Then I saw Gigi’s heart-shaped face and big brown eyes in my head and imagined how she would look at me after discovering I paralyzed this guy. A man who’s life in some twisted way she actually feels responsible for. She probably wouldn’t talk to me ever again.
And that is something I couldn’t live with.
So instead of squeezing the life out of him, I twisted his arm like a pretzel behind him, shook the knife from his grasp, and started silently counting down (five, four, three, two, one) while sending him to the ground and shoving my size thirteen boot deep in his throat.
As I stood over fake Ben, I took a moment to watch his eyes enlarge just as the blood from my knuckles dripped on the floor and his drained slowly from his face. It was becoming more difficult for him to breathe, and he was getting scared. Good, I thought. That’s probably what Gigi felt when he put his hands on her.
“Gigi belongs to me,” I told him. “You even think about her pretty ass again and it will be the last living thought you’ll ever have. I promise you that shit.”
And as soon as I decided that he couldn’t take anymore, I lifted my foot and abruptly left him where he laid. If he tries anything again, I’ll know for certain that he has a death wish and I’m willing to oblige him. Otherwise, I seriously doubt that we’ll ever hear from fake Ben again.
The quiet energy between us is almost palpable when Gigi and I return to the apartment. When we left for our ride, I knew she was dying to ask me about what happened with Ben, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk, especially when I’ve always committed myself to telling the truth–especially to her. Would she think differently of me once I told her that I almost choked him to death with my foot? Would she understand if I explained that he came at me with a knife first?
I decide, no.
Why ruin the mood.
She’s high off of the impressive performance of Wicked she just saw, especially after meeting the show’s director who invited her to audition. She’s hopeful. I think she’s starting to see an actual future in her field of study, outside of that weird ass job of hers, and I’m the one she will forever associate with it.
That shit makes me feel ten feet tall.
“I need to take a shower,” she comments after lifting her arm and taking a whiff of one of her armpits.
“All right. I’m next.”
“And make sure you re-wrap that hand.”
I look at my bloody bandage and remember the violence that caused it.
“Gigi?”
“Yeah?”
I planned on saying something meaningful to put her mind at ease about Ben, but instead I can only come up with a lame suggestion.
“Do you feel like playing a round of Uno after you’re done?” I ask her.
She grins, which tells me that she’s up for it.
“On the balcony or the couch?” she asks.
“It’s still a nice night. Why don’t we play on the balcony.”
“Cool.”
Gigi takes a quick shower, and I do the same. When I’m finished rubbing my sheared head dry, I slip on a pair of clean basketball shorts and head to her bedroom. She’s already on the deck in a mint-green-colored crop top and matching baggy sweatpants.
It's then I confirm what I’ve always thought. Gigi has been put on this planet to torment me. It’s obvious by the way her full breasts are swaying underneath her shirt that she’s braless.
Fuck me.
She turns around once I open the French doors and am almost struck dumbstruck by how she looks with the light of the full moon illuminating her from behind.
She’s damn near ethereal.
And so fucking sexy.
“You okay?” she asks, noticing my weird reaction.
