Page 109 of Forgotten Comeback
Hope he likes my gift.
Parking at the curb, I hop out and spray a message on the sidewalk.
Fuck with my girl again and find out.
Not the most melodramatic wording, but it gets the point across.
Tossing the spray paint bottle in the back of the van, I grab a cinder block and sprint to the front door. Smiling at the camera, I fling the block with all my might.
Glass shatters, and the alarm sounds as I hustle to the van, returning with my gift.
Taking the blowtorch, I set the bottle on fire before giving it a toss.
Chapter
Forty-Two
Taylor
Gavin hasn’t called or texted since he stormed out, and I resist checking my phone again for like the hundredth time.
The paint shimmers on my canvas as I examine my work. Huh. There’s something about the maid of honor I don’t like. Examining her from several angles, I decide she’s not deranged enough. A really cool idea pops into my mind. It’s either going to play out beautifully, or it will ruin the entire piece.
Grabbing a little scrub brush I use to clean paint from underneath my nails, hold my breath, and gently move the bristles down the maid of honor’s face. She’s now distorted, almost like her face is melting. It’s the closest thing to capturing what dissociation feels like.
Is this life imitating art?
Mentally, I check in with myself. Yes, I had a mini panic attack earlier, and yes, I’m still anxious, but who wouldn’t be after a mob boss threatens you? And Gavin’s disappeared doing…whatever the hell he’s doing.
Grabbing my phone, I send him a text.
What the hell is happening?
No response.
Please let me know you’re okay.
His silence does nothing to quell my anxiety. Gavin could easily take Fabio in a fair fight, but I know damn well that nothing about it would be fair.
Trying to put Gavin out of my mind, I snap a pic of my latest piece and upload it to social media. The bride is hidden out of frame, only her veil fluttering in the foreground. Her maid of honor levitates in the background, clutching a bouquet of dead roses, with ghastly figures circling above her like vultures waiting to pick her carcass.
“Maid of Dishonor,” by Taylor McKenna.
Pulling up my audiobook, I press play as I tidy up my workspace.
You’re going to sit in the corner and watch me eat Sister’s pussy because you’re such a bad boy. Aren’t you, Father?
The ferris wheel “incident” pops into my mind.
What if I miss women?
Then we’ll find out if I have a cluck kink.
“Seriously, no more of this book!” I lunge for my phone, turning it off.
Ignoring the tingling between my legs, I mentally lay out the case against Gavin. The man has brought nothing but disaster to my life.
And inspired me to paint again.
