Page 16 of Not Another Yesterday
“Oh, yeah,” Cat says sweetly. “Did you ever end up finding it?”
I beam at her proudly.
“God, fuck off, you guys,” Zack gripes loudly. Everyone busts up laughing. “I don’t have short-term memory loss,” he says to Brady, who looks like he just got released from a hostage situation. “I started filming everything when I was like fifteen. Especially when it was all of us together.”
He leans forward slightly. “I actually made an admission movie instead of writing an essay for UCLA.”
Brady blinks. “No shit?”
“Yeah. It was basically a short documentary about us,” he says, looking around the table. “Growing up together. The dumb stuff, the good stuff. I figured if I was gonna ask a school to believe in me, they should see what made me.”
Brady’s body sags with relief. “Right. Vada told me you wanted to break into the film industry.”
“Yep. I’ve been filming for three years now. I’ve captured some pretty amazing stuff so far; some really, really cool moments.”
“So, Brady,” I say, pivoting the conversation. “How long have you and Vada been seeing each other?”
“A couple of months now,” he says. Vada looks at him with a mushy expression.
“Are you from New York?” I ask. I notice Cat’s hand gliding an inch up and down my thigh. I can tell it’s an unconscious caress, but I love it. Cat’s touch is unlike anything else.
“No, I’m from Philly. My parents are out of the country for a few weeks, and Vada invited me to spend Thanksgiving with her family,” he says, then looks around the table. “She didn’t tell me that this apparently included seven of her closest friends,” he chuckles. “I’ve been learning that you all go back to kindergarten or something. That’s so fucking cool. I’m still trying to get everyone straight, though. You’re Steve’s brother, right? But you live with Shane, who’s your best friend. And Cat is your girlfriend, and Vada’s brother is your brother’s best friend?”
Tori giggles. “Confusing, right?”
“Spot on,” I say, laughing. “You coming to the gym with us in the morning?”
“Yeah, sure, if that’s cool with you guys?”
“Definitely,” Zack says, just as Shane returns to the table.
“Well, Ran, I tried,” he says with a smirk. “But there’s a table of four pretty drunk girls and they’re insisting that you come take another round of drink orders.”
Cat’s hand glides higher on my thigh—casual, confident—until she cups my dick through my jeans and gives it a sensual squeeze.
I look at her while she smiles, her eyes donning the most seductive little gleam. “Don’t forget who you belong to,” she says quietly.
“Never,” I say, planting a kiss on her perfect lips, and get up from the table to get back to work.
Thursday, November 24th
Ronan
I’m fucking pissed. Just fucking boiling with anger. Fuck, anger is not the right word. Rage, fury, wrath. I’m live-wire electricity. It’s blinding, the heat of it rushing through my veins, adrenaline surging and fortifying my body, preparing for… I don’t even know. I have no idea what the hell set me off, but I feel my entire body tense, muscles wound so tight they hurt. My fists clench by my sides and my fingernails pierce the palms of my hands, splitting the skin open.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way. I can’t fucking take it anymore. I need to let it out.
And then I’m swinging.
My fist crashes into her face. Again. And again. Relentless. I hear bones breaking, feel her supple skin tear open when my knuckles connect with her body. I don’t let up. Even when the faceless person drops to the floor, begging me to stop, my blows continue mercilessly, violently. I am consumed by rage, by fear, by pain.
“Stop, please,” Cat whimpers, her beautiful face almost unrecognizable—swollen, bloodied—her voice barely audible.
The world stops, the realization of what I’ve done draining my heart of all life.No.
The fog of wrath clouding my mind clears and I become aware of my surroundings—the living room in my dad’s house. The lighting is strange, though. Why is it so fucking dark? Jesus, there’s glass everywhere. Tiny, razor-sharp shards glint across the wooden floor, and Cat’s lying in the middle of it, on the old rug. I recognize that rug. It’s stained with blood—so much fucking blood. It’s dried into the fibers, black, like tar. But wait, that rug got thrown out a long timeago. Why the hell is it here? Why the fuck is Cat here? What the hell happened?
“Please don’t hurt me, sweet boy,” Cat cries.
