Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
It takes a second for me to realize the growling sound spreading through the truck’s cab is coming from me. There isn’t some rabid dog in the back. I am the rabid dog, the dog who got smacked down for the unforgivable sin of thinking fucking a girl who seemed into me meant she actually liked me. I always used to think girls were the ones who were supposed to make that mistake. Giving it up to some shithead who would only use them in the end. Maya made sure to teach me otherwise. She taught me a lot of lessons I never asked to learn.
But god, there are still times, even to this day, even after all of my feelings for her have hardened into pure hatred, that I remember how good it was that night at the party. How special it all seemed.
It’s no longer afternoon traffic I see in front of me as I drive home. It’s Maya’s eyes—wide, full of fear, that dance in my imagination. A horn blares nearby, but what I hear is her soft gasp of pain. I was her first, and she closed her eyes and bit hard on her lip when I breached her tight, quivering entrance.
“Don’t hurt me, please,” she whispered, and I can hear that now, too. I can feel the way her breath tickled my ear while her nervousness touched a deeper part of me. Part of me that wanted to make it good for her. To make sure she didn’t regret it.
And me? All I knew was I wanted it to never end. I wanted to live there, on top of her, with her arms and legs around me. I wanted to stay there forever.
My dick thickens at the memory of what it felt like inside her, as I took her inch by inch. She gripped me so tight—I can almost feel it now, the pressure around me like a tight glove. Warm and wet. Like sliding into silk and letting it squeeze me. I need to stop thinking about it now, right this very second, or else I might end up wrecking the truck. The memory is that vivid.
There are other memories I need to keep in mind. The feeling of cold, bitter shock slamming into me. Being totally sure I must’ve been hearing her wrong. Why would she threaten to tell everybody I raped her when I didn’t? She had been sober. She never said no—actually, she was the one who targeted me and wouldn’t leave me alone once she showed up and found me at the party.
Why would she tell a lie like that?
All I ever did was like her.
I’ve got to do something with the boiling hatred threatening to shred me to pieces. I’m going to explode. I’m going to burn down everything around me. I need to find something to do with all of it.
That’s why I have to go straight to the gym at home as soon as I arrive, jogging down to the basement and flipping on the lights to reveal a room full of high-end equipment. I don’t even bother going to my room to get changed, choosing to strip off my shirt before turning on loud, pumping music and cranking the volume up as far as it will go. By the time I turn to the heavy bag, the floor is vibrating; the beat pulsing through me from my feet to the top of my head. Finally, I’m connecting to something, like plugging myself in and letting the current flow through my body.
Current which forces me to lash out and punch the heavy bag as hard as possible. My right arm shoots out, my left, delivering a series of sharp jabs. The contact reverberates up to my shoulders, and I like it. I welcome it. I deserve it for being a weak piece of shit who can’t get a grip on myself when it comes to the biggest mistake I ever made. Trusting. Wanting. Hoping.
Each blow against the bag makes my fists ache worse until the ache turns into pain. Yes, more, more. I have to keep going. I must. There has to be a way to clear my mind of everything. The memories, the hurt, the betrayal. The fear that she would go through with what she threatened.
The sweat already starting to roll down my face and back intensifies, dripping onto the floor the harder I work to punish myself. Maybe I can finally get rid of all of it if only I could punch my way through this fucking bag.
Maybe I can keep myself from getting sucked into the abyss again.
“Maya! When are we gonna see you in Playboy?”
My head snaps up at the mention of her name and the snide laughter that follows. I was walking from the parking lot with my head down, my sore fists jammed in my pockets after the punishment I gave them yesterday. Now I scan the area, seeking her out. There goes all my hard work, trying to get her out of my system. I’m just as eager to get a look at her as ever.