Page 8 of Wanna Play A Game?
My voice lowers, and the back of my throat tightens. “No.” I’d do anything for my chosen family, and he knows it. I run my thumb along his chin. “No,” I shake my head, clearing my throat. “Never hit me on my left side again. You know that’s my good side.”
Miles’ eyes crinkle in a smile for a second before he nods. “Sure thing, boss.”
I let him go. I take a minute to collect myself and then throw myself into googling everything I can about the county jail. As I do, I think about our pretty little nark.
You fucked up, little bunny. You fucked up. I think it’s time we had some fun.
Chapter 4
Cali
“Someone brought this for you,” my coworker Rachel says. I look up from the client whose hair I’ve been cutting. Rachel waves a bouquet of white and pink flowers in the air.
“Jesus,” I mutter. It’s been a week since I kicked Ben out. He went back to his mom’s house, and I didn’t tell anyone what he did — I just wanted it to be over. But, of course, it can’t be over. He continues to harass me.
“It doesn’t have a card.” Rachel looks under the flowers at the top of the glass.
My client glances at me in the mirror. “Who are those from?”
“My cunt of an ex,” I say, then snap my mouth shut. Normally I have more of a filter, but I just don’t give a fuck right now.
“Oh…” she drags it out.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“No, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked.” She looks uncomfortable. “It’s just…you don’t know what those are?”
I look at them again. They look like weeds from the side of the road. He couldn’t even be bothered to try. “Weeds?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. Hemlock and foxglove. They kill our cattle every year. And they’ll get your kids if you aren’t careful.”
My stomach sinks. The fucking nerve of this fucker! This is just wrong.
I grab the flowers and dump the whole thing in the trash, the vase hitting the bottom with a loud thump.
This isn’t the first thing I’ve noticed him do. Every day this week, I’ve gotten a text from a blocked number saying things like: you fucked up, and: your time is coming. I just block them and go about my day, but this? This is starting to piss me off.
It’s hard to finish the rest of my shift. I feel my coworkers’ eyes on me, and I’m boiling mad. This motherfucker has been pushing his luck. Of course, the first time someone ever gives me flowers, they’re meant as a threat.
I desperately need a drink.
I hit up another gas station on the way home, grabbing a few bottles of wine.
Fuck sobriety. I’ll start again when life isn’t an absolute shit show.
I laugh at that as I walk into my apartment, gently scooting Halloweiner out of the doorway. He screams at me, rubbing against my legs like he hasn’t eaten in weeks.
“You’re fine,” I mutter. “You’re not gonna starve.” He runs towards his food and looks back at me, meowing. His pink tongue is the only thing that stands out against his otherwise black self. I follow him to Ben’s old gaming room and feed him. Per usual, he bumps the scoop and spills the food in his excitement. When I’m done, I feed myself. Wine, that is.
I had stopped at my PO Box on the way into the apartment and found a letter from my grandma. I glare at it across the couchand take a healthy swig from my glass. She never talks to me. Mostly because I blocked her number, but still. Part of me — the stupid part — hopes this is an apology. Maybe she wants to mend what she broke? Although let’s be honest, I’m not even sure a therapist could touch that at this point.
I light my apple and cranberry candle, and only when I’ve gotten a good buzz do I rip the letter open. She’s written my address in pencil, and my sweaty hands smear it a bit. I pull out two folded pages on lined paper.
Dear California…
I roll my eyes. My mom gave me that stupid name because she said it was her favorite place on earth. Just like she said, I became her favorite place on earth. Before she got drunk off her ass and left me to live with my grandma. Because that’s what you do with your favorite things, obviously.
My eyes water, and I blink in anger.
