Page 99 of Deliverance

“Nah, man. I’m cool.”

Total lie. I’m not cool at all. Not cool with him and his crew sweeping the fact that his lead singer is a ticking time bomb under the rug.

After we say our goodbyes and I get in the car, it hits me—memories of the night Chance overdosed.

It hits me like a fucking wrecking ball.

Wrapping my fingers around the steering wheel so hard my knuckles become numb, I try to calm my breathing.

Problem is, my patience has run thin and my animal is desperate to get loose, so I let it. I allow it to take charge the moment my Spyder enters the freeway ramp.

Faster!the voice shouts.

I obey.

My adrenaline spikes, filling my veins with a dark need to destroy. A need that pushes me further into nothingness, a need that smears my vision and paralyzes my senses. Until all I am is a screaming, pounding, angry beast.

Faster!

Engage. Shift. Disengage.

Faster!!!

My entire body shakes as the engine answers with an ear-splitting roar and the car jerks forward, bypassing other vehicles. The side of the road is a messy blur of lights, colors, and structures. I’m not even sure where exactly I am anymore when the freeway suddenly curves and I lose control of the wheel. My heart lurches inside my chest. My stomach dips.

Is this how it ends?

The last thing I see before flying past the rumble strip is a tangle of tree branches slapping my windshield.

17 Drew

“Ooooh, sexy,”Santiago comments on my work in progress, walking past the tarp spread across the studio floor. He sets the plastic bags with food on the folding table I pushed against the wall and studies the space with a critical eye. “You redecorated?” He stares at the canvas for a few heartbeats, then begins to unpack our lunch.

“Just needed some room to work,” I mutter a response, reaching for the cloth draped over my left thigh to clean my brush.

“Come eat. I got your favorite.”

“In a minute.” My gaze traces the delicate lines concentrated at the edges of the painting, studying and searching for flaws. I’m on my knees and my work pants, clinging to my legs like a second skin, are spattered with oils and all shades of blues and yellows.

“What’s this drivel you’re listening to?” Santiago makes himself at home and pauses my new age playlist, then puts on some R&B tune that finally gets my attention. The music is just as jarring as the presence of another human in my private space at this stage of the piece's development, but deep down, I know that I can’t keep ignoring the outside world for much longer.

“It’s seriously depressing, babe,” Santiago explains while setting up the table.

I lift my face from the unfinished canvas and set my brush aside, events of the past few days suddenly slamming into me all at once. It’s a horrible feeling—overwhelming and almost physically painful.

There’s no denying the fact that Rhys’ appearance at the gallery knocked me off my feet and tilted my entire world sideways. That night, after Zander dropped me off at my place, I struggled to fall asleep and had to take an Ambien to stop my head from spinning. Startled awake hours later and unable to think straight, I went to the gym, where I proceeded to kick the shit out of the punching bag until my knuckles bled and Roque was forced to drag me out of the ring.

I’ve also been ignoring all calls and messages from Tina.

Probably not my brightest idea.

“Extra sweet and sour sauce,” Santiago teases. “Just the way you like it.”

The savory smell of food sneaks up my nostrils as I push myself to my feet and approach the table to check out the feast my friend is arranging for us. “You know my greatest weakness.” My stomach rumbles, reminding me that all I had today was a cup of coffee and half a muffin. The very same one Santiago just tossed into the trash can.

“That I do, babe.” He grins.

“I seriously don’t know what I’d do without you.” I laugh on my way to the restroom, where I wash off the paint covering my hands and face.

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