Page 33 of At My Worst

“Fuck!” I scream as I punch the mirror, watching the perfect mirror shatter like I am.

I look down at my hand and see the blood dripping into the sink. I should feel something, right? But I don’t.

The screaming, the blood, the pacing, the trying to understand my emotions, all of it not helping anything but making it harder to breathe.

If I can’t fucking understand it tonight, then I will do whatever else I can to make this fucking thing go away, to make the voice inside my head go the fuck away.

If I don’t do anything right, why not add to the tallies of that concept?

What is one more bad decision, right?

14

Alexander

“I See Red”by Everyone Loves An Outlaw

Icontinue to pour drinks and watch as everyone around me gets drunk. Bianca texted me back a few hours ago and even answered one of my calls, but she sounded off.

The bell above the door rings, and when I turn to look, in she walks—my girl.

Bianca has her hair up in a messy bun. She is wearing a black sweater that fits her perfectly and a short black skirt showing off her long legs. She scans the room before weaving through the crowd and approaching the bar. She stops at her usual spot and leans against the counter.

I make my way over to her. “Hey,” I say softly.

She looks up at me. Her face is red and blotchy, evidence that she has been crying. I look down at her right hand and see the fresh cuts on her knuckles. I reach out to touch them, but she slowly pulls her hands from me.

“What happened?” I ask in a concerned tone.

“I punched a mirror. Can I get a vodka soda?” She says softly. Her voice is off, and from her bloodshot eyes, I am assuming she was already drinking before coming here.

I nod and turn to make her drink. When I turned around, a man stood next to her, leaning against my bar as he talked to her. His face way too fucking close to hers. My heart races as I set the drink in front of her. She grabs the drink and takes a few sips before the man asks her to dance.

“Bianca,” I say, warning her.

She doesn’t look at me as she takes his hand and leads him through the crowd. My eyes stay on her as she stops in the middle of the dance floor, turns, and looks at the man releasing his hand. She starts to sway her hips.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on with her, but I saw the pain in her eyes. Something is not right, and when she drinks, she gets very bold, blunt, and sassy as fuck, which I love. But what I don’t love is seeing her dance with another man. So far, he hasn’t put his hands on her.

No fucking touchy, dude.

I continue to watch her dance. She doesn’t look at me once, and when the song ends, she walks away from the guy without giving him a second glance.

She makes her way back to her drink and sits at the bar. The man follows her, standing next to her again. He leans down and whispers something into her ear, but she doesn’t say anything. All she does is shake her head.

He is not getting the hint, though. I can tell she is not interested in him. I know what it looks like, what it feels like when she is interested and filled with desire and need. And right now, she doesn’t want him, but he isn’t giving up. Lucky for her, I can fucking help with that.

I make my way over to the counter and look at Bianca. She finally locks in with me as the man continues to talk. He reachesout his hand to grab her arm, but I have him by the wrist before he can make contact.

“If you like using your fingers, I would advise you not to touch what isn’t yours,” I say, releasing his wrist. He turns and looks at me.

“She is spoken for, friend,” I say with a smile.

“Oh,” he says in a disappointed voice.

“Yep. No, touchy,” I say, watching him.

Bianca laughs and shakes her head as the man nods at me and walks away, heading back into the crowd.

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