Page 116 of Chokehold
Fuck.
I toss aside my phone when she starts calling me.
The other phone is in my bag, along with my cracked mask and hoodie. It takes me a few moments to think, trying to talk myself out of what I’m about to do, but I’m too mad at Blaise.
He needs to be punished and this is the only way I know how.
I open our chat – the masked, unidentified guy and Blaise. There hasn’t been any communication since we technically made it official, so my fingers tremble as I type out a location. The middle of the football field at our college.
Two hours from now.
When he sends a thumbs up emoji barely a minute later, I drop the phone on the ground between my feet and stare at it.
And stare and stare and stare.
Until my eyes burn, and my lungs threaten to blow.
Something wet hits my cheek. A tear slides down, met with another, dripping from my chin and onto the offending phone with the message that shows just how little Blaise thinks of me.
Did I push him away, distance us too far?
If I spoke to him, would he have agreed so easily?
Regardless, this motherfucker just confirmed my suspicions.
Piece of shit.
By the time I get back downstairs and smoke another joint, I drink one more beer and quickly slip away, snatching my bag I left at the side of the door. I empty the contents in my car’s passenger seat, pull on the black hoodie and stare at the mask.
Nostrils flaring, I turn up the radio and speed out of the driveway, onto the road, and straight to the destination.
My ears are ringing from how loud the music is. I don’t even know what’s playing. I’m going too fast, my wheels skid on the road when I turn a corner, and another, and when I see a sign for the school, my adrenaline turns dangerous, and I grip the steering wheel until it hurts.
A lash of pain mixes with betrayal as I try to breathe through my rage. It’s taking over me, like a fucking thrashing monster inside me is trying to get out.
I stop at the empty, dark parking lot, grab my bat from the trunk. Slamming it shut, I slide on the mask and head for the field.
Everything around me vanishes—time stops, the world crumbling as I see Blaise standing in the middle of the pitch, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He’s bouncing on his heels, impatiently looking around until he glances over his shoulder and sees me. I lift the bat from my shoulder and grip it until the wood feels like it might crack under my hold.
Blaise pulls his hands from his pockets. Nervously, he gulps, and instead of coming toward me, he turns on his heels and runs toward the small building – where we go to get changed and showered.
He doesn’t make it that far, though, because I launch the bat at him, smacking him in the back, making him falter enough for me to grab the back of his neck and throw him to the ground.
He lets out a groan when I swing my leg and kick him in the ribs. Once. Twice. Three times. My cheeks are soaked with angry tears as I grit my teeth and kick him again. Until my foot hurts and he’s panting on the ground. I want to mess up his fucking face, smash his teeth in, and break his nose. I want to take his looks, since that’s all I can do.
The heel of my shoe crushes into his chest, and I tumble back from the force of it.
“Fuck,” he groans out, holding himself.
I regain my balance and fist my hand, grabbing his shirt and pulling him up enough to punch him in the face, blood splattering from his nose and hitting the mask.
His head knocks into the ground when I hit him again, his face crimson. He’s not even fighting me back – he probably thinks I’ll suck his cock or something. That this is part of ourthing.
I’m not fucking touching him, and he’ll never get anywhere near me again.
Fury gets the best of me. I want to kill this motherfucker. I stand tall, glaring down at him screwing his eyes shut and wincing from his injuries.
Pulling off the mask, I toss it at him. He can see my heartbreak, the look of deep betrayal in my wet eyes. His lips part, as if he’s going to say something, but I rush forward and punch him again, cracking his skull into the ground once more.
