Page 19 of Red Flag Bull

I walk back behind the pillar, collect my backpack, and head up to the street level, feeling lost.

When I set off in this direction, it was because I needed either Jason or the bottle, and now there doesn’t seem much point in staying sober. It’s not like Lucinda’s going to let me back anytime soon — never seems likely.

Bad decisions are my forte, and choosing to drink is definitely the worst decision I could make. It’s like Jason said — drinking is not an appropriate activity for me. Not anymore. I made a commitment.

Don’t drink. Don’t drink. Don’t drink.

I walk out of the parking lot, and I’m promptly accosted by a security guard. When I don’t respond to his questions, he takes me by the arm and escorts me toward the main entrance.

He stops halfway to hold his earpiece when it squeals at him, and then he pales dramatically.

“Yes, sir. Of course,” he says, letting go of my arm in a hurry. He looks at me sideways, takes another step back, and when he lowers his hand, it’s shaking a little. He clears his throat, but it doesn’t stop his voice from cracking when he tells me, “Best you head home directly, ma’am. The streets aren’t safe for you this time of night.”

He walks away, leaving me alone on said unsafe street.

I can’t help thinking the warning has come directly from Jason. If it’s a threat that I’m in danger from him, I wish he’d come follow through with it, but when I look around, all I see is a security camera. I bet he’s watching through it. Maybe he thinks I’ll make a scene and break his shit, to get his attention. Clearly, he doesn’t realize I’ve evolved from such childish behavior. I’m adult-level fucked in the head now, so joke’s on him.

I head toward the park at the end of the street. If I turn to the bottle, I won’t make it. Not this time. It’ll give me the courage to act on the urges. Do I really want to die tonight?

A siren blares nearby, and I cringe at the noise. The firetruck demands priority at the intersection down the block, speeding to put out fires. The whole world is on fire. Can’t look at a screen without seeing it. Feeling it. It’s all around me.

I’ll find a quiet place to sleep tonight, and then I’ll find somewhere else to go. Away from the city. Someplace pretty. With trees and fresh air. Water to swim in — to cleanse my soul in.

My mind wanders back to Mountain Lake Falls. Jason, holding me close to keep me warm, while he washed between my legs in the cold, fresh water. That first time was the only time I saw him without a shirt. He was beautiful, but he said I looked at his scars too long, and he punished me for it by keeping himself covered after that.

I sit on a bench at the park’s edge for a while, listening to the city. With my decision made, the urge to drink my pain away has lessened, and with Mountain Lake in my mind, I venture into a small cluster of bushes, to make a bed.

I curl up under the densest-looking shrub. It looks the warmest, and although we’re barely a day into fall, I can already feel the season changing. I should have searched for my winter coat when Lucinda was screaming that she’d drag me from her house by my hair, but I only had time to grab the essentials before she followed through on the threat, and I can’t risk going back for more gear tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. Early. Before she wakes up.

I hug myself against the night chill. How long will it take to walk back to the suburbs? Do I need to start now? It’d probably be warmer to keep moving.

A stick cracks so close to me, I scream.

Jason covers my mouth in a heartbeat, and I feel his same barely controlled rage I felt earlier, burning beneath the surface of his skin. He wants to hurt me, but he’s quick to release me before he does — as if he doesn’t trust himself to be so close. The moment he unhands me, he loudly hurries from the garden he so stealthily crept into to find me. “Get off the fucking ground, Amanda.”

I grab my backpack and am on my knees at his feet within seconds.

He sighs. “That’s still the fucking ground.” He dumps his leather jacket on the grass next to me and walks away.

Not one to refuse such a gift, I pull the jacket on in a hurry and have to stifle a pleasurable moan when the residual warmth from his body seeps into my skin. The jacket smells of him, and I hold the collar to my nose, to breathe in his scent.

“You want to fuck that jacket? Or do you want to come over here and tell me what the fuck you’re doing, trying to sleep under a bush and catch your death of fucking cold? Where are your warm clothes? Why don’t you sleep in your house? Your bed?”

He sounds so angry. He doesn’t want to be out here, wasting his time on me.

And I don’t want to tell him why I can’t go home. Not yet. There are too many cans of worms I haven’t figured out how to wrangle into a story that won’t end with him hating me and being angrier than he already is.

I shouldn’t have tracked him down. I’m not ready to face him. I may never be ready.

I was just desperate for escape, thought of him, and then googled the son of a bitch. I saw he’s a globe-trotting, hot-shot banker now and that he has an office in my fucking city, and when I swung by to check it out and learned he was actually there, I thought it was a sign. Some kind of karmic alignment. Kismet. I had all the best intentions, but I’m not fucking ready. For any of this.

“I think I’d rather stay here and fuck the jacket, if those are the only options,” I say quietly, pulling it closer.

He stares at me a long time, his eyes shining black in the dim glow cast by the nearest streetlight. “Do it, then.”

His stern tone gives me pause, and my heart breaks into a sprint inside my chest, while I keep the rest of my body absolutely still. “Are you serious?”

“What do you think?”

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