She closes the door and I immediately want to push it back open and yell at her some more. Fuck. She’s right. I am a bastard because I feel more alive fighting with her than I’ve felt since the day I lost her.
“Skull? Is everything okay? Are you ready for that drink now?” Teena asks.
She’s standing beside me and I just noticed her. What is she doing so close? Did she listen to the conversation Beth and I had? Most probably, since most of it was while we were screaming at each other.
“No, I don’t want a fucking drink. Will you stop this, Teena? I told you I can’t give you what you want. We’ve had this out before, and I’m tired of being nice about it. I’ve had enough of everything tonight,” I growl, moving around her.
“Mi amante, surely you can see that she—”
“This isn’t any of your concern, Teena. That’s what I can see. And stop calling me that. I haven’t touched you in a year,” I tell her as I’m walking away, giving her a view of my back.
Women. They’re all fucking stupid.
I’m done with them all.
“Jesus, amante. You realize he’s not going to survive this forever,” Teena says, looking over the unconscious Pistol.
After the blow up with Beth last night, I had too much frustration built up. I came down here to beat the shit out of Pistol some more. I’ll admit, I probably went overboard. I’m hoping she can fix the fucker, but I sure as hell won’t cry if she can’t. Besides, my mind is made up. I’ll have Matthew here to torture in a few days. There’s no way that fucker will draw clean air anymore, not after feeding Beth some bullshit recording.
I have Pistol strung up in the basement of the club. No one is allowed in here but me right now. I’m keeping him under lock and key and only doing enough to prolong his misery. I’ll have to end him soon. But hopefully not today.
“I don’t need forever. Can you patch him up enough for now?” I ask her, annoyed she’s still here. Annoyed I even called her the first time. Mostly, I’m just fucking pissed off that I can’t seem to work through all of the shit in my head.
“Si. I can for now.”
“Good. I’m out of here.”
“You’re going to leave me here?” Teena asks. The room is mostly dark, the florescent light above humming and only highlighting the area that Pistol hangs from, doing very little to brighten the rest of the room.
“He’s tied up, Teena. I doubt you are in any danger. Besides, I beat the fuck out of him so many times that I doubt anything works.”
“You’re still mad at me.”
“You should have told me you delivered that package to Beth.”
“I didn’t know she was the woman you grieved after, amante. I didn’t know any of this, not until you told me.”
“Even when you knew, you didn’t tell me. Not until Dragon said something. You mentioned none of it until Beth reminded me last night.”
“It would have served no purpose. What is done is done.”
Her words do nothing to kill the rage inside of me. She’s not the object of it, however. No, that’s reserved for the man in the mirror that stares back at me every morning.
“Lock the door when you leave,” I order her. “I’ll make sure Briar has the money for your trouble.”
“I could swing by your room when I’m finished. Help you take the edge off?” she offers, trying to slide her body into mine, her fingers digging into my sides.
I haven’t touched a woman since the night on the phone with Matthew over a year ago when I found out Beth was alive. I made an excuse to get Teena out the door and I’ve never taken her to my bed since. I’ve went over all this with Teena and fucking hell, if nothing else, you think she would have gotten the message loud and clear last night. I’ve had about all I can handle of all women. Christo! I would be better off as a monk having only my hand for pleasure.
“That’s not happening. It hasn’t happened for a long time. I told you, I am married.”
“Not really. It wasn’t a real marriage. And besides, she left you. She didn’t believe in you,” Teena says, moving her hand up the side of my face.
Her blonde hair and the color of her eyes once reminded me of Beth. She looks nothing like her. How did I convince myself of that? Did grief blind me so clearly? She’s not Hispanic. She was married to a man who was. But even so, her skin is not the same tone as my Beth’s. Her smile is a pale comparison. It’s not fair, but when I measure them, Teena comes up short. I had to have been blinded by grief. Grief that was for… nothing.