Page 13 of The Love of My Next Life
I hate him.
I glare daggers at them, my teeth clenched so tight that my jaw aches. My free hand is fisted as the other presses tightly on my neck. Macon lets his eyes drop back to the fist at my side, and his lips curl into his crooked smirk.
“There she is,” he says proudly, looking back at me and biting his lip before saying, “there you fucking are, Lennon Capri.”
He winks, then walks away with Sam hanging off him like a bitchy barnacle, leaving me confused and speechless, with an aching neck and tiny nail cuts in my palm.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
It takes me a half an hour to get my heart rate back to normal, and I hide in Claire’s car for the rest of the night. She texts me around 3:15 am, and I have her back in her bed before Andrea comes home.
There’s no sign of Macon.
THREE
“Wake the fuck up, dick.”
The demand is punctuated with a few pounds on my closed and locked bedroom door. Each pound adds to the throbbing in my head. I roll over, feel around blindly for something to throw, and whip the first thing I grab.
It hits the door with a hard smack, and Claire shrieks on the other side. I can’t help the laugh and peek one eye open to see what my weapon of chance was.
A shoe.
Awoman’sshoe.
Wtf?
I jolt up and immediately feel like I’ve been attacked by a cast iron frying pan. Or knocked out by the bouncer at Club FLEX again. Pressing my palms to my temples, I try to ignore Claire’s nagging, and gingerly open my eyes to scan the other side of my bed, then the floor next to it. When both turn up empty, I heave a sigh of relief.
No sign of Sam, or anyone else. Don’t know how the fuck the shoe got here. My dick doesn’t feel like it fucked last night. I remember it getting sucked, but I don’t think I fucked anyone.
“I’m serious, Macon,” Claire shouts again. “I know you want to fail out of high school and live up to your potential of being a deadbeat suck on society, but I promised Mom I’d at least get your dumb, lazy ass to school, so get the fuck up!”
God, she is such a fucking bitch.
I roll out of bed and pull on some clothes, tossing back some Tylenol from my nightstand. A bump would work better, but Sam hasn’t been able to steal any more from her dad. Instead, I dig a joint out of my nightstand and light it up, blowing the smoke out my window and spraying air freshener at the same time. I get three hits in before fucking Claire is pounding on my door again. I put out the joint and slip it into my almost empty pack of cigarettes, then shove the pack in my back pocket with the plan to finish the joint at lunch.
If I have to spend last period with Lennon again, I am gonna need to be buzzed.
Thinking of Lennon makes me think of the party, and thinking of the party gets me half hard and pisses me off. She’s such a fucking phony.
Claire pounds again, and I swing the door open, just as she shouts in my face.
I glower at her, then push past and head down to the kitchen. Mom’s already got coffee made, and as soon as I step in the room, her face falls.
“Macon, are you high?”
My shoulders tense, and I refuse to look at her. I hate disappointing Mom. I just don’t know how to not.
“I’m goin’ to school, Mom. I’m doing my homework like a good boy. I’m showin’ up to work on time.” I pour myself a cup of coffee and down half of it, burning my tongue and throat. “I’m nineteen. I can handle myself.”
She sighs. She’s sick of this conversation.
“Nineteen or not,” she begins, and I finish.
“I’m still under your roof. I know, Ma. Fuck, I get it, okay?”
I turn around and find both Claire and Mom watching me. Mom with sadness, and Claire with disgust. I flip Claire off and walk to my mom, pulling her into a hug.
