hate you.”
I turn to face her. “You think after everything that’s happened today that I care about something like that?”
She flinches.
A sick, self-righteous satisfaction fills me. Good. She should be disgusted with herself. She should be angry. And then I remember what she told me—what happened to her—every single fucked-up thing she’s been through—and I just want someone to fucking shoot me.
Well the guy on the ground doesn’t have a gun, but he does have a mean left hook. I hear a rustle in the grass and turn just in time for him to clock me in my left temple.
I stagger and throw up my arm, blocking the next strike. God damn this redneck hits hard.
Sasha starts screaming god knows what as I leap forward, pummeling his stomach.
He must be super pissed. I don’t blame him. I would have been too if I’d been interrupted just as I was about to fuck a girl as hot as Sasha. But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna ruin him.
He hits harder than me. He’s beefier. Probably stronger. But the guy doesn’t protect his face. He rushes forward as if pure mass will smother any attempt to block him.
I’ll admit it, I got into fights occasionally when I was younger. Haven’t for a while and I’m definitely not a professional, but I don’t have to be to counter his attacks. Soon he’s back on the ground with my elbow pressed to his throat.
“You gonna stop now?” I ask as he squirms beneath me.
“Leave her alone,” he spits blood on my cheek. “She said no.”
For a second my grip on him falters, and I’m rewarded with a knee to my lower back. Fuck this. I’m not gonna hurt her. I’d never hurt her. I push my elbow into his neck, harder.
“Stop, Trev.” The soothing, feminine voice cuts through my thoughts. “It’s alright. Just stop.”
I feel her hands on my shoulders rubbing me softly. I smell her jasmine perfume. “Let him go. He’s done nothing wrong.”
I allow her to pull me to my feet. The guy sits up and kicks himself back across the gravel to his truck. “You her boyfriend or something?”
I glare at him.
He spits blood, wipes his mouth, then glares right back. “Stupid cheating bitch.”
I jolt forward, fists clenched, but Sasha stops me. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”
The guy wipes his mouth with his hand. “Well fuck me,” he mutters as he opens the door to his truck. Sasha and I step back as he speeds off.
Sasha turns to me. “I guess this means you’re my ride home.”
Chapter 4
Sasha
Trevor grips the wheel and grinds his teeth. It’s an old habit, and one I wish he didn’t have. It can’t be good for his enamel.
I glance at the tape player. “Still don’t have a CD or mp3 player?”
He sighs. Readjusts his grip on the wheel. “Not in the car.”
After five minutes of not talking I get tired of listening to him breathe slowly through his nose, so I press down on one of the big, black buttons on the old tape player.
Smooth, beautiful singing fills the car for a few moments before Trevor reaches over and slams it off.
The silence startles me, as well as the subtle, barely controlled violence he used to preform such a mundane task. I press my knees together, squeezing my hands between my thighs.
That familiar, uncanny silence slips between us once again.
“Was that Anggun ?” I ask softly.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You don’t want to talk about music?”
“No.”
“Well, alright.” I drum my fingers on the door. “Let’s talk about what just went down back there, then.”
He works his jaw a moment before answering. “Don’t.”
I open my mouth but I can’t think of a damn thing to say. Not one goddamn thing.
His eyes are on the road. He seems to be breathing louder. What I just did got under his skin.
I hadn’t meant to do that.
As we get back into the suburbs, the trees thin out. Every few blocks we pass a lone car—people who work the night shift; teens trying to make their curfew; philandering
I turn to face her. “You think after everything that’s happened today that I care about something like that?”
She flinches.
A sick, self-righteous satisfaction fills me. Good. She should be disgusted with herself. She should be angry. And then I remember what she told me—what happened to her—every single fucked-up thing she’s been through—and I just want someone to fucking shoot me.
Well the guy on the ground doesn’t have a gun, but he does have a mean left hook. I hear a rustle in the grass and turn just in time for him to clock me in my left temple.
I stagger and throw up my arm, blocking the next strike. God damn this redneck hits hard.
Sasha starts screaming god knows what as I leap forward, pummeling his stomach.
He must be super pissed. I don’t blame him. I would have been too if I’d been interrupted just as I was about to fuck a girl as hot as Sasha. But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna ruin him.
He hits harder than me. He’s beefier. Probably stronger. But the guy doesn’t protect his face. He rushes forward as if pure mass will smother any attempt to block him.
I’ll admit it, I got into fights occasionally when I was younger. Haven’t for a while and I’m definitely not a professional, but I don’t have to be to counter his attacks. Soon he’s back on the ground with my elbow pressed to his throat.
“You gonna stop now?” I ask as he squirms beneath me.
“Leave her alone,” he spits blood on my cheek. “She said no.”
For a second my grip on him falters, and I’m rewarded with a knee to my lower back. Fuck this. I’m not gonna hurt her. I’d never hurt her. I push my elbow into his neck, harder.
“Stop, Trev.” The soothing, feminine voice cuts through my thoughts. “It’s alright. Just stop.”
I feel her hands on my shoulders rubbing me softly. I smell her jasmine perfume. “Let him go. He’s done nothing wrong.”
I allow her to pull me to my feet. The guy sits up and kicks himself back across the gravel to his truck. “You her boyfriend or something?”
I glare at him.
He spits blood, wipes his mouth, then glares right back. “Stupid cheating bitch.”
I jolt forward, fists clenched, but Sasha stops me. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”
The guy wipes his mouth with his hand. “Well fuck me,” he mutters as he opens the door to his truck. Sasha and I step back as he speeds off.
Sasha turns to me. “I guess this means you’re my ride home.”
Chapter 4
Sasha
Trevor grips the wheel and grinds his teeth. It’s an old habit, and one I wish he didn’t have. It can’t be good for his enamel.
I glance at the tape player. “Still don’t have a CD or mp3 player?”
He sighs. Readjusts his grip on the wheel. “Not in the car.”
After five minutes of not talking I get tired of listening to him breathe slowly through his nose, so I press down on one of the big, black buttons on the old tape player.
Smooth, beautiful singing fills the car for a few moments before Trevor reaches over and slams it off.
The silence startles me, as well as the subtle, barely controlled violence he used to preform such a mundane task. I press my knees together, squeezing my hands between my thighs.
That familiar, uncanny silence slips between us once again.
“Was that Anggun ?” I ask softly.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You don’t want to talk about music?”
“No.”
“Well, alright.” I drum my fingers on the door. “Let’s talk about what just went down back there, then.”
He works his jaw a moment before answering. “Don’t.”
I open my mouth but I can’t think of a damn thing to say. Not one goddamn thing.
His eyes are on the road. He seems to be breathing louder. What I just did got under his skin.
I hadn’t meant to do that.
As we get back into the suburbs, the trees thin out. Every few blocks we pass a lone car—people who work the night shift; teens trying to make their curfew; philandering
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