“That’s us!” I enthusiastically shake her hand and follow her inside. The place has black-painted walls and dark wood accents. It’s one of those places where people can rent a room to absolutely destroy everything inside. The cost to rent the entire place out for an hour had been nominal, at least in my eyes. Anything to make Harper feel safe.
“Welcome to The Rage Room. I’ve got you set up in the first room for an hour. As requested, the entire facility is yours for that time.” She slides a tablet across the counter to us. Her eyes flick from Harper to Honey, clearly curious. “I just need you both to sign waivers.”
I’d mentioned my friend had a medical condition that required a service dog. They’d assured me that Honey could safely come with us, she’d just have to sit outside while Harper goes apeshit in the room.
Harper scrolls through the waiver, reading diligently, a little furrow between his brows. He pauses on a particular section, taps it to blow it up, then slides it back to the store manager.
“Is it fine that I use the room despite having this listed condition?”
She looks down, smiles, then glances back up at Harper. “Absolutely, as long as you sign the waiver. We just ask if you start to feel unwell, that you cease raging.”
Harper pulls the tablet back towards himself with an understanding nod. He signs his waiver, I sign mine, then wehand the tablets back to her. She leads us back to the first room. Just beside the rage room sits a little cubby with white hazmat-looking suits, goggles, and boots for us to put on.
“You can destroy absolutely anything inside the room. There’s a countdown clock inside that’ll reflect how much time you have left.” She grins at us both, then points at a chair that faces the mirrored windows facing inside. “I put that chair there so your dog can view you. Will that work?”
Harper tries to smile, but it looks pained. “Perfect. Thank you so much.”
She leaves us alone, so I turn around to give Harper privacy. Once we’ve tugged on everything, we make our way into the room. Harper is so fucking cute in the suit, he’s so much smaller than me. I could easily toss him over my shoulder.
Hair up in a messy bun, goggles firmly on, he grabs a baseball bat from the weapon area. I watch entranced with my heart beating out of my chest as he slowly peruses the room, inspecting what he wants to destroy first. Settling on an old television, he lifts the bat and swings like he’s been batting his entire life. The television screen shatters at his feet, and his laughter immediately follows the piercing noise of breaking glass.
He turns his head over his shoulder, grinning wickedly at me. A piece of hair falls from his bun, hanging loosely around his face. Jesus, I need to tuck it away, touch his creamy skin, tug on the loose hair.
“Are you going to join me or what, big guy?”
I’m going to marry him. He’s mine. But of course, I don’t say that. That would be ridiculous. Instead, I join him in breaking as many items as violently as we can. Mirrors shatter, plates break, anything we can reach gets destroyed. I’ve never had so much fun losing my shit with anyone.
By the time the hour’s over, it hasn’t felt like any time has passed at all. Harper’s face is covered in a sheen of sweat, cheeks ruddy from exertion. For a split second, I worry that maybe this was a bad idea, especially after the last time he got overheated. But the look in his eyes reassures me that I did something right, something good, by bringing him here. Harper needed this just as much as I needed to spend time with him.
“Alright?” I ask, wiping sweat from my face.
Harper wiggles out of the gear, face flushed and happy. “Perfect.”
He leaves his hair up though, messy, effortless, and the look is really growing on me. Definitely prefer it down, but something about his hair up, showing off his neck, really does it for me. I want to fuck Harper, but I also kind of want to keep him. A new feeling for me, but it oddly doesn’t scare me.
The grin on my face feels blinding when Harper lets me take his hand again on our way out of the rage room.
“So, final verdict?”
Harper makes a thoughtful face. Tapping his chin with his forefinger, he finally nods. “I definitely had no idea I had so much rage inside me.”
“Daddy Jackson knew.”
Harper swallows loudly and looks away. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Always,” Harper replies quickly.
His hand is still snugly tucked in mine. Every now and then he sweeps his thumb across my knuckles, in an action I’m not sure he’s even aware of. I try so hard to stay chill, to not let it mean more than it should, but it’s just another reminder that I’m slowly getting this exquisite creature to trust me.
Since we’re in the city, I steer us by this barbecue place Colby once mentioned to me. Harper seems to know it and gets overjoyed. He enthusiastically consumes more ribs than Ithought possible. Honey watches on, still working, but I can see the twitch of her lips as Harper licks his fingers.
“That’s torture,” I tell him around a mouthful of sliced barbeque turkey.
“What?” Harper mumbles, thumb in his mouth.
I point towards a raptly staring Honey. “That dog would kill for a rib.”
