Vindictive #4

1. shit show

God is fucking with me.

I don't know if it's His idea of a joke or if He was pissed off at something I did, (and I'll admit, I've done a lot so it may be the latter) but I was not in the mood.

I don't actually know if the guy is real, but if He is, He sure has made it a mission to shit on my life and set it on fire. That, of course, makes me the dickhead who tries to stomp it out and ends up with burning shit on the bottom of my brand new Louboutins. Very funny. I'd long realized what a shit-show (ha, understatement of the fucking century) my life was.

Where was I going with this? Right. God was fucking with me.

It's pouring, I am nowhere near where I'm supposed to be, and Gary was going to flip the fuck out. My phone is dead, my hair is clinging to my skin and face, and I'm still at least forty minutes away from the house. I could picture Gary now, pacing the floor of his office, spewing orders at men to find me. For their sake, I hope they don't. I must be one fucked up sight right now. Clothes wet and ripped, makeup ruined, wallet with money gone. If he saw me like this, he'd go ape shit.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

And I couldn't lie to him because somehow he'd know, so I'd tell him the truth. I was mugged, they tried assaulting me, I managed to cut one of them with a knife and they ran off.

"The fuck were you doing on that side of town? Do you know what kind of people walk those streets? Who were the men?"

I don't know.

"What did they look like?"

It was dark, I couldn't really see them. One of them, was short and had a limp—that's the one I cut after he tried ripping my shirt open. I cut his face, I think, there was a lot of blood and he screamed. The other one was quiet. Big. He looked scared, like he didn't really know what he was doing. He kept looking at the little guy, waiting to see what he wanted to do.

"I'm going to fucking find them. You're going to finish what they started."

That's not...you don't have to—

"Don't tell me what I don't have to do. Your stupid ass shouldn't have been there in the first place. Go upstairs, shower, and go to sleep. We will talk more in the morning."

He would pissed at me, probably more than at the men. I shouldn't have been there. I let myself be the victim.

"Milan."

Yes?

"What were you doing there?"

If I told him the truth, that a part of me was hoping they'd kill me, there's no telling what he'd do.

So I'd lie.

He'd stare at me, weighing my words for truth. Then he'd turn around, back facing me, and tell me to go. I never knew when Gary believed me or not. He was good at that, not giving anything away.

I blink away my tears of frustration and drag a hand through my hair. I had two choices, none of which were appealing to me. Walk back in this weather in these heels at this time, or suck it up, find a payphone, and call Gary. I don't have to really look, because there was one across the street. Lifting my head high, I quickly cross the street and dig into my purse for spare change. Two dimes, three quarters, and a penny.  That was all I had. I duck into the phone booth, grateful for the cover from the rain. I sigh, pick up the phone, pluck out a quarter, and push it into the slot. Gary's number is the only number I know by heart. Everyone else's programmed into my phone.