Page 86 of This Life and All the Rest
Someone’s covering her.
I shake my head and look again. No.
Someone iskissingher.
And she’s kissing him back.
My gut churns and my vision sparks red. My hands fist and my nostrils flare. I shove toward them. I’m going to beat the shit out of this guy.
What the fuck is she doing?
I’m footsteps away when I hear Lennon gasp, and the guy pulls back enough for me to see her face, tipped to the sky with her eyes closed.
No.
I’ve seen that face before. I’ve heard that gasp.
I scan them, and suddenly I want to throw up.
He’s touching her. His hand is down her pants. He’s touching her, and she’s going to...
I stand, frozen in place, and watch. I watch his arm moving, her hips thrusting, the way her pants mold around his hand. Then I hear her gasp again, and I snap my eyes to her face.
I know the minute she comes.
I know that sound by heart. I know her expression. It’s stored in my memory.
I thought it was only mine.
I run to the other side of the alley, brace myself against the wall, and throw up. It’s nothing but water and bile, but my body tries again, until I’m sweating and dizzy.
I turn around again, because I’m a fucking idiot, and my eyes fall back to her and that douche. He’s still plastered to her. I can see her hands gripping his sides.
I want to kill him.
I would kill him. I know I would. I have just enough presence of mind to stop myself before committing murder, then I turn around and throw a punch to the brick wall.
One. Two. Three. My skin splits and my knuckles crack, and I envision beating that fuck’s face in until someone yanks me off the wall.
“You gotta stop, mate,” some English prick drawls. “You’re gonna fuck yourself up good.”
I look from him, back to Lennon, then down at my decimated, bloodied knuckles.
I shrug off my coat and wrap it around my hand.
“You gonna be alright, mate?”
I look up at the face and it’s burry. I blink, and it becomes clearer. My cheeks are wet. I’m crying.
“No,” I tell him clearly, then I push past him and into the pub.
I slap my card down on the bar when the bartender looks at me.
“Shot of whiskey. Cheap shit. And keep them coming.”
I throw back five shots before my head spins, then I push back out onto the street, my eyes zeroing in on the woman from earlier.
“You still got that something stronger?” I slur, and her lips curl into a grin.
