Page 33 of Inevitable Destruction

DOMINIK

“Loser”—3 Doors Down

My head is poundingto the point where it’s all I hear. The music I have blasting through the speakers does nothing to distract me from it.

Another fucking day in paradise in this shit town—only now I don’t have any goddamn pills. That motherfucking cop took them—of course. And now I have to wait for Jay’s ass to re-up in three days.

Three. Fucking. Days.

I scratch at my forearm as I make a left turn, driving up the winding road leading into the cemetery. Thankfully, the rain has stopped, but who knows how long it’ll last. Rainy weather comes with the territory around here, but what they don’t say is how fucking depressing it is.

What I will say, is ninety percent of the time, I enjoy it. The quietness that comes with the rain, it’s peaceful, sort of tranquil. And when we get the big storms—the ones that bring the lightning and thunder—those are my favorite.

There’s something about lightning I resonate deeply with. The way it strikes fast, deadly, and bright.

It’s fascinating how something so… beautiful can be so destructive.

I guess there’s a certain beauty in destruction. How could there not be?

I pull to a stop on the road along where Mom and Dad’s headstone is. I turn the car off and sit for a minute, staring out into the cloudy, somber morning. It’s peaceful out here. I mean, how could it not be when it’s full of dead people?

But regardless, I like it here. Being away from people, the noise, the chaos that is life. But today, for the first time in I don’t even know how long, I’m unbearably sober. The thoughts I try to kill off at every turn are back with a vengeance.

The pain of what happened, with them and Essa, the disgust of who I am—what I am, the need to keep doing it, and the desire to never stop—it’s all there, sitting at the forefront of my mind, torturing me through every sober second.

I need to turn it off. I’m fucking itching to—that’s the only way I can think to describe it. It feels as if my skin is crawling, my muscles peeling from the bone, recoiling away from their natural state until I’m utterly uncomfortable in my own skin and will do literally anything for relief.

That’s how I feel right now, only on top of that, my eyes are stinging. Every blink feels like my eyes are filled with sand. My limbs are heavy, as if they’re asleep, but I still have sensation. My head though, that’s the worst of all—it’s chaotic, filled with ear-splitting, blood curdling agony.

I’m dying from the inside out, only I’m still very much alive with death nowhere near me in the foreseeable future.

I light a cigarette before I exit my car—my dad’s car, I guess. Walking through the cloud of smoke, I make my way toward their headstone, only to pause when I hear a distinctly familiar rumbling.

I peer behind me, only to find a black Harley speeding up the road to where I’m at. I squint my eyes, unsure of what I’m seeing… but nope. It’s that dude from earlier. Rhett, I think is what he said his name was. What the fuck is he doing here?

Before I get the chance to ask, he’s skidding to a stop right behind my car, a few mere inches away from the bumper. I stare, dumbfounded and kind of fucking confused as he launches himself off his bike, heading straight for me.

I can see from here the way his jaw is locked tight, along with his hands fisted by his sides. His rain-soaked clothes cling to every ridge of his body as he covers too much ground too fast, blazing cold anger oozing from his every pore.

“Yo, what the fu—” My head snaps to the side as his ring covered fist connects with my cheek. I hear a pop along with maybe a cracking noise before I fall to the ground. My ass is instantly soaked as I tumble. My hand flies to my cheek at the pain radiating through my jaw, down my neck, and up into my skull.

A groan spills from my lips as I attempt to scramble to my feet, but before I can regain my balance, another punch lands in my gut. I gag and heave, trying to catch my breath which was just knocked out of me while simultaneously resisting the urge to vomit.

But the pain focuses me just enough for my mind to clear momentarily, and I back up several paces, my eyes darting to Rhett. His chest is heaving, tattoos visible through his transparent T-shirt.

I bring my hands up to shield my face as he takes a step closer. His eyes are so blue and so fucking cold. But not the typical kind of cold. No, they’re blazing. The heat that’s so fucking frigid, it’s burning hot.

I swallow the blood that has pooled on my tongue and shiver as the coppery taste lingers.

Brushing the back of my hand along my lip to collect the blood there, I straighten my pose while also taking a step. My gaze drops to the ground where the red ember of my cigarette is still glowing, albeit faintly. I watch as it ebbs and flows before finally dying out altogether.

“What the fuck is your problem, dude?” I keep my voice low, my own anger pushing to the surface. I don’t even fucking know this guy, and he wants to, what? Fucking follow me here? Hit me? And for what?

“I didn’t fuck your girlfriend or whatever she is to you,” I bite out. That has to be it. His girlfriend must be that one bitch I fucked a few weeks ago.

“You just had to fucking come here, didn’t you?” It should be a question, but the way he says it leaves it to be more of an observation.

“Look, I don’t know what the hell you’re even talking about. Why did you follow me?”

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