Branded(15)

The fact that DJ actually said something to Dax when they left my house comes as a surprise. I mean, I could see a touch of jealousy in his eyes and in some of his mannerisms the other night, but I just chalked it up to being a new experience for everyone. I thought maybe he wasn’t as comfortable with the situation as he initially indicated, but DJ does strike me as someone who doesn’t share his toys very well. It should bolster my spirits that he didn’t like what happened between us. He didn’t appreciate being made to feel like he wasn’t special and it was a shot to his ego that he couldn’t have me all to himself. I should be on cloud nine right now, gleeful that he got the payback he so richly deserved after leaving my heart shattered in a thousand pieces in high school.

Knowing he was jealous and fought with his friend doesn’t make me feel vindicated, however; it makes me feel like the slut he accused me of being. Fifteen years ago, I dreamed of him looking at me the way he did the other night – like I was his entire world and nothing else mattered but pleasing me, nothing else existed but the two of us. A part of me is glad that he hadn’t behaved that way all those years ago or I wouldn’t have survived the aftermath of what he did to me. Knowing he never loved me, never cared for me, never even remembered what the fuck happened the next morning fueled the anger instead of the depression. It gave me a goal: to one day teach him a lesson, to make him pay for the shit he pulled on me back then. The plan was to give him a taste of his own medicine so that I’d be the one walking away this time.

I should be happy that he thinks I’m a slut and a bitch. I should be able to just hold my head high and walk away, confident that he finally got what he deserved.

Unfortunately, my head is filled with the knowledge that not only is he jealous that another man had his hands on me, he’s stable and hard working and fucking saves people’s lives for a living. I should have never allowed him back into my life. I poison everything I touch and I know he’ll be no different. Why can’t I just be happy that I could potentially fuck up his life the way he did mine?

I need to stay away from him and he needs to stay away from me. No man will ever be able to understand what goes on in my head or why I do the things I do, certainly never someone like DJ. Why the hell couldn’t I just be attracted to Dax? He’s a manwhore who’s just in it for the sex. We could have spent a few weeks scratching mutual itches and then went our separate ways without any ruins left behind. Life would be so much easier if I wanted the bad guy instead of the good one.

“Look, if it will make you feel any better, before I leave I’ll make some inquiries, find out if anyone else got any fun little notes on their front porches lately. While I’m doing that, you might want to make a list of all the people you’ve pissed off recently. Take your time, I’m sure it won’t be easy to remember all of those names,” he jokes.

“Oh, kiss my ass,” I fire back as I turn towards the door.

“Not on your life, sweetheart. I like my appendages right where they are, thank you very much. If DJ happens to catch wind that you were here, please do me the favor of calling me so I can at least get a head start.”

“Stop being so dramatic. DJ couldn’t care less about what I do or who I talk to,” I tell him as I pull open the door.

“Uh-huh, sure. And I’m not planning on getting laid tonight,” he laughs.

Without turning around, I raise my hand and shoot him the middle finger as the door closes behind me. His laughter follows me all the way down the hall as I make my way out of the building.





Leaning against the kitchen counter at the station, I calmly bring my coffee cup up to my mouth, listening to the familiar, ear-piercing page from dispatch that echoes through the building. Glancing down at my watch, I count down the seconds to myself.

Five, four, three, two…

The pounding of footsteps bangs through the sleeping quarters and I take another drink of my hot coffee as our newest paramedic comes racing into the kitchen with a frantic look on his face. His hair is all askew from being woken up so early, his white uniform shirt is partially untucked and buttoned wrong and he’s hopping up and down on one foot as he hurriedly tries to tie the laces of his black work boots.

“What’s the emergency? Where are we going? Is the truck stocked? Shit! Did I remember to stock everything last night and charge the equipment? FUCK! Why are you so calm?!” Brad shouts at me.

I shake my head at the newbie, setting my cup down on the counter. “Brad, that was the test page from dispatch. They send it out every morning at 7 am to wake us up. How many times do we have to listen to the different sounds the paging system makes before you remember what an actual emergency sounds like?”