Page 46 of Beautiful Crazy

Somehow, I make it safely home and enter a quiet and darkened loft. Emily must’ve gone to bed. Part of me is glad she isn’t awake to see me bumping into shit around the living room while trying to take off my coat because she wouldn’t approve of my coming home drunk. It’s very irresponsible of me.

But Dad said break the rules so...

The other part of me wishes she were here so I could put my tail between my legs and apologize.

Also, part of me just wants to climb into bed and go the fuck to sleep.

“Too many parts, Emmett,” I murmur to myself as I head to kitchen for a drink of water.

Sitting on the counter next to the stove is a plastic container of the chicken Emily made tonight.

Yessss!

Did she leave this out for me?

I’m starving.

Just looking at it makes my mouth water as it dawns on me that I didn’t eat a damn thing tonight, so I grab a fork from the drawer and dig in.

I take a huge bite off the bone, chewing it with my eyes closed and savoring the moment of finally putting something in my stomach.

I swallow my bite and my eyes start to water. Suddenly my mouth is on fire.

My eyes bulge as I spit out the chicken into the trash while whisper shouting, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! What the absolute fucking fuuuuuuuuuuuck hot, hot, hot, hot. Water. Water. Water, waterrrrrr.” I cough. “I need all the waters, fuck!”

I throw my face under the sink and let the water pour in my mouth, swishing and spitting and sometimes swallowing. Anything to get the heat out of my mouth. Not feeling much better, I throw open the fridge and hastily pull the half gallon of milk off the shelf, throw the cap off the top, and chug it as quickly as I can. Here I am, standing in the middle of the kitchen with a mouthful of milk. I don’t want to spit it out yet because it’s doing a satisfactory job at calming the inferno in my mouth.

Eventually I spit the mouthful of milk down the drain and take one more gulp, swallowing it down and cooling off my throat.

“What the ever-living-hell did I ingest?”

I turn on the overhead light in the kitchen to take a closer look at the chicken, but to the naked eye, it looks perfectly fine. Emily had said it was a spicy chicken marinade, but she had to have purchased the actual seeds of hell for it to be that spicy. I open the spice cupboard above the stove to see if I can figure out what she may have used, and I spot the devil sitting front and center.

She must’ve thought she was using regular chili pepper.

But the container clearly says ghost chili pepper.

And holy hell is there a difference.

“Shit.” I chuckle to myself. “She tries so damn hard.”

If I weren’t so tired, I would stand here and remake her chicken just to make her feel better because I’m certain she had no idea that ghost chili pepper was even a thing worth paying attention to.

I wonder if she ate it herself.

A quick peek into the trashcan and I find the answer to that question. On the top of the trash pile sits one piece of chicken with one bite taken out of it. The identical twin to the piece I’m about to throw away.

I toss my piece next to Emily’s and close the lid knowing she meant well and that means more to me than anything. Guilt hits me tightly in the chest though, wondering if she was upset over dinner. I should’ve been here. I shouldn’t have walked out. I shouldn’t have gotten drunk. I shouldn’t have pushed Emily into revealing her feelings.

This whole day was just shit.

I’m ready for bed.

_____

I think I’m dying.

I feel like Melissa McCarthy inBridesmaidsduring that dress fitting scene.

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