Chapter 26 Amy #2
“That looks bad.” Esteban tilts my chin up for a better look. “You feeling okay?”
“All good.”
“I don’t think you need stitches, but we can go get it checked out?”
“No fucking way.” I shake my head. “That was bullshit.”
“We did a good job.” He grins at me. “Let’s get you back to the shop—we can pick your car up tomorrow.”
“Nope, I’m all talked out. I need to do some night driving. Solo.”
“Amy, you got punched in the head and drank two beers… Three, actually,” he corrects.
“Night, Esteban.”
I cross the road, swaying on my feet, and as I fumble for the Pontiac’s door, he calls out to me.
“I’ll be right behind you. I’ve got your back, Amy.”
I settle into my seat and hold my middle finger out to him through the window. If that’s what he wants to do with his night, then who am I to stop him?
I pull out, turning the radio down low. My head is killing me, and the more I drive, the worse it gets. It takes me twice as long as it should to make it back to the shop, Esteban patiently trailing me the whole way there.
When I pull up outside my building, I check my reflection in the rearview mirror and wince. My eye has taken one hell of a beating, the bruise already turning a nasty shade of blue, the skin over my brow bone split. Little bitch. He caught me off guard, and I hate that.
Esteban gives me a quick wave and speeds back off down the road, and though having him around was pissing me off, it was kind of comforting, too—which is bad news.
I stagger up the stairs to my room, my stomach lurching as I climb. Placing an ear to the door, I listen for sounds, and when I’m sure the coast is clear, I sneak into the hall. I urgently need to ice this thing.
Charlotte isn’t working today, and with a bit of luck, she’ll be tucked up in bed with Raven. I cross my fingers and pad down to the kitchen, rummaging in the freezer for ice, wrapping it in a dish towel before tiptoeing back to my room.
“Tatami?”
I freeze.
Joey is standing there in the hall, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and the pounding in my head just got worse. As I double over, the ice pack tumbles to the ground with a thud.
“What’re you doing?”
“Go back to bed,” I croak.
“Why’s your eye bleeding?”
“Just a bump—don’t sweat it, kid.”
I stroke his hair as I brush past him. I’m limping, I realize.
“What’re you guys doing up so late?”
Raven. Fuck!
“Tatami got a bump,” Joey offers.
I don’t turn back, but despite the belly, my sister is fast. Her fingers close around my wrist, and when she pulls me around to face her, she lets out a gasp. I collapse into her without thinking, my body aching for some kind of comfort.
“I knew it.” She shakes her head. “I knew you’d be up to your old tricks once that animal showed up.”
The blood is rushing in my head, and an icy chill washes over me, burrowing deep into my bones, sweeping through my body. She doesn’t even care what happened—her instinct is to just assume I got busy with my fists for no good reason. I make to reply, but there’s a part of me recoiling now.
“What did I tell you, Amy?” she snarls. “I sucked it up for years, but not anymore. You want to screw your life up? You do you. But you’re not dragging us down with you. We can’t just move every time you fuck up.”
That’s the second time she’s said that. I know I put her through a lot over the past few years—I know I did.
But the way I’m feeling right now, it lands like betrayal.
These are the facts—I was in a bar, a guy tried to pick me up, and then he assaulted me.
How is any of this my fault? All I did was stand up for myself, and I know I should just tell her that, but I’m sick and tired of having to explain myself like this.
Charlotte pokes her head around the door. “What’s going on?”
“Ask Amy!” Raven hisses, scooping Joey up into her arms and disappearing into the bedroom.
The sound of the door slamming echoes through the apartment, vibrating deep inside me, the pain searing. I take a deep breath in and instantly know I’m about to throw up.
“Shit, are you hurt?” Charlotte examines my face. “Who did this to you?”
Thank you, Charlotte. Thank you for caring. Shame it’s too little, too late.
“Does it matter?” I ask coldly. “You know me—just can’t help fucking up.”
“Amy…”
She reaches for my elbow, but I shrug her off, lurching down the hall to lock myself away in my bathroom, falling to my knees as the contents of my stomach empty.
Every fresh heave slices through my temples until I can’t take it anymore.
I roll over onto my back and lie there, feeling the tiles cool against my skin.
In one last act of insanity, I grapple for my phone, my eyes searching for Lewis’s name and some sign of life.
Nothing. I shut my eyes. I need him—and I hate that I need him.
I was so excited to see him, and now suddenly, I hate him.
He pretends to be my anchor, something safe for me to cling to.
But when I need him, he’s nowhere to be seen.
He left me hanging at that bar. If he’d been there like he was meant to be, none of this would have happened.
This is all his fault—or maybe it’s mine.
Maybe I let him have too much of a hold over me. Maybe I’m not solid enough for this.
I choke back a sob and drag myself over to my bed, and when sleep finally comes, it’s fitful and restless and wild.