have to watch him. I don’t trust him for shit.
Just as I reach the second floor, the alarm starts blaring throughout the station. Relief sweeps through me, and I hurry to my locker to dump my bag and get to my gear.
I would never wish a disaster or harmful circumstance on anyone.
But I would rather face a fire than stay here.
It’s a shame that I feel safer with the fire than I do here in my own firehouse.
“Other than smoke inhalation, you check out fine. Your vitals are good as well. I’m going to keep you on oxygen for another couple of hours, and then you can be discharged. But”—the doctor checks her chart, then returns her attention to me—“you’ll need to rest for the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours. When you get home, take cough drops and the full course of antibiotics I’ll bring to you before you leave. Even after you feel one hundred percent, continue to take them as prescribed. After the first two days, if you have abnormal throat irritation or youdon’t feel any better, go see your general practitioner or come back here. Okay?”
