Page 38 of Wreckage of Me
“So that makes you invincible?” I continue drilling her with my eyes.
“Stop trying to scare me,” she frowns at me now. “I always lock my car. Or, I guess not always,” she chuckles, “since you got in it today. But I do lock it ninety-nine percent of the time.”
“Okay, we’ll just hope that no one tries to get in for the other one percent,” I tease her.
She makes it so easy to talk to her, and we continue the back and forth banter all the way to her house. Good thing I made sure to learn the area from Becca’s job to her house because I definitely did not pay any attention to shit while driving from point A to point B.
“Just pull it into the garage,” Becca directs me when I am about to park in her driveway. She leans over to push one of the buttons of the car, then we watch as the large door slowly starts moving up.
“Uhh,” she hesitates once we’re in.
“I’m not leaving,” I tell her and pop the door open. I don’t plan on going anywhere, not for a while.
“Should we, uh, talk about it first?” she jumps out of the car and we meet in the back, by the trunk. The garage door is still open, and the cool air is chilling me to the bone. It’s a completely different kind of cool temperature than what I’m used to from back in Texas.
“We’ll talk,” I nod at her, then jerk my head toward the door leading into the house. “Can we do it in there though? This is too cold for me.”
“What?” she snorts, and when she turns her head sideways, I can see her breath. “I bet you it’s almost sixty out. I didn’t even bring a jacket today.” She points to her bare forearms, and it’s like I’m getting an instant brain freeze. I had a zip up hoodie with me, and thank god I slipped it on at some point.
“Let’s go in,” I grab her arm to lead her inside the house. “Please,” I add when I see she’s about to protest. I seriously don’t want to argue out in the elements.
She finally gives in and starts walking toward the door, which she opens with an easy twist of the knob. That would be because it’s not locked. Just like her car.
I am just about to make a smartass remark about it when I see her freezing in front of me. I almost run her over, and I would’ve, had I not braced my arms against the wall on each side of her.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when she’s not moving at all.
“There’s someone in the house.” I don’t even think I hear the actual words, I just see her lips moving and make out what she just said.
I lean down and put my lips to her ear, worried that whoever broke into her house can hear us at the door.
“Are you sure?” I ask. She nods in confirmation, a barely there movement. She may not think there are serial killers around where she lives, but she’s worried about this turn of events for sure.
With sure movements, I turn her around, then maneuver us so that I’m in front of her, protecting her with my body. On instinct, my right hand goes to the back of my jeans where I normally have a holster tucked in. Not this time though. No gun.
“Fuck,” I mouth mostly to myself. Not a good time to become a standup citizen all of a sudden.
I blindly reach back, grab Becca’s arm and yank her sideways so that she’s not in the doorway once I bust inside. She somehow understands what I’m about to do and listens to my silent command.
“Call nine-one-one if I don’t come back out,” I call out to her softly before I finally bust in through the door, hoping to take whoever is in her house by surprise.
I walk into what seems to be a laundry room, then the kitchen and finally into the living room. Where I find a dude sprawled on the couch, eating snacks and watching Netflix by the looks of it.
“What the fuck?” we both say at the same time, him freezing with a mouthful of food, scared to continue chewing.
“Who the fuck are you?” I bark at him.
He throws the bag of whatever it is he’s eating on the coffee table, then stands up and faces me with attitude. He is pretty fuckin’ tall, as tall as me, if not taller, wide shoulders and pretty damn good shape. I’m fairly sure I can take him out, but he is a lot younger, so it’ll be work for sure.
“Who the fuckIam?” he points at his chest in disbelief, chewing up a storm whatever he’s got left in his mouth. “I live here, asshole. Who the fuck areyou?”
Fuck my life. Becca actually lives with a guy? But she lets me fuck her and then invites me home. What the fuck is this?
“Oh my god,” her voice echoes from behind me, and she sounds way too happy for my liking. “You’re home!” She flies by me and throws herself into this fucker’s arms. He seems to be just as happy to see her.
“I wanted to surprise you.” He rests his cheek on her hair and rocks her side to side couple of times. Then, his eyes meet mine, reminding him that a stranger is in his house. “Who’s this, Bec?”
I hate myself for how jealous I feel in this moment. My eye is twitching, and I could actually kill the fucker. I may still do. We’ll have to see how this plays out. I may go to prison for murder after all.
