find my arm in Destiny’s clutches as I open my car door and go to get in.
“You dropped something,” she whisper-hisses, shoving a handful of black material into my chest and giving me no choice but to take it, “Just so you know, those were meant for Holden’s eyes, not yours.”
The shock resulting from what is the verbal equivalent of being slapped in the face wears off while I stare unseeing at Destiny’s back. She gets in Maddie’s Cabriolet with her and speeds away; the few moments it takes for the convertible’s taillights to fade and disappear around the corner, plenty of time to replace my momentary confusion with irritation and everything that goes with fast becoming pissed off. I decide to not chase them down. Engaging with them feeling like I do wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do. Or the safest. A high speed pursuit more often than not encompasses reckless driving and I for one don’t fancy wrapping my car around a tree. Especially not over a slighted teenage chick driving around with a warped point of view that fits in with her jealousy.
My hackles rise even further with a pit-stop I make for gas at the Circle K a few blocks from home. While I’m fueling up, I go into the convenience store to grab a soda and a pack of smokes, and just as the overly dour clerk with a massive case of acne hands me my change, I hear, “Nice stunt you pulled yesterday, Hastings, always knew you were a douche.”
“Excuse me?” My head swings around in utter disbelief over the words my ears are still ringing with.
“You heard me, you fuck. First you’re a no-show to his funeral and then you throw a kegger where you announce to a room full of people that you’re gonna nail his girlfriend the very same night. What kind of pond scum does that shit?” A guy I seriously don’t think I’ve ever seen before says bare inches from my face.
White-hot adrenaline screams through my body at breakneck speed. Both of my hands clench into outraged fists while my teeth grind together and bite out, “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you might wanna back the fuck up and check your facts, asshole .”
“Yeah?” he taunts, getting so close to my face, I can see myself clearly in the black of his dilated pupils.
I shove him out of my personal space. “Yeah.”
He comes right back at me with his fist aimed at my head. It connects. Mostly because I stand here and just take the hit, as if I’m looking forward to it. Ignoring the starbursts and blistering heat radiating from my cheekbone, I swing back. Blood is coming from his nose, where I’d released most of a week’s worth of my pent up hostility, and from my own face it’s ironically dripping down onto the silkscreened image of Eddie’s bloodied ax on my shirt. The clerk and two other customers separate us and by the time I’m in my car again, crossing paths with a tree isn’t sounding so bad.
Driving home with the accelerator practically slammed through the floorboards the whole way, I screech into the driveway. I’m beyond incensed. And, I’ve of course forgotten all about what’s waiting for me here. I throw the front door open so hard it hits the wall and becomes one with the house, the drywall welcoming the inside doorknob like a bosom buddy. Not sparing a single glance for my father sitting at the kitchen table, I head straight for the refrigerator and the beer I’m desperately praying is still inside it.
“Just what are you planning on doing with that beer, Boy?” My father questions as I pull out a can of PBR, “‘Cause I know you’re not about to drink alcohol right in front of me.”
I pop the top, the sound of defiance echoing through the kitchen. “Yes, Sir, I sure as shit am.”
“No, you are not!” He yanks the can from my lips and slams it down on the counter; excited, sudsy foam bubbling up and out the opening.
“What is your fucking problem?!” I shout in his face, my temper flaring even higher than I ever
“You dropped something,” she whisper-hisses, shoving a handful of black material into my chest and giving me no choice but to take it, “Just so you know, those were meant for Holden’s eyes, not yours.”
The shock resulting from what is the verbal equivalent of being slapped in the face wears off while I stare unseeing at Destiny’s back. She gets in Maddie’s Cabriolet with her and speeds away; the few moments it takes for the convertible’s taillights to fade and disappear around the corner, plenty of time to replace my momentary confusion with irritation and everything that goes with fast becoming pissed off. I decide to not chase them down. Engaging with them feeling like I do wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do. Or the safest. A high speed pursuit more often than not encompasses reckless driving and I for one don’t fancy wrapping my car around a tree. Especially not over a slighted teenage chick driving around with a warped point of view that fits in with her jealousy.
My hackles rise even further with a pit-stop I make for gas at the Circle K a few blocks from home. While I’m fueling up, I go into the convenience store to grab a soda and a pack of smokes, and just as the overly dour clerk with a massive case of acne hands me my change, I hear, “Nice stunt you pulled yesterday, Hastings, always knew you were a douche.”
“Excuse me?” My head swings around in utter disbelief over the words my ears are still ringing with.
“You heard me, you fuck. First you’re a no-show to his funeral and then you throw a kegger where you announce to a room full of people that you’re gonna nail his girlfriend the very same night. What kind of pond scum does that shit?” A guy I seriously don’t think I’ve ever seen before says bare inches from my face.
White-hot adrenaline screams through my body at breakneck speed. Both of my hands clench into outraged fists while my teeth grind together and bite out, “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you might wanna back the fuck up and check your facts, asshole .”
“Yeah?” he taunts, getting so close to my face, I can see myself clearly in the black of his dilated pupils.
I shove him out of my personal space. “Yeah.”
He comes right back at me with his fist aimed at my head. It connects. Mostly because I stand here and just take the hit, as if I’m looking forward to it. Ignoring the starbursts and blistering heat radiating from my cheekbone, I swing back. Blood is coming from his nose, where I’d released most of a week’s worth of my pent up hostility, and from my own face it’s ironically dripping down onto the silkscreened image of Eddie’s bloodied ax on my shirt. The clerk and two other customers separate us and by the time I’m in my car again, crossing paths with a tree isn’t sounding so bad.
Driving home with the accelerator practically slammed through the floorboards the whole way, I screech into the driveway. I’m beyond incensed. And, I’ve of course forgotten all about what’s waiting for me here. I throw the front door open so hard it hits the wall and becomes one with the house, the drywall welcoming the inside doorknob like a bosom buddy. Not sparing a single glance for my father sitting at the kitchen table, I head straight for the refrigerator and the beer I’m desperately praying is still inside it.
“Just what are you planning on doing with that beer, Boy?” My father questions as I pull out a can of PBR, “‘Cause I know you’re not about to drink alcohol right in front of me.”
I pop the top, the sound of defiance echoing through the kitchen. “Yes, Sir, I sure as shit am.”
“No, you are not!” He yanks the can from my lips and slams it down on the counter; excited, sudsy foam bubbling up and out the opening.
“What is your fucking problem?!” I shout in his face, my temper flaring even higher than I ever
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