Page 81 of Bad for You

His head is drooped to his chest. A strand of saliva dangles from his chin. How the fuck did he end up here? Not in this shithole, but rather, why did he choose this path for himself?

Or perhaps he was always destined for this life. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

The saying rings true: life fucking sucks.

I lift his chin. “Lewis, can you hear me? It’s me. It’s Lennon.”

He’s out cold. The only thing alerting me that he’s alive is the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Suddenly, anger outranks my sadness.

“Wake the fuck up!” I slap his cheek—hard.

A groan slips past his cracked lips. But he still doesn’t come to.

“You’re going to have to carry him.”

“What the fuck is your hurry, Bria?” I yell over my shoulder, wishing I could control my temper because this isn’t her fault.

“Because I don’t particularly want to be here when his mack daddy comes back.”

Every part of my body pulses in utter rage.

“He’s turning tricks. What the fuck!” I punch the wall, my fist going straight through it.

But it’s not enough. Nothing will suffice until I kill every person who had a hand in my brother’s demise. Because although he’s alive, he’s dead inside. And I’m afraid he’ll never see the light again.

Gianna knew he was here the entire time, so as I see it, she’ll also pay in ways unimaginable. But for now, I need to get him the fuck out of here.

He weighs next to nothing, and when I lift him, all I feel are bones. He smells putrid.

Bria’s eyes are wide, and she appears frozen in time. I recognize the look.

“It’s too late to feel guilty now.”

She shakes her head as if attempting to shake away the reality of the role she played in the lives she destroyed.

With Lewis in my arms, we quickly make our way down the hallway. I don’t care what or who I stand on. No one is getting in my way ever again.

As we turn the corner, it seems my affirmation is about to be put to the test.

“Bria?” snarls a man who can only be described as utter white trash. I hate using labels, but this redneck is every stereotype rolled into one pile of human shit.

His attention soon wavers from Bria to me, then down to Lewis in my arms. He removes the toothpick from between his lips—I vow to impale it into his eyeball and use it in my martini; I chuckle at the visual.

“Do we have a problem, son?” he asks, staring me down.

“Nope,” I reply, popping the P.

I attempt to shove past him, but he uses his arm as a barricade when he slams his hand against the wall. “Now I know you don’t think you’re taking my property with you.”

I close my eyes and exhale slowly. I need a moment.

“He is not anyone’sproperty,” I say, reopening my eyes and glaring at the motherfucker.

He reads this for what it is—a fight until one of us is dead, which suits me just fine.

“I don’t know who you are. And I don’t care. But put it back where you found it and get the fuck outta ’ere.” He looks at Lewis like he’s nothing but dirt.

I stand perfectly still even though every part of me wants to burn down this fucking world and throat fuck it.

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