Loving the Devil Dog

Chapter Two: Tragic Backstory

SABRINA

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Why wouldn't something like this happen? After all, it's my life.

In a fit of self-pity-fueled rage, I stand up and kick the van, and I regret it immediately.

"Fucking Christ!" I scream, hopping around clutching my foot.

God-fucking-damn it. I better not have broken my toe—that's the last thing I need right now, especially if I'm going to have to walk to find someone who can recharge the van's battery.

Tears well up in my eyes, and I flop down onto the fold-away couch, trying not to lash out and hit something again. I know that I'll only be hurting myself, or worse, doing damage to my van, and I need to calm down and breathe before I trust myself to move again.

My life has been one bullshit parade after another, and today is the shit icing on the urinal cake.

This isn't good.

If I can't get the van running, I can't upload my FAD content, and if I can't upload, I will probably lose subscribers, and subscribers are money, and if I lose money, I can't afford to get my van fixed up.

It's one hell of a vicious cycle; one I can't afford to fall out of.

How am I supposed to fix this out here in the middle of the fucking desert?

I can feel myself spiraling,

I have no idea what the hell I'm going to do, and more than that, I don't even know if I'm safe out here.

Sure, I talk a big game, and I'm hot shit when I know I can just drive away, but now that I'm stranded I can't stop thinking back on those missing persons posters, and the things that old man said.

The Devil Dogs didn't seem any more intimidating than any other biker gang when I ran into them at the gas station, but I'd be an idiot to think that if they are more than the average patch-wearing douche canoes then I'm not at risk.

Especially after I antagonized their oh so gorgeous leader.

I curl in on myself, taking a moment to let myself wallow.

Van problems were always shitty when living like this, but with the battery dead I had no cell booster or Wi-Fi—no way I was getting triple A service out in the Sonoran Desert.

I knew I should have gotten a new battery before I came out this way—a few months ago I had to switch out for my backup, and I never did replace it. I kept telling myself that it could wait.

Well, surprise surprise, it's done waiting.

I suppose it's not usually any harder than a normal nine to five life, just different challenges, but I'm most definitely better equipped to deal with the challenges of van life and freelancing than I am fit for mainstream society.

I never was very good at meshing with the status quo, especially when that quo had no interest in protecting me.

I miss having Lucas to look out for me, he was always better at keeping me safe than I am.

I can't help wondering how he's living now. I've had a hell of a time trying to find him, so it's possible that he could be living off the grid—maybe even van-lifing it like me just...without the internet and social media up in all of his business.

I mean, unless he changed his name, he's clearly not on social media.

I almost wish that I could just log off and say, "Fuck that shit," for the sake of my mental health, but if I wanted to leave social media for good, I'd be out of the job.