Page 19 of Hate Me Like You Mean It
That would be so perfect.
I’ll be here for the next month and was honestly dreading having to explain this all over again to the next person.
Amber
Np, I got you!!
You won’t regret it!!
Something tugged in my chest when she sent me a selfie of her grinning and giving the camera a big thumbs-up, a chubby-cheeked one-year-old strapped to her chest. She couldn’t have been older than nineteen, maybe twenty.
Once I had her number saved, I slipped my phone into my back pocket, cracked my knuckles, and sized up my opponent.
It was a beast of an appliance, and my arms weren’t nearly long enough to grip both ends, but I could make a bit of progress on one side, then move to the other, and gradually shimmy the thing out of the arched alcove it’d been tucked into so I could plug it in.
Yes. That could work.
I gripped one side, dug my heels into the ground, andpuuullleduntil my fingers ached… with absolutely nothing to show for it. The fridge didn’t move a single inch.
Dominic made an amused, chuffing sound into his mug, not realizing how much black food dye I’d poured in there earlier.
I ignored him, knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face if I looked at him now.
I shook out my arms and tried again. This time, I planted my hands a little farther apart, popped a foot on the wall for good measure, and gave it everything I had.
Sweat trickled down the back of my neck, my arms shook with exertion, and a small growl crawled out from the depths ofmy lungs. The joint and grip pain started about ten seconds in, but I refused to let up until I felt it move. And when it finally happened, I let go with a small, triumphant “fuck yeah.”
Panting like I’d just climbed twenty flights of stairs, I stepped back and assessed my progress. All that effort, and I’d managed… half an inch.
Yeah. No. This wasn’t going to work.
I took out my phone again.
Me
What are the chances they carry rope?
Amber
What kind?
Me
Whatever kind you’d use to cosplay as a roast suckling pig.
7
Update: It’s almost two hours after bedtime. Loch Ness is for sure asleep by now, so I’m going to start.
I will be playing the role of a sad clown ghost with a really high pitched voice that only dogs and sea monsters can hear who keeps wailing about the Great Balloon Animal Rebellion of Yonder Year that has been putting all the other clowns out of business. There is circus music playing quietly beside me to set the mood.
I will be holding my nose and making my voice really shrill to optimize rage damage in hopes of a critical hit.
Stay tuned.
Amber was,quite possibly, my favorite person of the decade.
Not only had she massively pulled through on the coolers, but she’d lined them with ice packs and neatly packed the perishables inside before driving over. She was extremely sweet, studying social work part-time while raising her thirteen-month-old son, Ash (a button-faced cutie with the squishiest, most ridiculously adorable cheeks I’d ever seen), and, from what I gathered through her breathless introduction and constant thank-yous, very,verysleep-deprived.
