Tyson’s face steadily turns a ruddy red. “This isourapartment, Christopher. Not just yours. I have a say in who comes here, just as much as you do.”
“Fine, then maybe I should move out. I’m very much over this whole ‘friendship’ between us anyway.” Kip spits, releasing Tyson’s throat and letting him slump against the wall as he gasps.
I stare in shock, unable to move. Tyson glares at me, his eyes promising retribution, before turning on his heel and striding off towards his bedroom. The bedroom door slams so hard it rattles the walls.
Kip turns towards me, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry. I never used to get so…angry. Tyson makes me see fucking red, and I won’t stand for him insulting you.”
“He’s a fucking dick. You shouldn’t let him get to you. He’s trying to rile you up.” I smooth my hands against his pecs, trying to soothe him. “I know he’s just jealous. He doesn’t like that you’re spending all your time with me now.”
“Well, maybe he shouldn’t have fucking used me as a blood bag,turned me into a vampire, and generally be a shitty friend.” Kip sighs, turning towards the coffee maker.
It beeps, and he fills up my cup with coffee and vanilla creamer.
“Come on, sweetheart.” Kip says gently, handing me the to-go cup of coffee. “I’ll walk out with you.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kip
Back to the Grind
I’m not an angry person. I’ve never been violent. Not until becoming a vampire, that is. And not until Tyson showed his true personality. Now every time I see him I’m filled with uncontainable fury. How dare he call my Charlie a whore. Who does he think he is, trying to dictate who I can and cannot see? I’m so fucking done.
The entire way to work I’m fuming. I need to punch something. Preferably Tyson’s smug fucking face, but a punching bag will do for now. I think it’s time for me to look for a new place to live. This situation with Tyson is just not working anymore.
I have half an hour before my first client arrives, and I spend that time beating the shit out of a punching bag. Taking out all my fury and frustration on the leather bag. I’m drenched in sweat, and panting when my alarm goes off telling me that my client will be here in five.
I hate feeling like this. Out of control. Unhinged. The only other time I really felt like this was when my parents died and I was in foster care. Like then, the only thing helping me calm down is working out. This is who I am, and definitely not who I want to be. I need out of this situation with Tyson, and fast.
I chug some water, and shoot off a quick text to Charlie now that I’m not as wound up.
Kip: sorry bout this morning. he had no right to call you that.
Charlie: It’s not your fault.
Charlie: I don’t want to cause drama. That’s not my scene. Maybe I should avoid going to your place from now on.
Kip: fuck that. it’s my apartment too. i shouldn’t have to worry about my guests being treated like shit
Three dots appear, letting me know that Charlie is busy typing back, when the receptionist calls for me.
“Kip, Sean is here.”
The first couple of sessions with clients go alright. Management apparently told everyone I was sick, and that’s why I was out. Everyone keeps asking if I’m feeling any better. It’s kind of annoying, but I’m also glad that my manager and my clients don’t know the real reason for my absence.
When Tyson comes in for the day, it’s like the air in the room becomes twenty degrees colder. The anger and tension between us is palpable. I try my best to ignore him, but can feel his eyes on me throughout the next two clients I work with.
I’m working with my fifth and final client of the day when shit goes sideways. Bryant goes to pick up the next pair of weights, the fifty pounders, and as he’s about to start his first set, the one in his right hand slips, landing right on his toes. Bryant screams, and immediately I smell blood.
Fuck, okay. I can do this. Bracing myself, I will my fangs to stay hidden, and my bloodlust to not make an unwelcome appearance. Luckily, I’m able to contain it as I rush forward, lifting the weight away from Bryant’s foot. It’s then I notice that the handle of the weight has some type of slick substance on it, like lube or oil. What the fuck? Why would there be oil on the handle? This isn’t like the oil from someone's hand, but like someone literally drenched it in something. I shake my head, refocusing on the problem in front of me.
“Shit. Steph, call an ambulance, please!” I yell out to the receptionist.I try to keep my voice calm. “Okay, Bryant. I’m gonna have you sit down on the bench behind you, alright? Paramedics are on their way.”
The paramedics arrive quickly, and determine that Bryant broke several toes, as well as several bones in his foot. They take him in the ambulance, and I’m left to wipe up the sweat and blood that is on the floor where Bryant’s foot was crushed.
“What the fuck is up with all these people bleeding around me while I’m at work.” I mumble to myself, scrubbing down the rubber flooring.
I feel Tyson’s eyes on me again. I make eye contact with him, and he looks at me blankly.
