Page 49 of Dance of Defiance
Then we’re both shoving more drugs up our noses, until I’m a frothing, raving, screaming angel of death and destruction, pushing my way through the crowd like a rampaging bull—roaring and snarling into the face of anyone who even dares to look at me.
I slam back two shots in rapid succession at the bar and then slump heavily against it, chasing them with half a beer as I yank out my phone.
My skin is tingling and my vision blurring in and out of focus as I open Instagram. I hesitate for a second, telling myself that I don’t need to do this. That I don’twantto do this.
But I tap on Val’s profile anyway.
I start to scroll, trying to pretend my gaze isn't lingering hungrily on the shots of him backstage at the Mercury Theater, his head thrown back in a crazy laugh as he peels off his shirt, revealing the gorgeous, intricate swirls of ink over his chiseled abs, and those V-lines of his hips driving right down…
I flinch, but I can’t look away. I keep scrolling, ogling the shots of his gorgeous jawline, his perfect fucking mouth, and his eyes…
Blackness consumes me. A cold, leering, sneering shadow points its finger and fuckinglaughsat me.
Queer.
Sissy.
Homo.
Be a fucking man.
BE. A. FUCKING. MAN.
And still I can’t look away. Not even when I scroll down to photos of him with…others. A slender, model-looking guy hugging him from behind, kissing his grinning cheek. Two bubbly blonde girls with their tits falling out of their bikini tops at a pool with him, shrieking with laughter as he lifts each of them with a muscled arm, their fingers splayed across his bare chest.
I want to fucking break those goddamn French manicured fingers one by one. I want to find that pretty boy and stub out cigarettes on his fucking lips.
I want to destroy.
To consume.
To take take take and fucking TAKE.
I want…God help me…
My eyes squeeze shut.
Him.
You want HIM.
No, I don’t. Idon't.
Liar.
I don’t want?—
LIAR.
I’m not attracted to men?—
FUCKING LIAR!
I realize my beer is gone and turn, grabbing another one and a shot of vodka from the bartender. I chase the first with the second, numbing my mind enough that I’m merely watching in slow motion from the outside as I tap on Val’s profile and let my thumb drift to the direct message button.
Me
I’m sorry
