Page 4 of My Brutal Beast

“Fuck—”

The bartender’s eyes narrow and his voice grows cold. “I’m not going to say it again.”

Palmer holds up two middle fingers, walking backward until he reaches the door and slams it behind him.

Maxton rights the stool beside me while I try to stop my heart from beating out of its chest.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says in a strained voice. “I’m sorry about that. Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head. “No, but is he always like that?”

“He can be an angry drunk, but once he’s inside the car, he’ll fall asleep until he gets home.” Maxton opens his wallet and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and a business card. “Look, I’d like to pay for your drink and another one if you want it.” He pauses expectantly, and I realize I never gave him my name.

“Cassandra.”

“Cassandra, I meant what I said earlier. You do deserve better. And if you ever need someone to talk to or you’d like to go out for dinner sometime, give me a call.”

“Thank you.” I take the twenty and the business card with a small nod, even though I won’t call him. The moment he leaves, I drain my drink and let the cold liquid soothe me.

* * *

After a few deep breaths, I feel a little more settled and decide it’s time to go. Even if Chelsea, Heather, and Amy say they don’t want to leave, they can find their own way home. I’ve had enough of tonight. But when I move to slide off the barstool, the room begins to spin.

I grip the edge of the bar, trying to steady myself, but my head feels so foggy and heavy it’s nearly impossible. The music in the bar is too loud, the people too close, the air too stifling, and I need to escape it all.

I use the bar and wall to guide myself away from the crowd, simply trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other until I make it to the bathroom. A wave of nausea hits me, and I spin toward the toilet but manage not to throw up.

I don’t understand what’s happening. I haven’t had any alcohol, yet I feel drunk.

The nausea subsides, and I manage to shuffle to the sink. I throw cold water on my face, but it doesn’t help. Instead, when I look up to see my reflection, my vision doubles and I almost faint.

It’s too hard to breathe in here. I need fresh air.

I leave the bathroom and follow the red Exit sign, which leads me to the back of the bar. The cool night air gives me goosebumps, but it also helps me focus. Each step I take is slow and careful so I won’t fall. I remember where my car is, and if I can just make it there, I’ll feel better.

I’ll just take a nap, that’s it. Just a little nap, and then whatever this is will pass.

“Cassie? Hey, are you okay?”

The voice startles me. It’s Maxton, standing only a few feet away.

“N-no. I don’t know…” Suddenly, the air feels as though it’s being pulled from my lungs. The world begins to spin and my knees buckle beneath me.

Maxton wraps his arms around me, catching me before I hit the pavement.

“Car,” I manage to gasp out, pointing weakly in its direction. “Help me to…my car…please.”

“Alright.” He adjusts his grip around my waist, supporting my weight as I try to hold onto his shoulders. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

Relief surges through me as we stagger to the parking lot. But there is something else, a sense of dread that begins to prickle at the back of my neck, as if my mind is picking up on something that I can’t quite understand.

I try to ignore the feeling and focus on finding my car. Seeing my blue SUV gives me a tiny ray of hope. Unable to voice the words, I muster all of my strength and point to my vehicle. My limbs continue to grow heavy until Maxton has to half-drag me against the cement, but even then, I tell myself it’ll all be okay. Yet the panicked dread continues.

It’s so strong it feels as though it’s choking me. My heart is at odds with my body, beating faster while I move slower, and then I realize why.

Maxton is no longer dragging me to my car. We’re moving sideways in another direction. It’s difficult to pick up my head, but when I manage to, the sight in front of me fills my gut with terror. Palmer is standing on the passenger side of a large pickup truck, and the smirk on his face makes my blood run cold. He no longer seems drunk or belligerent, but calm and collected.

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