Page 88 of Clinch'd

I’m still standing in the lot, long after she goes until eventually, I slide into my shit car and start the engine.

In all the years I’ve agonized over what happened to our family, it never once occurred to me that I was more like my father than I ever wanted to be.

The next few weeks are a blur. I don’t hear from Lorri, and I don’t reach out. Instead, I lick my wounds by partying with Beast which leads to many a night hanging over the toilet but if it means I’m not perseverating on what I did, I’m good.

I’ve never been particularly violent although I’ve been in a few situations where I defended myself, but this wasn’t defense. This was pure rage and the parallels to my own shaky family leave me cold.

I hated my father and every man after him who resolved conflict with their fists, and I couldn’t understand the rage until it bubbled up inside of me and exploded so fast, I reacted before thinking.

Does this mean that the evil that lurked inside my dad carried on to me? I don’t know but the prospect scares the shit out of me.

I’m not perfect but I’d like to think I’m not an asshole either. Beyond that I’m still smarting over Lorri’s cruel words because she’s never spoken to me that way before. Of course, I’ve never said no, so I guess there you go.

I’ve been too cowardly to ask Beast if the woman he’s trying to dismiss is Lorri and he hasn’t mentioned the issue since, leading me to believe it’s been resolved.

So yeah, I’m partying like a rock star. The problem is, I’m drowning my sorrows in booze and the look isn’t pretty on me.

With a sigh, I drop the makeup brush and stare into my lackluster eyes. I’m going to be twenty-six in two weeks. And what do I have to show for it?

I work at a diner, drive a shitty car, and can barely move around in my tiny apartment. Although I’ve worked toward school, I haven’t taken that last step. Why I don’t know. Perhaps it’s the tiny voice in my head telling me I’m not fucking good enough.

I also have a fake boyfriend, and newfound proclivity for violence. Fuck me.

With a silent sigh, I pull my hair back in a sleek ponytail and turn away from the mirror. I’m tired of looking at my damn self.

I’m also tired of the slutty dresses and heels, so I don my favorite pair of skinny jeans and a tight long sleeve topthat covers me from neck to navel but shows off the goods, nonetheless. With my favorite pair of boots and a coat I’m out the door.

Thanksgiving passed a week ago, and I spent it getting hammered with Beast where we both ignored the holiday for, I suspect, different reasons. I didn’t ask and he didn’t share.

Although I’ve spent a great deal of time partying with Beast and we’ve settled into a comfortable friendship, he hasn’t revealed more of himself which leaves it disturbingly superficial.

“Hey,” he says when I slide inside the car.

“Hey,” I mumble, fastening my belt as we pull away from the curb.

He’s on his phone, typing through whatever with his big meaty fingers, but he’s got a sinister scowl on his face.

“Everything okay?”

“Hm, yeah. I have to go to New York in two weeks. You wanna go?” he asks, finally looking up at me.

“New York?” I ask, raising my brows.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never been,” I admit, considering the city of which everyone wants to see at least once in their lifetime.

He grunts, “Good, I’ll make the reservations.”

“Beast?”

“Yeah?”

Staring into his dark eyes, I wonder at his motivations, and his life. Is he happy? Does the constant partying fulfill something? How can it possibly? I feel positively empty.

“It’s been weeks, whatever is happening with Lorri and Cooper, well it doesn’t matter anymore, you know? So, if you don’t want to do this anymore, I understand.” Strangely, I’m afraid to hear his answer because he’s my only friend. I have acquaintances, people I’ve met at work, but I’ve spent too muchtime focused on Lorri and work to worry about the rest. And now I’m achingly alone, at least without him.

“Naw, this is perfect,” he rumbles.

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