Page 1 of Chasing Lynda

1.

A Broken Engagement

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Dodge

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“FUCK THIS SHIT!” I grunt through gritted teeth, my jaw ticking and I know I need to calm the fuck down, before I do something I can’t take back.

I storm out of the room, my fucking room and head straight into the living room of my frat house.

I open the liquor cabinet with shaky hands and grab the first bottle my fingers find, not caring what kind of booze it is.

I open it and take a long swig forgoing a glass. “Damn!” I sputter when the clear liquid burns its way down my throat and into my empty stomach.

I take a look at it and of course I grabbed the nastiest, cheapest vodka we keep in the house. Something I normally wouldn’t touch; we just keep that shit to get the pledges fucked up quickly. Maybe the plastic bottle should’ve told me that whatever the contents of the bottle, this shit would be vile. I mean, seriously, have you ever had any decent alcoholic drink that comes in a plastic bottle?

But right now I couldn’t care less. I take another long swig, this time though I’m prepared for the harsh way the liquor burns a trail of fire in my insides. I actually fucking relish the feeling because I know that if I drink enough of this shit, I’ll stop caring about the way my life crashed and burned in a blaze of glory in the last forty-eight hours.

I drink again and again determined to finish the bottle, and kinda pissed that it’s plastic, so I can’t fucking use the empty to slice off the balls of my successor to the Gamma presidency.

To be fair, said balls were deep in my fiancée just a couple of minutes ago, when I came home from the hospital.

I quickly down another large gulp of vodka, steeling myself for the ugly confrontation that’s about to come.

“Dodge, babe. Please let’s talk. It’s not what it looked like.”

I snort at the nerve of my soon to be ex. “Isn’t it, Chrissie? From where I stood, it looked exactly like my second string on the field was in the end zone in your ass. Ass that you’ve never let me fuck by the way. Or am I too high on painkillers and I’m seeing a cheating, lying slut where there isn’t one, huh?”

She has the decency to blush at my question, so I drink again from the bottle, disgusted with her and with myself.

Because truth be told, I don’t love Chrissie, and deep down I know I haven’t for a long time.

I know I should end it once and for all, but my hands are tied, especially now.

The front door opens and the guys come in at the same time as Mitch—the guy who was balls deep in my woman—comes downstairs, his dark hair still damp from the shower.

I can’t help the snarky comment on the tip of my tongue. “Oh, hey Mitch! Nice of you to finally join us. I see you have your fucking priorities straight and decided to wash the shit off your dick before owning up to being a fucking bastard. Way to leave the woman you were fucking to face the music by herself.”

I’ve never liked the asshole and I’ve never made a mystery of it. “Way to go, asshole! You’ve been salivating like a rabid dog, trying to grab everything I had before it was your turn. My spot as QB1 on Bridgeport’s football team, my position as Gamma Delta Tau president, and obviously my fucking fiancée. For the first two, you just had to wait for the fall, since I’m about to graduate. Chrissie was never really up for the taking, just in case your stupid meat head thought she was part of the fucking package.”

Believe me, I’m not calling him stupid because he was fucking my fiancée. Mitch really isn’t the sharpest tool in the box. I guess if you overdo it with steroids from an early age, that shit does impair your brain cells from developing or something.

“Dude, you have to understand. It isn’t what it looks like. I love Chrissie. Like I’m in love with her and she loves me and we want to be together. She just cares about you and she didn’t know how to tell you after the news you’ve just had.”

Fuck.

I guess word travels even faster than I thought. I just left the hospital an hour ago.

I ignore the asshole and look at my woman. The woman I grew up with. I’ve known Chrissie since we were five and our fathers started doing business together. She was my first kiss; I lost my fucking virginity to her on prom night and I thought she’d be the mother of my children one day. I guess she might still be, because at this point, I don’t think I have a choice but to go through with the wedding at the end of the summer.

“Chrissie, what the fuck is this idiot talking about? I thought we were through with our stupid games?” We’ve always been adamant that we were “it” for each other but we knew that getting serious too young was a recipe for disaster.

We’ve both observed our respective parents fail at their marriages and fuck behind each other’s backs all the time.

I know I’m in trouble when she lowers her gaze. Her deep, brown eyes downcast.

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