WEEK 67: He’s a dead man

Prompted by: Stacey

The crazy author says: These two were getting too cutesy for me haha!

Trace calmly plucks it from my grasp and stands to his feet.

Blinking, I touch my cheek. It feels warm. I feel dizzy. My mouth goes dry. “Is that what I think it is?”

He tosses a twenty on the table. Then takes my hand and presses a couple bills into my palm.

The sound of crinkling paper makes me tense. A sinking sensation settles into the pit of my stomach. I don’t know why I bother asking, “What are you doing?” I already know the answer.

He doesn’t prove me wrong. He doesn’t surprise me. The coward doesn’t even look at me. In true cowardly fashion, he turns on his heel and leaves.

Yeah, he just abandons me.

I’m incapacitated for only a brief moment. By the time he disappears from view my mind is crystal clear. I expected this bullshit. He’s always such an asshole when things don’t go to plan. Maybe I should be hurt, but I’ve lost the capacity for logical reasoning. The tiny seed of anger that’s been taking root for the past hundred hours has erupted into full-blown rage. My blood boils over, eradicating everything else in its path.

Of course, I chase after him. Like a heat-seeking missile, I hunt him the fuck down.

It’s too late.

He’s already torn out of the parking lot, leaving behind a trail of tire marks and a fluffy cloud of white smoke. As the smell of burnt rubber hits my nostrils, I stare at the money crumpled in my fist and begin to resent the man who put it there. Because there’s more than enough for a taxi.

But nowhere near enough for a coffin.

Cheap bastard.

He’s a dead man.