3. Fallon
Fallon
What the hell just happened?
That was supposed to be Joshua’s SUV. It looked exactly like it. Same rims and everything. At least, I think they were the same. I didn’t really pay that close attention once I saw it. The only thing I could see was red as I swung the bat.
My heart pounds against my ribcage as I hide in an alley. I spit again, trying to get the taste of blood out of my mouth. I need some water. And a shower. And my bed.
Fuck.
I no longer have a bed. I can’t go back to my apartment because it technically belongs to Joshua.
Even if it wasn’t his car that I destroyed, I can’t face him.
I don’t have a fake bone in my body. If I go back to the place we’ve been sharing for the past year, I might actually murder that motherfucker.
Nice, Fallon. Didn’t think that one through, did ya?
What am I going to do? Where am I going to go?
I could call my bestie, Monroe, but I’m pretty sure she’s going through her own issues with her boyfriend right now. The last thing I want is to intrude on their problems. Besides, I hate her boyfriend, and I might tell him that if I end up sleeping on their couch.
“I hate men,” I mutter.
Rain continues to fall, my clothes already soaked through. This alley smells like trash and pee, but I’m trying not to focus on that right now; otherwise, I might start gagging.
“Think, Fallon. Think. What do I do now?” I ask myself.
Shit.
I’m fucked.
I have no one to call to come save me. Once again, I have to save myself because another fuck-ass man has screwed me over.
Tears burn my eyes, but I quickly swipe them away.
No. I’m not going to cry over Joshua Tiny Dick Matthews. He doesn’t deserve that sort of energy. I’d rather rip a hole in his throat and feed it to wolves than crumble over a man who never tried to make me come. Why do I give a shit that he cheated? It’s truly not a loss if I’m being honest.
My keys dig into my hip as I rise from my squatting position near one of the many dumpsters in this dark alley.
My car is going to end up getting towed if I don’t move it soon.
Even if I have to put it in neutral and push it into the empty parking lot that’s right up the road.
And there’s no way I can afford to get it out of impound.
At this point I’m crossing my fingers that whatever is broken is a cheap fix.
I barely have any money left over each month after I pay rent and utilities to Joshua.
Even though he makes ten times more than I do, he insisted we do everything fifty-fifty, and I agreed because… well, because I’m obviously an idiot.
“I hate men.”
Letting out an angry sigh, I run my hands over my face and start walking, unsure where I’m actually going. I have to be at work in twelve hours, and I have no idea where I’m even sleeping tonight. I literally have nothing of my own except my shitty car and my salon chair.
My head snaps up at that thought.
My salon chair.
It reclines all the way. And I pay rent on my station, so I can access it any time I want.
There’s nothing in my rental agreement that says I can’t sleep there.
I pay a ridiculous amount of money for my station each month, after all.
Plus, there’s a washer and dryer there. And a shower that I can use—I need one so bad right now.
I’m filthy and soaked. Technically, the shower is for the massage clients to use, but employees are allowed to use it too as long as it’s not interfering with anyone scheduled with the spa.
I could probably get fired, but what other choice do I have? Besides, I’m exhausted and cold, and I need to sleep. This is a survival need, and if I lose my job over it, I’ll figure things out from there. It’s one night. Tomorrow, I’ll come up with a plan. For now, I’m out of options.
As I start the several block trek, my mind races back to the man who yelled at me from across the parking lot.
Deep and authoritative, his voice sent a shiver right through me.
Then I turned around, and even from the distance we were at, I could tell he was hot.
And tall. Dark hair, dark suit, and a stance that immediately set off alarm bells in my head.
And there were eight more next to him who looked just as dangerous.
He shouted for me to get off his car. But that was Joshua’s Range Rover.
He parks it in that garage every single day.
I know because he brags about having access to a secure level that only certain “important” people are allowed on.
Like it’s some sort of accomplishment to use a special floor of a parking garage.
I guess when you have a tiny dick like he does, you have to look for anything to brag about.
I bet the man in the suit doesn’t have a small penis. Pretty sure there might be a matching baseball bat like the one I had, right in his pants, based on his voice alone.
A giggle bursts out of me as I stride down the street, passing a group of men who look at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Maybe I have. I mean, I’m laughing about a man’s dick after his friends tried to chase me down.
Kind of weird that he was the one yelling, but he didn’t come after me.
He stood there and made some sort of command that sent the other men chasing me.
Men who look like they kill people for a living.
It was quite fun seeing the two guys who caught up to me crumble the second I bit one and kicked the other. What a rush.
It was almost as fun as the time I snuck into my stepfather’s bathroom and plugged in a toaster and then threw it into the shower with him.
It didn’t kill him, unfortunately, but watching him scream and fall, along with the shower curtain, had been a great way to make me feel better; he’d hit me in the face an hour before.
That was the day I was kicked out onto the streets at sixteen.
Biting through that guy’s skin probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. I should probably start searching for a free clinic somewhere so I can get tested.
My chest tightens at that thought.
Thank God, I always made Joshua use condoms. Who knows how many women he’s been fucking.
He wanted to have sex with me bare because he said condoms were uncomfortable for him, so it’s possible he was fucking other women without them.
Probably because condoms were too big for his shrimp dick.
Not that I ever said that to him. I should have.
Size isn’t everything, and it’s not like he can control that…
Though he really never tried to make sex enjoyable for me.
Or anything enjoyable, if I’m being totally honest. Everything seemed to revolve around Joshua.
Why did I not catch onto that in the beginning?
That’s what makes me madder than anything. How could I be so stupid?
By the time I make it to the salon, which was mostly an uphill walk, I’m out of breath and even more pissed off, ready to buy another bat so I can take a swing at Joshua’s actual car.
I feel a little guilty about damaging someone else’s Range Rover, but the guy who sent his friends after me is clearly not hurting for money, based on the expensive clothes they were all wearing.
I enter the salon through the employee door and let out a sigh of relief as the warmth surrounds me. My clothes are soaked, despite it only drizzling outside. Even light rain in Seattle will drench you if you’re out in it long enough.
I look around the open space, lined with four stylist chairs on each side, facing the brick walls.
Once I drop my crossbody purse onto the hook next to the full-length mirror at my station, I head to the supply room where there’s a washer and dryer.
I grab a clean white towel from one of the stacks and start to strip off, tossing my clothes into the washing machine.
Then I pad into the serene locker room, meant for clients, and turn on the shower, waiting until the water is steaming before I step under the spray.
As I stand in the luxurious stall, I stare blankly at the wall, unable to form full thoughts.
I’m tired, and now I’m homeless, carless, and I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do.
My chest burns as well as my eyes. How did my life get so messed up?
What did I ever do to deserve this? For the past year, I’ve cooked, cleaned, worked, and been the perfect girlfriend, just like Joshua expected.
I trusted him when I didn’t want to because he promised me he was different.
I knew better than to put faith in a man.
“Fucking asshole,” I mutter, then scrub my hands over my face a little too violently.
I guess there’s a positive to all this. I’m probably going to go to prison for destroying that guy’s SUV, so I’ll have a roof over my head and won’t need my car.
So that’s awesome. My best friend, Monroe, is going to be so mad at me.
She always says I look terrible in orange, and that’s why I need to control my temper.
But then, she always tells me she’ll bail me out, no matter what.
I hope she means that because it might be a reality soon.
By the time I stomp out of the shower and get dressed in the spare outfit I keep in my locker when I spill hair color down my front, which happens more than I’d like to admit, I’m shaking with so much rage that I already know I’m not going to sleep any time soon.
Staring out through the floor-to-ceiling windows to the dark Seattle streets, I let out a huff.
Fuck this.
I’m not staying here.
Not when that cheating bastard is probably all comfy and cozy at home, proud of himself for what he did. He ruined my night. So damn it, I’m going to ruin his, one way or another.
I’m going to our apartment. It might be in his name, but I pay half the bills, and I have a key. And then, once I’m done grabbing clothes and causing a scene, I’ll figure out a more appropriate place to stay for the night.
Joshua Matthews is going to regret the day he ever met me.
As soon as I walk inside the apartment, my skin prickles and my chest burns with so much internal fury that I can barely keep my knees from buckling.
I’m not sure whether I’m more pissed off at Joshua or myself right now, but either way, this man is going to learn a lesson about cheating on me.
Especially after I went against my better judgment and trusted him.
The TV is tuned in to a sports game, and the volume is turned up so loud that he doesn’t hear me enter. Not until I swing the door closed and let it slam shut, causing the walls to shudder around us.
It startles Joshua, and he whips around to look at me from the couch, his eyes wide before they relax and he cocks his head.
“Where you been, babe? I thought you were making chicken parmesan for dinner. It’s almost seven o’clock.”
Glaring at him, I reach for the closest thing to me, a heavy ceramic bowl next to the entry where we leave our keys, and I hurl it at him.
“You cheating bastard!” I shout as the bowl misses his head and crashes to the floor. “You can take your chicken parmesan and shove it up your ass!”
As if he’s been burned, he leaps to his feet, his expression morphing. His brown eyes look me up and down, and I gag. How the hell was I ever attracted to him?
“What are you talking about? I’m home, sitting here watching sports, waiting for the dinner you said you were going to make.
You know I like to eat by six. If anyone should be accusing the other, maybe I should be questioning where you’ve been all night.
And you’re freshly showered. That’s suspicious. ”
Is this motherfucker serious? He’s going to play this game?
“My car broke down,” I say, moving deeper into the apartment, barely able to control my temper. “Near your office, so I showed up to call a tow since my phone was nearly dead, and what did I see when I walked in? You and your new secretary banging on your fucking desk!”
By the time I finish speaking, I’m screaming at the top of my lungs.
Joshua’s skin is ghostly white when he realizes that I caught him in the act.
Without waiting for an answer, I stomp toward the bedroom and push the door open, then find a duffel bag to start shoving my clothes into.
I should at least grab some of my stuff while I’m here since I’m pretty sure the cops might show up by the time I leave, thanks to the apartment’s shitty thin walls.
Joshua strides in, looking like he has no idea what’s going on. It makes me want to punch him in the face because how the hell is he acting like he wasn’t fucking another woman just a few hours ago?
“You’re overreacting. That meant nothing. I don’t know why you didn’t call me first. I’ve told you to give me a heads-up before you show up at my office,” he says. “This is your fault, really, for not respecting my boundaries.”
After picking up one of my shoes, I spin around and fling it at him, pleased when the heel actually connects with his face, splitting his cheek open.
His hand flies to the spot as blood seeps from the wound. “Are you kidding me, Fallon? I have to be in court tomorrow.”
“You have some fucking nerve to put this on me!” I glare at him. “How many women have you been fucking behind my back?”
Without waiting for an answer, I barge past him, duffel in hand, as I move to the bathroom and start throwing my toiletries inside. From the bedroom, I hear him swear under his breath as he looks at his bloodied palm, then moves in front of the full-length mirror to examine his face.
When he doesn’t respond to my question, I grab one of my curling irons from the counter and storm out of the bathroom, wielding it at him like it’s a weapon. I might not have that baseball bat anymore, but I can use this to beat his ass.
“You bastard, I trusted you,” I growl as I swing it, barely missing him as he stumbles back, clearly surprised by my aggression. He hasn’t seen anything yet.
Years of men letting me down, lying to me, and hurting me come bubbling to the surface. I swing again, but this time he grabs the curling iron before I have a chance to whack him again.
“Jesus, you’re so dramatic,” he yells, yanking it from my grip, then tossing it to the bed. “Stop acting like this. It’s just sex. I live with you. Obviously, you are the one I care about.”
Letting out a cackle that surely sounds unhinged, I push past him again, carrying my bag out to the living room and dropping it by the front door.
“Dramatic? Are you fucking serious? I’m going to fucking kill you!”
Probably not the best thing to shout when the neighbors can hear everything, but I’m past the point of caring.
Besides, I have nothing to lose.
Might as well go out with a bang.