Brutally Beautiful(39)

Was it as simple as the way she looked, or, as simple as just wanting to unravel the mystery of Lainey? And what would I want to do with her after all my needs were fulfilled and my questions answered? What would I do to her when my darkness wanted a piece of her too?

I awoke almost a whole day later, on the floor of my kitchen with dried blood all over my hands and chest. Brilliant sunlight was filtering in through my French doors, harshly lighting my cold skin. I was shirtless. Across the palm of my hand was a deep gash that looked red, angry, and still slick with slowly clotting fluids. Thick shards of bloodied crimson stained glass lay across the floor, under me, across from me, inside of me. The strong urge to rub the blood between my fingers was maddening. To touch the life flowing out of my skin, the thick red liquid that once surged through my heart; this is how I cope now. Reliving my nightmares. Reliving my past. Touching my thumb to the rest of my fingers, I swirled the congealing mess around, pain hit me instantly as the sharp bit of glass still embedded under the skin of my palm dug itself deeper. It throbbed a fiery burn up my wrist and arm, making me clench my teeth in anger. My throat was parched, blood pounded in my ears and my body felt coiled tight; ready to spring.

I looked down enraged, wondering what the hell was happening to me. Did somebody steal my cock to sell on the black market? Leaving me a *. What the hell was I letting my own mind conjure up for me? I needed to get over this insanity. I pulled the piece of glass out of my palm and smeared my bloody hand against my pants, ignoring the bite of pain.

Throwing a shirt on, I stumbled blindly out of the house. Bright sunlight hit my eyes like a prizefighter and almost, almost knocked me on my ass. Lumbering to my truck, I climbed in vaguely, wondering if I might have still been drunk from the previous binge I accomplished undertaking the night before. I highly doubted it.

I had one thought in my mind.

Bagels.

Fresh bagels from a bakery, with butter and coffee. Maybe a few pots full. My stomach lurched and rumbled as I drove a good twenty-five minutes from my house to the nearest place to eat.

Like a grade-A jackoff, I parked in two spaces, not wanting anyone near my truck, and stormed into the diner, fists clenched. Sitting in the booth nearest the exit, always nearest the exit, with…3 waitresses, 11 faceless customers and 2 exits, I nodded at the waitress who in turn gave me bulging eyes and a downturned mouth. Getting a f*cking bagel should be easy, but not here, not with me. These people knew of me, heard of me, and they were terrified of me. The dangerous recluse that never comes out in the daytime, isn’t he crazy? Didn’t he kill people? Didn’t he die? Didn’t he go insane? Isn’t he horribly disfigured like that Mel Gibson character in that movie? Didn’t he spend years in jail or an asylum, blah-blah-blah, just give me a f*cking bagel and coffee, and no one will get hurt.

The waitress actually snorted loudly, walked over to my table, and crossed her arms.

Before she could form a simple thought in her most likely one-celled simple mind I growled out, “Coffee. Toasted Bagel. Butter.”

The twit clucked her teeth like a monkey and walked away.

My head started pounding. People walked in and out of the front door letting a cold draft breeze against my arms. My eyes attacked each and every person who walked in.

This was a f*cking bad idea.

The rattle and clink of a coffee cup against its saucer brought my attention to the presence of the waitress spreading my order out on the table in front of me. “Can I get you anything else, sir?” she said with a sneer.

“Solitude,” I snapped back.

The waitress narrowed her eyes at me and snapped a piece of gum in my face. Then she walked away, leaving me to my solitude. Grabbing my knife and opening the little pat of wrapped butter, I began buttering my bagel.