I close my eyes and blow out a slow breath.
And I see them again. Vera on all fours. Kieren behind her, thrusting away, his face twisted in bliss. He looked happier than I’d seen him in years. Our sex life was never adventurous, but I thought we did okay. Once per month, exactly eight minutes long, blowjob, missionary, orgasm, good to go for a while. But he never looked at me like he was looking at Vera’s ass, his naked chest sweating, his eyes shining with pure lust and happiness.
Meanwhile, she seemed almost bored—and smiled when she spotted me in the door.
Rage hits me. It’s that fuckingsmirklike she knew what she was taking away from me.
Not just a boyfriend, but a future.
Myfuckingfuture.
The plan I’d built painstakingly for years, now ripped away by her (probably) magical vagina.
It feels really good when I slam my thumb down on the top of the paint can and white blasts all over Kieren’s hood. I try to writedickheadbut it comes out all slurry and messy, so I settle for a rough sort ofdickheyyyyinstead.
I get into the groove after that.Whore, fucker, slut, cheater, bastard, small dick.I fill in the entire back windshield. Good luck cleaning it off, you cheap shit. I remember one time for our anniversary he took me to freaking Chick-Fil-A. Don’t get me wrong, I love that place, butcome on. Four years deserved better than greasy chicken.
I know this is wrong. I’m breaking all sorts of laws, most of which I can’t even guess at. But it feels so good. I’ve never done anything like this before, never so much as gone over the speed limit by more than 5mph, and now I’m ruining the former love of my life’s special vehicle, all out of spite.
It’s psychotic.
No, seriously. It’s insane. It’s unhinged.
It’sdumb, now that I think about it.
I step back and stare at my handiwork.
Paint’s dripping in smears. Most of the words are illegible. The car’s a wreck, the paint probably ruined. But worst of all, it’s so obvious who did this.
He’s going to know the second he sees it.
Could he press charges? Would he? The bastard cheated on me in the bed we shared for three years. We moved in together a couple years after college when I was twenty-three, after he begged me to live in sin with him. He said it would strengthen our relationship and help him make the leap into full-blown marriage. I believed him, like a moron. Paid for everything,including the mattress, which is now trashed and left out on the sidewalk. Let rats bang in it. They did once already.
But would Kieren stoop so low?
The answer hits me like a hernia:
Yeah, probably.
“Oh, crap,” I groan as I feel like I might throw up. Understanding hits me as my anger dissipates, leaving me emotionally empty and hollowed out, staring at a husk of a vehicle, at my future doom.
I’ve always been perfect. Never stepped a toe out of line, always did what I was supposed to do, and now look at this.
By far the biggest mistake of my life, and it’s a doozy.
“Shit,” I whisper, jamming everything into my bag. I shove the sleeve of my sweatshirt over my hand and start manically trying to wipe the drying paint away. “Shit, shit, shit!” I only manage to smear it around.
I’m screwed. He’ll report me to the police and I’ll go to jail. They’ll execute me for being such a moron, and I’ll deserve it. I’ll put the stinking poison needle in my own arm and thank the judge who sentenced me to death because I’m too polite. The whole world will watch me succumb, an ugly, ignoble end, and they’ll all be like,yep that tracks.
“Hello, darling, you look like you could use some help.”
The voice stops me dead.
Panic hits a fever pitch as I turn around, my sweatshirt covered in paint, my fake glasses askew, my surgical mask falling off my nose.
He’s standing ten feet away.
I throw my hands in the air. The spray can clatters to the ground at my feet.
