“About me. You were talking about me. Am I bitch to you, Tommy? Have I not been a good fucking friend? Have I not listened to how you treat women and held my tongue because, hey, I know deep down you’re a good guy but you just like to mouth off ‘cause your dick isn’t as fucking thick or long as you’d like?” I pant, heaving in air. My shoulders are up to my ears, my hands clenched into fists. I can only see Tommy, his face, that fucking smirk that I want to break to pieces with my hands.
“I guess he got you all primed up tonight, kitten, without finishing you off. There’s no need to take it out on me, though. Or would like me to finish you off?”
I let out a war-cry, rage painting the world red, blood pounding in my muscles, through my veins with such power, I get high from it. I feel alive, strong, invincible. I lunge forward, fisting Tommy’s shirt with my left hand and letting my right hand fly.
The illusion is broken after that.
I let out another shriek as the knuckle of my middle finger twinges so hard, it feels like it’s moved out of place, the pain radiating up my metacarpals in an incessant throb that keeps time with my heart beat. I’ve punched his left cheek bone, grazing off the side of his nose so I don’t know if I broke it or not.
“Don’t ever talk to me again, you understand?” I say through clenched teeth. Josh and Alex are holding me back, while Katie stays in the corner, clapping her hands like she’s seen a particularly good UFC fight. Eli is sipping at his scotch, smoking his cigar like nothing really happened.
Tommy’s face comes forward, a hand going to his cheek. He sniffs and the flood gates open and blood comes pouring out of his nose to slick his upper lip and drops over his mouth in a red waterfall. The sight of his blood soothes the pain in my hand.
I shake off Josh and Alex, refusing to talk to anyone. I need to leave.
When I walk back into the apartment, shutting the patio door behind me, I take one last glance at my group of friends and cringe. I flew off the handle.
Hunter comes out of the hallway, eyes wide when he looks at my chest. I was still close enough to Tommy to get some blood on me and I’m cradling my right hand.
“I want to leave now, please.” My voice comes out strangled, and despite my powerful outburst of anger, all I want to do now is cry because my hand hurts and because I’m embarrassed.
I move to the door, stuff my feet into my Converse. Hunter has my purse in his hand, and he opens the door for me.
I clear my throat, denying the pain there. “Are you okay to drive?”
“Yeah, baby. I’m fine. What about you?” I just shake my head. “Where do you wanna go?”
We walk out of the building, Hunter jogging up ahead of me to open the car door. Once I’m settled inside, he jogs around the car to get to his seat.
“I think I want to go pick up Matty.” I can see Hunter nod from my peripheral vision as he starts the car and gets out of the parking lot. My hand gives a sweet throb of pain, the space between my index and middle finger knuckles turning a nasty shade of blue. If I look at it long enough, I can see a bone in my hand has moved out of its usual place. “And I want to go to the hospital. I think my hand’s broken.”
***
“Does this hurt?” The guy looks about my age, wearing a lab coat and some blue scrubs underneath. Probably gets off that he’s a medical student and I’m not. The way he prods at my hand, especially the blue part between my knuckles tells me so. I grunt an affirmative. “How about that?” I nod and grunt some more when what I want to do is punch him in the face with my other hand because, yeah, it fraking hurts!
“Either you have a high pain threshold, or you’re trying to impress me,” the intern says, flashing me a too-bright smile. His gloved hands keep prodding at my knuckles, and he writes a few things down on his clipboard when he’s done causing me pain. Hippocratic Oath my ass.
I smile weakly, trying to ignore the throbbing of my hand, or how my stomach’s turning and wants to pull an emergency evacuation on everything I ate tonight.
“How did you get this?” The intern asks, looking up from his notes with a cocked eyebrow. The question sits on his face like a loaded gun; I end up grinning at him. Hunter and Matty stand at my left side, the little guy keeping a death grip on Hunt’s hand. His little face has paled out, making his eyes seem more blue, more hypnotic, more alive – and scared. He has that look on his face because of me. I stop grinning.
“I punched my friend,” I say through clenched teeth, flashing a toothy grin that’s more badass than friendly.
The intern smiles, dark eyes twinkling with amusement. Yeah, well, I’m glad I could make him happy. Not.