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God, my head throbs fit to burst.
I wouldn’t pay for her even if I could. Not in a million years. She deserves to be behind bars. She deserves all the bad in the world. She’s at the root of my bad luck. She started it.
She had me and then threw me away. So I shouldn’t feel guilty.
I don’t, goddammit.
Shane puts the food on the table and gives me a hand up. “Easy now.”
My knee creaks and burns but locks and holds, allowing me to get on my own two feet. My boots crunch on the shards.
“Fuck, need to clean up.”
“Shouldn’t you be in PT?”
“If you knew that, then what the hell are you doing here?”
“What the fuck’s your problem today? I was going to leave you a sandwich and a soda and be on my way. Zane’s waiting for me to practice on a guy.” Shane shoots me a quick grin. “Frigging huge eagle tat, man, with an awesome feather design. You should drop by and see it.”
I grab my walking stick and take a tentative step toward the table. Ow. Christ. “Go on, then. Go before Zane chews your ass out.”
Doesn’t bother me that I’ll be the last apprentice left at Damage Control, that Jesse already graduated, and Shane is about it. Nah. I’m cool with that.
Okay, not really. Fuck me raw, man. Bad luck is one thing, but my life? It’s a goddamn joke. And okay, I’m still tangled up in the web of the past and getting free of it is kinda difficult with Shane here.
He’s tied into that past. He’s part of it, the threads of our lives woven together, and I can’t even talk to him about it, tell him about my mom, do anything to remind him.
’Cuz he’s still caught in it, in the dark web. Still dangling from the spider’s legs. And I don’t know how to help him.
Can’t help my mom, either. Can’t help anyone.
Not even myself. Missed the hospital appointment, need money and goddam painkillers before I saw my own leg off, and hell—the thought of going back down the stairs makes it hard to breathe.
You’ll be fine, Seffers. Things are better now, never you forget that. Never you fucking forget.
***
That’s a bit hard to remember an hour later as I puke my guts out in the toilet. Don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me, but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s the sandwich Shane brought me.
Just the thought of it makes me gag, and I puke again, clutching at the porcelain bowl. My head is pounding, and my throat burns with acid.
Kill me now.
Did I mention this is a fucked-up day? Just in case I neglected to make it clear. Maybe it’s because last night wasn’t that bad.
It was nice. Real nice.
So this is payback.
Fuck you, life.
I manage a bark of laughter at the irony before I’m bent over again, throwing up bile. Shit, this is exhausting. Depressing.
When will things take a turn for the better? The roommate I was supposed to get changed his mind at the last minute. I still owe the landlord money for last month’s rent, next installment is coming up soon, too, and I’m broke. A broken leg and bartender job don’t go well together, it seems, or so my boss decided as I sat at home with my leg in a cast and pumped full of painkillers.
Customers don’t like it.
Or maybe he got ahold of my record. I assumed he doesn’t know about it, but I’m not so sure anymore. Texas Road House is a big chain. He might know. My past just keeps coming back to bite me in the ass.
