Page 75 of Diamond Fortress

My smile widens.

“And you stand by that?” I ask.

“What?” Again, she’s confused because, well, of course she is.

“You stand by what you said? You believe it wholeheartedly? That my mother, who died of cancer when I was ten, is a whore?” Her smile returns along with a catty look.

“Yup,” she says, popping the p.

“That’s it,” I say, stretching my head to the left and the right.

“What?” Angela asks with a nervous laugh, looking around at everyone like I’m a fucking lunatic.

Oh, I am. I am completely un-fucking-hinged.

And I am so incredibly done with this woman.

So, I reach out and I grab her hair, tugging until she falls toward me and I can get an arm around her neck.

“What the fuck!” she shouts as we fall to the ground. As we go down, I nick my head on the side of a table, the pain searing, but I don’t care.

I‘m seeing red.

“You psycho! What the fuck!” She’s shouting as I move, wrestling her to the ground until I’m sitting on her chest, my pretty white dress pushed up to my hips, my ass in a thong bared to the entire, classy party.

I give zero fucks.

“Take it back,” I say, my hand still fisted in her hair.

“No! It’s the truth! Your mom was a whore!” Her voice is whining, I’ve got her pinned to the ground, and still, she has a shitty fucking attitude.

So I punch her.

I punch her right in the cheek, hard.

And fuck, it feels good.

“Jesus Christ.” I hear murmurs from somewhere behind me and even though I’m not looking, I know its Marco. I know he’s probably shaking his head and looking at the ceiling, praying to God and wondering what he did to deserve Lilah duty.

I also know I have approximately thirty more seconds before he comes and pulls me off her.

Need to make it worth it, I suppose.

With that in mind, I keep going, slapping her, tugging her hair. I snap the strap of her dress, every moment of her putting her fucking grubby little hands on my husband rushing to mind.

“Take it back!” I shout like we’re kids on a playground.

“Fine! I take it back! Just stop!” She’s crying now, hands covering her face, makeup dripping.

Good.

I don’t stop, though, my hand tugging harder at her hair.

But I’m forced to when big hands are under my armpits and I’m being lifted.

“No! No! I’m not done!” I shout because I’m lost in the zone and it feels so good to finally put my hands on this woman.

“Yeah, you are, princess. Got her good. Now, let’s get you home.”

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