obvious from his excessive gesturing and the scowl he wore that they were arguing. I took a step forward. It was my fucking job to argue with her, not his. Except, they weren't arguing anymore, for he'd grabbed her arm and yanked her into him, his mouth on hers, her arms climbing to wrap around his neck, her leg sliding up his thigh.
My foot tapped the ground at the same rate as the homicidal tick starting below my left eye. Lying fucking bitch.
Hands flexed, I imagined wrapping them around her neck. I could almost feel her warm skin in my palms. Heat surged through me, frying my brain, and sweat broke out on my forehead.
I fantasized about throttling her for fooling me, even only for a second. Fucking idiot, hadn't the first time been enough? The tang of blood filled my mouth as I ripped a hole in the inside of my cheek with my teeth. Every muscle bunched, I wanted to storm in there and... what?
As my mind cleared, I found myself already on the bike weaving through traffic. How the hell had that happened? Calmer now, the anger sizzled beneath the surface, a sharp edge on a clear mind. It was time to end this.
Jumping off the bike, I threw the door open and stormed into the kitchen, opening one cupboard after another in search of the bottle of whisky I always kept on hand.
"Shit." I growled. The last of my whiskey sat on the table outside, the lid still off from where I left it last night. Bugs floated in the amber liquid. I tossed the bottle in the trashcan. The plastic on my pack of cigarettes crinkled as I shuffled one out, before dropping the pack on the table. Sticking it between my lips, I lit up and dragged the smoke into my lungs. Without whisky to dull the edge of my anger, I focused on her in the window. Her hands all over him as she responded to his kiss the way she'd responded to me. Fucking con artist. Smoke curled into the air in front of me as the cigarette paper burned to ash with a hiss. Every one said smoking would kill you, but Lola was giving me a damn aneurism.
Scratching at my neck, I tried to ease the prickling itch that came with the residual anger and butted out the cigarette in the tin ashtray. Dragging another out, I held the lighter to the end. It was time to end this thing. To let her know I knew her game. By the time I was done with her, she'd wish she never met me.
Shoving the cigarette back in the pack, I went inside and snagged juice from the fridge, drinking it straight from the carton. The tension I held inside was getting worse, but this wasn’t the type of thing you could blow away with the smoke. Deep seated in my chest, it burned and built each time my mind dragged me back to Lola. I shoved the carton back in the fridge.
Stalking through to the bedroom, I shed my shirt before heading to the shower. With a jerk of my wrist, hot water hissed, steam quickly filling the bathroom, and I slammed the door shut, giving my undivided attention to my image in the mirror.
With my fingers, I traced out the enso that covered my left pectoral and peaked at my shoulder, the circle not yet complete. I was older, harder, and wiser than I had been when I got that tattoo, but not enough that I'd been able to completely shut out the woman who could destroy me. Travelling my hand across to the tombstone on my right pectoral, I covered the name of a girl I shouldn't have been involved with spread beneath it; a reminder not to get involved with women who could destroy me. Lola should have been different, but yet again, I teetered on the edge of destruction, because of a woman. Gritting my teeth, I let the green-eyed monster over my brother finding a girl who made him a better man mix with my anger. Betrayal was the only thing I found in the arms of a woman.
Finally, I traced out her name, smack bang in the middle, letting my fingers bring the word to life in my mind. Some people would say that to tattoo her name on my body after she disappeared was stupidity. That it was nothing but a reminder of
My foot tapped the ground at the same rate as the homicidal tick starting below my left eye. Lying fucking bitch.
Hands flexed, I imagined wrapping them around her neck. I could almost feel her warm skin in my palms. Heat surged through me, frying my brain, and sweat broke out on my forehead.
I fantasized about throttling her for fooling me, even only for a second. Fucking idiot, hadn't the first time been enough? The tang of blood filled my mouth as I ripped a hole in the inside of my cheek with my teeth. Every muscle bunched, I wanted to storm in there and... what?
As my mind cleared, I found myself already on the bike weaving through traffic. How the hell had that happened? Calmer now, the anger sizzled beneath the surface, a sharp edge on a clear mind. It was time to end this.
Jumping off the bike, I threw the door open and stormed into the kitchen, opening one cupboard after another in search of the bottle of whisky I always kept on hand.
"Shit." I growled. The last of my whiskey sat on the table outside, the lid still off from where I left it last night. Bugs floated in the amber liquid. I tossed the bottle in the trashcan. The plastic on my pack of cigarettes crinkled as I shuffled one out, before dropping the pack on the table. Sticking it between my lips, I lit up and dragged the smoke into my lungs. Without whisky to dull the edge of my anger, I focused on her in the window. Her hands all over him as she responded to his kiss the way she'd responded to me. Fucking con artist. Smoke curled into the air in front of me as the cigarette paper burned to ash with a hiss. Every one said smoking would kill you, but Lola was giving me a damn aneurism.
Scratching at my neck, I tried to ease the prickling itch that came with the residual anger and butted out the cigarette in the tin ashtray. Dragging another out, I held the lighter to the end. It was time to end this thing. To let her know I knew her game. By the time I was done with her, she'd wish she never met me.
Shoving the cigarette back in the pack, I went inside and snagged juice from the fridge, drinking it straight from the carton. The tension I held inside was getting worse, but this wasn’t the type of thing you could blow away with the smoke. Deep seated in my chest, it burned and built each time my mind dragged me back to Lola. I shoved the carton back in the fridge.
Stalking through to the bedroom, I shed my shirt before heading to the shower. With a jerk of my wrist, hot water hissed, steam quickly filling the bathroom, and I slammed the door shut, giving my undivided attention to my image in the mirror.
With my fingers, I traced out the enso that covered my left pectoral and peaked at my shoulder, the circle not yet complete. I was older, harder, and wiser than I had been when I got that tattoo, but not enough that I'd been able to completely shut out the woman who could destroy me. Travelling my hand across to the tombstone on my right pectoral, I covered the name of a girl I shouldn't have been involved with spread beneath it; a reminder not to get involved with women who could destroy me. Lola should have been different, but yet again, I teetered on the edge of destruction, because of a woman. Gritting my teeth, I let the green-eyed monster over my brother finding a girl who made him a better man mix with my anger. Betrayal was the only thing I found in the arms of a woman.
Finally, I traced out her name, smack bang in the middle, letting my fingers bring the word to life in my mind. Some people would say that to tattoo her name on my body after she disappeared was stupidity. That it was nothing but a reminder of
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