Page 103 of Reckless at Westbrook High

“Oh, and Callie?” he calls, smirking when she turns to face him fully.

“What?”

“If you ever touch my girl again,” he starts, casually holding the tip of his knife to his forefinger. “I’ll cut your throat out and feed it to your husband.”

She smirks right back at him and takes her gun out from the waistband of her jeans, lifting it up to put a bullet through the monitor sitting on his desk. He inhales an aggravated breath and Kai hides a grin, falling in line beside me while we walk back through the house and down to the front door. We get outside and Damon moves to block my path, holding his hand out in front of me like I’m a fucking child.

“Gimme the bag.”

“Fuck off, Damon.”

He snatches my wrist to take it from me and I laugh like an asshole, making a point to bump his shoulder with mine while I walk for my car.

“You’re not driving by yourself.”

“Fuckin’ watch me.”

He glares and I rip the driver’s side door open, jumping inside to speed off towards the edge of Sainte Haven without them. Tossing whatever dignity I had left, I pull my phone out and text Tommy to get me some coke, punching the wheel when I read his reply a couple minutes later.

Tommy: Sorry, man. Damon says no.

Fuckin’ asshole.

* * *

“I miss you, Mom,” I whisper, tipping my head back on the headstone behind me. “I miss you so fucking much.”

Silence follows and I wipe my face with my sleeves, resting my forearms on my knees to relight the end of my joint. My eyes are still burning and my head feels too heavy for my shoulders, and the longer I sit here feeling sorry for myself, the harder it’s getting to ignore the constant ache in my nonexistent heart that won’t leave me the fuck alone.

How the fuck do you make it stop?

I scrub a hand over my face and lean over to take another drink from the bottle I bought just now, frowning at nothing when I realize it’s empty.

That’s unfortunate.

I groan and try to stand, fully intent on going to get more, but then movement to my left catches my attention and I drop back down, squinting into the darkness to eye the cute ass blond girl standing a couple graves away from me.

I know her.

She jumps a little bit when she catches me looking and moves to leave, freezing mid step when I call out to her. “Hey, coffee girl.”

She curses and adjusts the ball cap on her head, glancing off to the gate a second before she turns to face me fully. “What?”

I raise a brow at her snippy ass tone and she locks her jaw, shoving her hands into the pocket of her hoodie while she moves her eyes over my beat up face.

“Are you..” she trails off, changing her mind. “What are you doing?”

I laugh lightly and lean back on my mom’s headstone, looking up at the stars while I lift my joint to my mouth.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

That’s a lie.

Running away from my goddamn problems is what I’m doing, drowning myself in whiskey and smoke because I’m too much of a pussy to face them head on.

It’s pathetic.

I’m pathetic, but I don’t give a fuck.

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