1
Blake
How did I get myself into this mess? I mean, how bad can my fucking luck be really? I came out to this place to get away for a little while. To escape the jackass ex-fiancé that won’t stop calling and my whore of a best friend that put that ex in front of fiancé.
Seriously.
What.
The.
Fuck.
Just, what the fuck.
Here I am in the middle of nowhere; we are talking bum-fuck-Egypt kind of nowhere, and my shitty rental car gets a flat. Why am I surprised? Now, don’t think I’m one of those prissy bitches that can’t change a tire because my daddy taught me how to change a tire and the oil—plus a few other things I never had to actually do myself before—but that’s beside the point. I’d change the damn tire if there was a spare.
Tipping my head back to the sky, I shriek out my frustration. The abrupt noise sends birds flying and small critters running away from the maniac walking down the middle of this deserted piece of back road hell. My feet are killing me. I was in no way prepared for this little adventure into hell. I walked in on Margo bouncing on Shane’s cock, threw the bottle of champagne at them and stormed out. I’m still wearing my red, four-inch stilettos and a sexy black maxi dress. Not to mention, I have on a silk and lace shelf bra that is pinching the fuck out of my tits. It’s the kind of bra you buy and only wear when you know it’s coming off soon. Fashion not function for sure.
Another round of pissed off courses through me as my mind replays the vision of Margo’s anorexic body writhing on top of what used to be the love of my life. In a fit of rage, I rip off my shoes and chuck them into the tree line. The sight of them bouncing off of a tree and crashing through the underbrush is mildly satisfying. Several minutes later, I’m questioning the rationale of ridding myself of the shoes. Especially, since now I’m walking down a dirt road completely barefoot. And this fucking bra! Reaching behind me I unclasp the vicious thing and rip it out of the top of my dress.
“Fuck you, Victoria’s Secret,” I rant as I drop the torture device to the ground. Instant relief sweeps through me and I relish in FMB. For those of you who don’t know what FMB stands for, it’s free my boobs. It’s that glorious time of day when you can rid yourself of the underwire, the lifting, pushing, and pinching and free the motherfucking tah-tahs.
Free.
My.
Boobs.
Bitches.
Feeling a smidgen better after my brief throwback to feminism, I have a bit more pep in my step.
I have to be close to the cabin by now. I was only about ten miles away when the tire blew. Although, not a damn thing out here looks familiar, so I could be completely wrong. The years have changed this place more than I thought possible.
I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking coming out here. My pissed off haze had caused my irrationally spontaneous, albeit necessary trip. I left the apartment, jumped in the first cab I saw, and ended up at the airport. When the lady behind the ticket counter asked me where I was going, I stared at her like I was a moron.
How the fuck should I know something like that? Where the hell do you go when your entire life is back in your bed boinking like rabbits in heat?
Home.
You go home.
That’s how I ended up walking down this godforsaken road barefoot and braless on my way to a cabin that I haven’t been to in nearly fifteen years. Since luck is obviously on my side, I half expect the cabin to be a pile of rubble when I get there instead of the sanctuary I seek.
“Ah! There you are!” I can’t hold back the excitement when I see the rusty mailbox sitting on top of what use to be a four by four board cemented into one of those old milk cans. It’s still about half a mile up the road, but at least I’m nearly there. I can get cleaned up and hide away for a few weeks until I’m ready to deal with Satan and his slut-bag bitch.
My excitement over the mailbox sighting lasts about three and half seconds before there is a huge crack of thunder, the skies open up, and it starts raining. Not just a nice spring rain. Oh no, we are talking a torrential downpour. I don’t know who the hell I pissed off up there, but this is getting ridiculous. Throwing my middle fingers out in the air and thrusting my hips in the ‘suck it’ motion I scream, “Fuck you mother nature! Yeah, you heard me, you fuckin’ bitch. Fuck you!”
Several minutes later, the quaint little cabin is finally in my sights. Well, sort of, it’s more of a blur because of the waterfall I’m currently trudging through, but it’s there. I climb the three stairs up to the wrap-around porch and pray that the hide-a-key is still in its spot. Just as I reach up to the top of the door to feel for the key my wet and muddy feet lose traction, causing me to slip on the tile and gracefully fall flat on my ass. Okay, I lied. There was nothing graceful about my fall. I slipped, arms flailing wildly trying to catch myself (for the record, thin air doesn’t have any handles), then I crashed on my overly plump ass.