Page 1 of Pucked Together

Prologue

Izzy

Iwant to wipe that stupid look right off his stupid face.

"Izzy, it's not what it looks like," his pants are still unbuckled as he chases me down the hall of my shared LA apartment.

I turn to him, shoving a finger into his face.

"Really, Trevor. That's rich. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know what was just going on in my bedroom," I throw the nearest thing I can find at him to stop him from following me.

A pillow. I find my fiancé cheating on me, and I throw a fucking pillow?

"Ow, Iz. Calm down."

I can actually feel the fire burning from the pit of my stomach and climbing all the way up until smoke billows out my ears.

I turn to give him the full heat of my glare.

"Shit, that's not what I..."

"Calm DOWN,” I scream. “You want me to CALM DOWN?!"

Deep breaths. Breathe, Izzy. Breathe. This is it. I remind myself. This is my way out. We weren't good together. Now, keep the air in my lungs.

I hear the footsteps of my roommate running across the hall to her room, trying to quietly shut the door.

That little--UGH!

Shhhh. Breathe. Breathe. Remember to breathe.

"Izzy, Baby. You need your inhaler," Trevor's voice is soft and worried.

But it's too late. The fire has worked its way into my lungs. And I can't breathe.

I grasp my chest, clawing at it. Gasping, the words barely make it out of me. "I'm not...you're fucking...baby!" The air comes in and out in short, uncontrollable bursts, and I drop to my knees on the floor.

"Fuck! Trish, where's her inhaler?!"

He crouches to lay me down on the ground, putting the pillow I threw at him under my head.

"Izzy, close your eyes and breathe like this." He tries to coach me and I slap him away.

"I can't find it, Trevor!" Trish's voice calls from the other room in a panic.

"Well, call 9-1-1. We need a fucking ambulance."

I need to tell him to leave. I need to tell him he and his whore can go straight to—

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"It's my girlfriend. She has severe asthma, and she can't breathe. I can't find her rescue inhaler. Please, send help now."

I gasp—mainly from the audacity that he just called me his girlfriend when he knows we're supposed to get married.

I reach over my body and grab my other hand. It feels like a block of cement. My fingers are cramping, and the room around me is spinning. But I'm able to get it loose. I try to speak, but the words feel like fuzz on my lips.

"The address is 804 Landfair Av..."

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