18
Insanely Illegal Cage Fight
Amanda
The next two days follow a routine that is slowly eroding my will to keep going. Each day, a rose is stuffed into the corner of my mailbox, but I don’t touch the flowers or the mailbox.
Every morning, there’s a new bouquet at work, driving Harriette crazy. She’s gone from being pissed to concerned. She told me Thursday when I left that another one showed up at lunch, but she got rid of it without hesitation.
Ellen thinks it’s romantic and Harriette is threatening to ban all flower deliveries to the office. I hope Harriette wins.
I’m no longer struggling to fake the subdued act. It’s real. I’m going back to the way I used to be and turning paranoid to finish it off. I’m praying Loser doesn’t try to meet me outside the building to make a bigger spectacle. I’ve started waiting around and leaving at weird times, taking different routes to get home.
Manny has noticed something is up but I’m not in the mood to whine about it to him. I’m too busy trying not to get in a random car and demand they drive like I’m in an action movie to get away.
It no longer matters that Matthias is getting more frustrated, and I’m winning. The office has become a silent war zone.
Mikael is amused because his plan is working. It also has the side effect of me not causing any problems for him to take care of. Ace has been watching me nonstop and refusing to acknowledge Matthias. Jake and Cade whisper to each other like teenagers constantly. Even when the TV is on, there’s an air of oppression I can’t shake.
And Matthias is doing everything he can to get a rise out of me. They leave every afternoon to get lunch with Loser. He makes a big announcement of where they will be like it’s something special.
To me, they’re two men who should have been born as twins at this point. If I didn’t know better, I would think I’d get pictures of Matthias next.
I stopped bothering to reply to the taunts. I have a crick in my neck from staring at paperwork all day. I can’t remember the last time I looked at any of the men around me. My eyes slide past them all as if they’re phantoms now.
This fight isn’t worth the slow decline of my mental health. I can’t seem to pull myself out of the tailspin.
When Matthias hands me a personal check on Friday, I can’t find it in me to be enthused about the two thousand dollars. I just nod and thank him without much emotion. My eyes can’t manage to make it past his desk to his eyes. My sincerity has gone flat over everything in life.
How did I live like this for so long? Maybe this two K will help with the therapy bills I can already feel racking up.
I need to do something to get myself out of this funk. It’s the weekend. I should go out, but instead, I head straight home and listen to someone down the hall watch murder docs.
One listless night without sleep later, I leave the apartment like my ass is on fire. I wander the streets for a little bit and then decide to get a phone plan. It turns into getting a new number and an upgrade now that I have the money for it. I feel guilty about buying the thing until I see the receipt with my name all by itself as the owner. It starts shaking the bad mood away.
I call Mom to give her my new number. She answers the way she always has to an unknown number.
“We don’t want any.”
“Mom,” I catch her before she hangs up.
“Amanda?” Her tone of surprise seems over the top with how gloomy I’m feeling.
“Yeah. I got a new number.”
There’s a pause, and she says in a stern tone, “He shut it off?”
“Yeah.”
“How is it going down there?” She lets out a tight breath, and I hear her chopping vegetables in the background. I know she isn’t cooking anything. She isn’t good at it. This is a sign that something has pissed her off, and she can take it out on innocent carrots.
I explain the hopeless lawyer situation without any inflection.
“So, no matter how much money you make, it isn’t happening.”
The chopping becomes slamming on a wooden cutting board. I didn’t realize there were levels to her cutting rage. I tell her about him trying to win me back with flowers and begging. I leave out everything about the threatened eviction and anything to do with how I’m earning money right now.
“He’s turned into a psycho. Nice one second and cruel the next. We’ll kill him. That’s all there is to it,” she decides firmly.
I don’t have the energy for that.
When I don’t say anything, the pounding sound stops. She has to catch her breath before she can speak again.
“Amanda Jane. You aren’t thinking about taking him back, are you?”
The thought of going anywhere near Loser makes me gag.
“Good. You keep that attitude about it,” she sighs with relief while I try to settle my stomach.
“No problem,” I choke out.
“I don’t know what kind of troubles you’re running into out there, but we are here for you. Do you want to come home?”
The gentle question makes my wandering mind snap to attention.
She’s being nice. That’s never a good sign. This is a test.
“If I leave, he can-”
“That’s right, he can,” she interrupts me as if she’s talking to a toddler.
Then she delivers the killing blow I knew was building up inside her.
“But it will be ok, even if you let him win.”
“ What? ” I snap. My rage jumps into the conversation like I’m on a three-way call.
“I understand,” she commiserates. “You’ve been a Blake for so long.”
“I am not a fucking Blake , Mom!” My yell could be heard for two blocks.
“Then stop acting like one!” She shrieks back. “I did not raise my daughter to be this subdued, dishrag, pussy of a woman. I built her up to be a goddamn warrior! Are you a Jefferson?”
“Fuck yes, I am,” I grit back.
“Then what do you do?” She asks in a silky tone of menace.
“I don’t stop fighting.” The grim answer comes out as naturally as my anger issues.
“It’s about damn time. And stop with the cursing. It isn’t ladylike.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me right now, Mom,” I grumble. I can feel a headache coming on. She got me pumped up without much effort. The next time I’m on a downward spiral, all I need to do is be called a pussy by my mom. Good to know.
“So, anyway, what good dating sites are out now?”
I gape at nothing over that random question.
“Is that special match app still a thing?”
“How the fuck should I know?” I demand through gritted teeth.
“Language. I’ll just take a peek around and set up a few profiles for you,” she offers sweetly.
“Not a chance. You’re an asshole, and I love you,” I scoff.
“I don’t want another phone call with you sounding like that again, Amanda Jane,” she says in a more serious tone. “I had to live through years of them, and it’s time for that to be done. Whatever you have to do to achieve that, I will back it up.”
My shoulders drop as tears well in my eyes.
“God damn it, Mom,” I choke up.
“Language. Take yourself out and do something instead of being a mopey ass. I’ll be over here setting up profiles to match you with men that will kill him and get you pregnant.”
“Jesus,” I mutter in defeat. She’s already hung up on me.
Now that I’ve had my ass chewed, I have a little more energy to follow through on the rational parts of my mom’s demands.
I treat myself to a cheap lunch and go to the nearby mall. I’m wandering aimlessly when I pass a hidden nook for public bathrooms. I stride past before my brain kicks in, and I realize I saw a random flash of blue hair.
I stop and walk backward to take in South, lurking in the dark.
“The fuck are you doing?” I ask, bewildered.
“Looking for you,” she replies flatly and steps out of the shadows.
“In the bathrooms?” I scoff.
“I saw you walking to the mall. You didn’t see me,” her eyes narrow suspiciously and I give her a look of disbelief.
“Because I have a lot of shit on my mind right now to distract me. Am I supposed to have South sonar?”
Her head tilts like she doesn’t believe me.
I raise an eyebrow at her creepy silence and slowly say, “Why were you looking for me?”
“You didn’t show up this morning.”
“Show up to what?” My chin drops as I groan in frustration. “I forgot about meeting you at the gym. I’m sorry, it’s been a shit week. Wait a second. I’m not sorry, and I never agreed to go !”
“I decided to make it a game,” she shrugs and joins me.
“Ok?” I shake my head in total confusion. “Was it fun?”
“Not what I had hoped, but it’s looking up.”
We stand in place, looking around as if we’re lost.
“There has to be something to do,” I grumble. “We can’t both be wandering around looking for entertainment. It’s just sad.”
“You were missed today.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. The only thing that misses me at that gym is the water jug. I swear no one uses it, and it’s free. It even has little mint leaves in it.”
“Maybe it isn’t for consumption,” she gives me a bland look.
I pause as a blush rises to my cheeks. “Maybe you never heard me admit it.”
“Maybe,” she gives me a feral grin.
“Or tell everyone,” I change my mind with a glare. “The water thief has mysteriously vanished. I’ll never be caught.”
“There are better things to steal.”
“I’m going to stop you right there because I’m not having a day of five-finger discount fun with you. We need something normal to do.”
“Why?” Her bland question isn’t rude, which confuses me. She honestly wants to know why I’d prefer a safe activity. She’s beyond nuts at this point.
“No jail time?” I offer helplessly.
“No one would see us,” she assures me in her soft tone.
“With my loud mouth squealing in joy? We’d get busted in no time.”
“You have no self-control,” she comments with a blank look that’s honestly creepy. It’s like she’s lecturing me, and she’s very disappointed. Scarily so. For some reason, that look reminds me of Mom’s lecture. It eases the fear factor of the expression.
“Good,” I say smugly. “If my lack of control keeps you from doing illegal shit, I’ll hold that title.”
“What would be a normal thing to do?” She abruptly changes the subject, but I roll with it.
“Who knows? Karaoke?”
“You want to sing,” she gives me her flat look and points at her throat.
“With enough alcohol, everyone wants to sing, and I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had a problem,” I look at her neck as if I could see what’s going on. There aren’t any scars or bruising, so I’m not sure.
“You didn’t notice my voice,” she says flatly.
“I thought you had laryngitis or something. Lay off! You’re lucky I haven’t been throwing cough drops at you and asking you to stand six feet away so I don’t catch it.”
“You want to drink.”
“I like that you’re staying on point with the conversation, but give me a second to catch up,” I mutter. Do I want to drink? I have enough money to get a ride home. And why have I automatically accepted that she’s joined me? I’m acting like we hang out all the time, and this is the second time I’ve really spoken to her. Am I that desperate for company?
“Let’s go.”
I stop as she begins walking with purpose away from me.
When she notices I’m not with her, she turns back. “Are you being a brat?”
“Am I what?” I laugh. Now that she mentions it, a lot of my problems stem from being a raging asshole. Some would consider that being a brat. If the shoe fits, I’ll wear it. If it has cushions.
“I don’t think I am for this second. I’m just wondering if your white van filled with candy is around the corner waiting for me.”
“My white truck is in the parking lot. I don’t like sweets. I know a place to eat and have a drink. I don’t know if they do karaoke.”
I blink at the succinct information dump.
“Well, ok then.”
***
The Bittersweet Outpost isn’t very busy and I doubt they do karaoke here.
“Doesn’t a Matthias own this place,” I mutter with a curled lip.
“Who cares,” South replies.
“When you put it like that,” I give her a bland look.
I order nachos in the hopes I’ll actually get to eat them this time, and South has a plain burger. I relax with a beer, and she drinks water. We are literally worlds apart in attitude. How are we hanging out again?
“The women had a fit that you weren’t there today.”
“Ugh, can you not?” I glare at her blank expression.
“They’re very curious about whether or not Ace found you.”
I roll my eyes. “So they can tell Loser I’m really having an illicit affair. Maybe that’s why he’s sending the flowers.”
“He’s contacting you?”
“Sending flowers to the office with letters I don’t give a shit about. And leaving some at my place by the mailbox.”
“How have you reacted?” She tilts her head and sips her water.
“Ignoring it. Telling Harriette to take her aggression out on helpless flowers. The usual.”
“You should send him a message back.”
“I’m not encouraging any of that crap,” I tell her darkly.
“I wouldn’t consider a severed body part encouraging, but I don’t know him.”
I gape at her and then heave a sigh. “We’re moving on to a topic that doesn’t involve crimes or dismemberment.”
“You’re lazy.”
“Too true,” I agree without caring. I try to think of something off the wall to distract her from the weird path she’s on. I don’t think discussing the weather will do it. Maybe acting as psycho as my mom will help. It’s all about violence, love, or babies to her.
“So! When are you and the boyfriend getting married?” I’m asking too loudly for shock value.
She blinks, leaning back. Did that surprise her? Holy shit, she displayed a mini-emotion. Look at that.
“It hasn’t been discussed,” she stares over my shoulder thoughtfully.
“Maybe you should. You guys seem really happy together.” If you can call zero expression between two people happy.
“Do we.” Her eyes snap to mine with an intensity that’s somehow concerning.
“Yeah,” I answer warily. “He does this kind of soften-up thing around you. It has to be good for him.”
“You think I’m good for him,” her eyes narrow.
I lean back with a confused frown. “Yeah?”
“He thinks I’m going to leave. Constantly. Do you think marriage will help settle the panic attacks?”
Whoa . TMI. I don’t know how to close this can of worms. Damn you, Mom.
Her eyes narrow, and her tone turns gritty, “Answer me.”
“Don’t be a dick while I think to myself,” I snap back without much heat. Then I turn my mind to the problem with a wince. I did this to me.
“Do you mean literal panic attacks or an exaggeration?”
“Literal,” she doesn’t hesitate to share what could be something her boyfriend doesn’t want to be known.
“That’s concerning,” I mutter and a plate of nachos is slid in front of me while I contemplate.
“His therapist also claims that our relationship is a sham that will end. She isn’t helping the cause. I plan to visit her soon.”
I choke on a chip and sputter out, “Why not join him for a session instead?”
“What would that do? My method would be more effective.”
It would keep her out of jail and an innocent, well-meaning therapist alive, for one thing. However, I can tell that neither of those things will convince her.
“It’s still a visit,” I offer and take a quick drink of beer to shore myself up for the deep waters I’m currently treading. “But instead of showing her your bad side you can display the good things you do for him?”
“A positive reward for bad behavior,” she raises a brow and gives me the creepy, disappointed look.
“A sign to your boyfriend that you’re willing to go out on a limb for him despite your instinct to beat his therapist to death,” I deadpan. “It’s not about winning the therapist over. It’s about showing your boyfriend that you care enough to support someone who’s concerned about his mental health. So what if she’s saying things you don’t want to hear? Tell her to her face that it’s real and you aren’t going anywhere. Work with her to help him instead of being an asshole.”
She stares into the distance as she thinks about it. I’m too nervous to eat the rest of my food. One day, I will eat a plate of these nachos, and I will celebrate.
“A fair point. Back to the original question,” she suddenly mentally returns to the conversation.
“That might be a question for his therapist?” I try to pawn the major life decision off on a more capable individual.
“I’m asking you,” she tells me in a dead tone.
I heave another sigh and twirl a chip on the plate. “Has he mentioned marriage at all to you?”
“No. He wants to keep me close at all times so he knows I won’t leave. He’s following me today.”
“That’s not creepy,” I mutter and try to be sneaky about looking around.
“He’s in the parking lot,” she assures me.
“So he’s clingy. What have you done to help alleviate the situation?”
“I bought a house. I originally planned to watch him without contacting him. He chose to move in instead. I accepted. I’ve told him he’s mine. I let him cuff me to him while we’re at home. I’ve offered to do it outside the house, but he says doing it in public would be too noticeable.”
I’m learning a lot today. I feel sorry for this therapist already, and I sicked South on her. Should I repent for that?
“That’s a lot,” I tell her, trying to wave off whatever else she planned on saying. “And a lot of effort. Does he thank you for it or not notice it?”
“He thanks me once the panic has left. I don’t want that, though. I want it understood that he never has to thank me for it because I will always be with him.”
The way she says it gives me a cold chill. If he has dealt with her this long, he’s made of freaking steel.
“He craves attention. He’s been texting me nonstop today because I’m not with him,” she tells me, showing me her phone to prove it, but I don’t look.
“Okay, stop spilling secrets he might not want people to know,” I snap and smack her hand down. “Are you okay with him being that clingy?”
“Of course,” she says simply.
“Because you need him, too,” I nod. In a messed-up way, it makes a lot of sense. They’re both odd enough that I can see it. “Does he like surprises?”
She stares at me as if she’s trying to pick my brain apart with her eyes. It suddenly reminds me of the look Jake gets sometimes. What does that mean?
Instead of answering, she texts something. After a moment, she glances at me. “He said if it’s a surprise from me, he knows he’ll love it.”
“Then surprise him by popping the question,” I suggest and hope for the best.
“I don’t understand,” she narrows her eyes on me. “You’re trying to get a divorce, but you’re advocating marriage.”
“Just because mine didn’t work out doesn’t mean yours won’t,” I protest belligerently. “In the long run, my divorce is going to do me a lot of favors.”
“Like?” She tilts her head to watch something over my shoulder.
“Not having to act like I’m only around to make someone happy while I’m miserable,” I sneer at her. “I never even noticed I was doing it.”
And I’m going to stop doing it at work as of now. Or as of my mom calling me names.
Two bodies come into my peripherals, and I turn to plead for another beer so I can handle whatever South brings up next. When I see who one of them is I wilt and blurt out, “Nevermind.”
“You were missed in class today,” the guy who cursed me out in Broussard’s office says with a sneer.
I lean back so I can see past him to call out loudly, “Hey, waitress? Can I get a can of mace and a glass of shut the fuck up asshole over here?”
Both men give me surprised, gaping mouth looks. I don’t know who the second one is. He isn’t in the gym class, so he might be decent.
“Amanda thinks I should propose to Shade. Do you think he’ll accept?” South says with a pointed stare.
“You know this asshole?” I point at the tall guy as the shocked looks transfer to South.
“They’re my best friend’s boyfriends.”
Both of them? What’s that like? That poor woman.
“If I gave you a condolence card, would you get it to her?” I curl my lip at the two men.
“No. They make her happy.”
“Is that code for my bestie needs an intervention?” I give her a pleading look.
“She will never need an intervention, will she, Max? Trevor?”
“No,” they both answer at the same time in a rush. They look panicked over the question. The tall guy even looks at me like I’ve stabbed him in the back over it.
“Suck it up,” I glare back. “You’re a douche, and I haven’t met her, but I can already tell she deserves better.”
“Me fending off a woman I thought was trying to seduce Asher makes me a bad guy?” The defensive crossing of his arms makes me turn patronizing.
“Of course. You’re all so wonderful the ladies can’t get enough of being treated to a one-pump chump and his bestie.” I nod with a condescending pout, then I turn to South and sneer, “Are you sure your friend is ok? What has happened to standards?”
“You plan to have sex with an entire apartment complex,” South reminds me blandly.
“Oh shit, I need to get on that.”
I look at the asshole, suddenly excited again. It might be the beer. I haven’t had alcohol in a while. “Would either one of you pose with me for a picture? Ask your girlfriend if it’s cool. I’ll wait.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The tall guy asks with surprise.
South fills in the mood switch blanks for me. “Her husband is trying to get back with her. He’s pond scum and claims he owns her. If she provides proof that she’s cheating, he will give her a divorce.”
I’m not above begging.
“Please? Perfectly innocent. An arm around the shoulder, maybe? Fake going in for a kiss? Would your bestie be mad?” I turn to South at the end with raised brows.
“I would say no, but she’s been odd now that she’s pregnant.”
My eyes widen in horror. “Abort mission.”
“Why?” South asks as if she doesn’t know.
“You fucking idiot, you never piss off a pregnant woman. Does common sense sink in for you? I’m going to open up the next news feed, and your face will be on the front. Missing woman last seen pissing off a pregnant lady. Presumed dead.”
“A worthy murder documentary episode,” she agrees and returns to business. “Do you think he’ll accept a proposal?”
“I’ve spoken two words to the man and gotten death glares,” I tell her flatly. “I just now found out what his damn name is. Besties we aren’t, and I like it that way. Just fucking ask him and stop being a pussy.”
“This was not what I was expecting when Shade said you were making friends,” the shorter guy says with a narrow look at me.
Oh no, another guy that doesn’t approve of me. How will I survive?
“ You answer her then,” I snap back. “Be a goody-goody and tell her whatever she wants to hear. I’m not the type anymore.”
“You’ve given up on supportive friendship,” South nods.
“I’ve given up on people in general. Are you asking him or punking out?” I lean back in my seat and yell out, “Can I get another beer? And a shot of tequila? Please ?”
Her eyes flick to something over my shoulder, and she says in a deadened tone, “Will you marry me?”
I choke on my spit as my eyes go wide. I spin in my chair to catch the stunned look on Shade’s usually blank face. He’s frozen to the spot with surprise. His eyes glaze over like his spirit just left his body. The sound of a camera clicking comes from behind me.
The noise startles him into waking back up. His lips slowly curve into a smirk, and some phantom tension leaves him.
“Where’s my ring?” He asks slyly.
“Where can I get a ring?”
I turn to South in surprise. I thought she was asking him or one of her friends, but her eyes are focused on me with an intensity that pisses me off.
“You fucking pansy, go take him to get one he likes. Something matching and huge to remind each other you’re cuffed in public for life.”
“Something anime-related?” She turns to Shade. He slides out a chair and joins us, falling into the seat like his legs have gone weak. It’s like she took all of the defense mechanisms out of him, and he’s stunned speechless.
“You’re serious,” he whispers.
“Of course,” her brows furrow a tiny amount.
“Congratulations,” I toast him and then drain the rest of the drink. “Say yes already and put me out of my misery.”
“Yes,” he nods like a puppet, staring at her like she’s the answer to every prayer he’s ever sent out.
South immediately turns to me. “Now what?”
“I’ll get the bottle of tequila,” the shorter guy mutters and disappears.
“Take him out to celebrate? Fancy dinner? Champagne?”
“I don’t need any of that,” Shade seems to come back to himself to glare at me.
“Then sit here looking at each other like saps, who gives a shit. Just be happy.” I glare back.
“Amanda has given me advice on our relationship.”
“That you will discuss in private,” I give South a stern glare and shake my finger at her. “Seriously. Having no emotion is not the excuse you seem to think it is.”
She tilts her head and leans back in her seat.
“No, keep going,” the tall guy pulls up a chair to watch avidly.
“Assholes like this are why, if you needed that really obvious clue,” I smirk. He smacks my arm, surprising me. The sting makes me straighten up with a snarl like I’m a dog.
“Shut up, I love to watch the South show.” He glowers at me.
“Get lost fucker, they’re having a moment,” I slap him back. My hand stings a little, but it’s worth it to see the grumpy glare on his face.
“I wanted to reassure him that I’m ready to take more steps to support him,” South says with narrowed eyes.
“That’s awesome. Tell him without an audience ,” I give no quarter.
“You know she can kill you, right?” The tall man asks with a smirk.
“You know that would end all the bullshit I deal with on the daily, right?” I return sarcastically.
“I won’t kill you,” she tells me flatly.
“I’ll look elsewhere then,” I shrug.
“You won’t,” her tone gets gritty as the tiny bit of emotion drops out of her face.
I give her the finger and a smug smirk, “You can’t stop me.”
“You need a better outlet for your rage, Amanda,” she tells me firmly as the other guy pulls up a chair and sets down shot glasses and a bottle of alcohol.
“And here my savior is. Goodbye, liver,” I pour myself the first shot and slug it down. I suck in a breath as it burns through me. Everyone stares as if I’ve lost my mind.
“Shit, sorry.” I pour myself another and salute Shade. “Congrats on getting tied for life with someone. No escape. Forever .”
I slug that one back, too. The happy expression he gets at the words should be concerning, but it makes me wonder why he has abandonment issues in the first place. I pour another shot to wash that bullshit sympathy away.
“Divorce is an escape.”
I slam the empty glass down angrily to glare at South. “Stop being a fucking idiot. Do you know how hard it is to get one? I might as well pan for gold in the Mariana trench with no scuba gear.”
I turn to Shade with a grimace. “Seriously, it will take a fuck ton for her to get out of it. You’re solid.”
“I thought Gabriel was helping you with that?” Shade returns and pours himself a shot.
“Your precious bro is a raging, iced-over dickhole. Listen to this shit,” I lean back, going into rant mode immediately. It doesn’t matter that it’s three assholes and one psycho listening. This has been building all week, and I need some sort of relief. They’re the lucky winners.
I go down the laundry list of bullshit I’ve been dealing with all week, minus the new pictures and highlighting. Shade nods along as if he’s taking mental notes on what to do if South backs out of marriage.
I end it with, “Your brother is a complete dick, and I want to stab him in the eyes with his specially bought highlighters.”
South raises a brow, and Shade says, “Tell me more. I like where this is going. I’m down for a team-up wedding planner.”
After that, it’s more food and alcohol, some singing, a few deleted texts, and a ride home I barely remember. Other than yelling at South to keep her hands on the wheel at one point.