Trouble(95)

The main doors whoosh open, throwing a cold blast of air through the room. It actually helps wake me up.

I see coming in through the doors, a guy about my age. I notice him because he’s clearly money. Walks with that air of arrogance that only pricks with money do. He strides over to the reception desk.

“I’m just gonna go take a piss,” I tell Dad.

I’m walking past the reception desk, heading for the bathroom, when I hear that money guy talking with the receptionist.

“… name is Forbes Chandler. I received a call last night telling me that my girlfriend Mia Monroe had been brought it. I want to know how she is, and when I can see her.”

Blood rushes straight to my head. I stop and turn back, slowly.

“Yes, of course,” the receptionist smiles. “Just let me check.”

She’s starts typing. Clicking on the keyboard.

He checks his watch.

That’s him. This blond, prissy ass motherfucker, is the one who hurt Mia.

Why is he here? Who called him? Did Mia ask for him – did she ask them to call him?

Pain lances through me, quickly morphing to rage and despair and frustration.

Forbes turns his head in my direction. He sees me staring.

My fists tighten at my sides.

He gives me an odd look, then looks away, but he knows I’m still staring at him, so he looks back.

“Can I help you?” he asks with a smug look on his fuck ugly face.

I take a step toward him. “You’re Forbes?”

“Yeah. I am. Who’s ask—?”

He never finishes that sentence.

Because I punch him in the face. Hard.

He goes down from that one hit. Pussy. But I’m not stopping there. I’m on him, on the ground, punching him repeatedly over and over, and I can’t fucking stop.

Because all I can see is Mia’s black eye.

Him trying to rape her.

Her forcing herself to be sick. Passed out on that bathroom floor.

Me loving her. Wanting her.

Just pain. Fucking pain.

It’s endless, relentless. And I just keep plowing my fist into his face, trying to rid myself of it.

I don’t know if I’d have ever stopped, or if I’d have kept going until I killed him, but I don’t get the chance to find out because I’m pulled off him by Dad and the hospital security staff.

It takes three of them to get me off him. That’s how far gone I am.

“What the fuck!” he splutters through the blood in his mouth. “Are you insane? You’ve broken my nose!”

“That’s the least of your worries,” I growl. “You go near Mia ever again, and I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”

He stills. Just a moment. Hands covering his bleeding nose, his eyes meet mine. Something in them moves. I don’t know what it is, but I sure as hell don’t like it.

Then his hand drops. And he smirks. “Mia’s suckered you in good and proper.” He lets out a clipped, bloody laugh. “She’s good at that … playing the victim. And I’ll take it from the look on your face that you’ve been fucking her. Sorry to tell you this, but you’re not the first, won’t be the last.”

“You’re a fuckin’ liar!” I launch myself at him again, but I’m still being held by Dad and the burly guards, so I get nowhere.

“Let. Me. Fucking. Go!” I yell, trying to fight them off me.

“Calm the hell down!” Dad hisses in my ear. “Keep going like this, and they’ll call the cops if they haven’t already. Then they’ll throw your ass in jail, and you won’t be able to help Mia from there.”

The instant his words hit, hearing her name in that context, I start to slow down. “Okay.” I’m breathing hard. “Okay … you can let me go. I won’t hit him again.” I pin him with my eyes. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Jordan,” Dad scolds.

“What in the world is going on here?” I turn my head to see Dr. Packard walking toward us. Her eyes flick to Forbes, then back to me. She does not look happy.

“Dr. Packard, this man just attacked this gentleman here for no good reason.” This comes from the receptionist, who is still looking a little shocked by the whole thing.

“No good reason my ass!” I yell. “This motherfucker is the reason Mia is in here!”

“I haven’t seen Mia in two weeks—”

“Yeah, and why is that?” I take a step toward him. Dad’s arm comes in front of me, stopping me.

“Jordan,” Dr. Packard says. “You assaulted this gentleman?”

I scoff at the term. “Yeah, and I’d do it again – with pleasure.”

She turns to Forbes. “Mr.…?”

“Chandler.” Blood is still running down his ugly face and onto his pristine hundred dollar shirt.