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His Hellcat(2)

By:Rory Reynolds

For several long seconds I sit there wondering if maybe this is all just some bad dream. That’s got to be it. I’m having a Wonderland moment. Anytime now I will wake up and be nice and snuggly warm in my bed with a man who adores me. Not soaking wet, covered in mud, shoeless, braless, and flat on my ass on my granddaddy’s front porch. Nope. I just have to wake up.

Closing my eyes, I will myself to wake. For the nightmare to be over. Another loud crack of thunder startles me and I screech like a girl. It’s official, this is my life and it fucking sucks. Brushing my hair off my face with my now mud coated hands the reality of my situation cuts through the fury I’ve been holding onto since the ones who shall not be named did the thing that I can’t bear to think of another moment. My nose stings and my eyes are quickly filling with moisture that I can’t blame on the rain.

“Damn it, Blake, buck the fuck up. You will not break down.” My little pep talk chases away the initial onslaught of tears, but fate, being an even bigger bitch than Mother Nature, decides she was having none of that. My phone, which has been without signal for the last two hours, decides to miraculously find half a bar of signal and starts playing Nine Inch Nails, Closer. That asshat just won’t catch the point. I haven’t answered a single one of his calls or texts, but the bitch-beast is raging right now, which is why I find myself swiping my muddy finger across the screen.

“What?” I practically scream into his ear.

“Holy Christ, Blake, baby where are you?” Shane sounds frantic. Good.

“It doesn’t matter where I am, Shane. Where’s my best friend, huh?” Contempt is dripping from each word as I speak slowly, making sure he gets just how much he fucked up.

After a loud, dramatic sigh, he says, “Baby, this is all just a misunderstanding. It means nothing. Really, just come home.”

I’m not sure what pisses me off more, his placating tone or the words he speaks. “You motherfucking douche canoe! Are you fucking kidding me?” I screech into the phone.

“Ending up in the wrong restaurant for a dinner date is a misunderstanding. Fucking my best friend in our bed, on our anniversary, is not a ‘misunderstanding.’” Even though he can’t see it, I emphasize misunderstanding with little air quotes. I’m on a roll now. “Oh, and it means nothing? Really? Are you kidding me with that shit? It means everything!”

When I’m finished, I’m breathing heavily and my heart is pounding. I might have a freaking stroke and die here on the porch.

“You know I only love you, Blakey. Come on home and we’ll celebrate our anniversary and everything will be just fine.”

“Ohmigod, you are so fucking lucky I’m not there right now, Shane. I would take that condescending tone of yours and shove it so far up your ass you’d be tasting ball sweat for the rest of your life.” I rage, “I’m not coming back. I’ll send someone for my shit.”

“Now, now. Don’t be irrational. Is it that time of month again already? You know how you get when you’re PMS’ing.”

That’s it. The last straw. Consider this camel’s back broken.

I scream out an incoherent rant of curses and maybe even a hex or two. I’m possibly speaking in tongues, who knows, but it’s an ugly, vicious diatribe. Just to be sure the point has gotten across, I throw my phone at the door and send it crashing in a satisfying crunch of broken plastic and glass.

I pull myself up off of the ground and continue ranting as I pace in tight circles. I have only made a couple of laps before the door to my cabin swings open startling me. Again, I slip on the wet tiles and end up unceremoniously on the ground. This time, I land flat on my back and have the wind knocked out of me. I lay still for a moment trying to catch my breath.

Fuck me.

“What the hell is going on out here?”

Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I look up, and up some more, at the tall stranger standing half-naked on the porch of my cabin.

“None of your fucking business. Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my cabin?” I snap. Okay, to be honest it was more of a wheeze than a snap, but attitude is kind of hard to manage when you’re flat on your back, soaked to the bone, covered in mud, with your skirt up around your coochie. I was lucky to get the breathless wheeze out of my voice box.

Much to my disbelief, he shakes his head before bursting out in laughter. I’m torn between embarrassment and rage. Since rage has been working out so well for me, I opt to go that route and let loose with a slew of curses as I slip and slide on the tiles, trying to get back to my feet.

“I’m going to kill him. Yeah, that’s it. I shouldn’t have been the one to leave. He should have gone and crawled back into the hole he came from. This is all his fault. Stupid motherfucking cunt-faced dick-weasel…” I’m not even talking to the laughing hyena at this point, I’m back to ranting to myself.