What the fuck just happened?
No seriously.
What the fuck just happened?
The last two days have slowly morphed into one of the most fucked up episodes of The Twilight Zone ever.
The funny part is, even when I saw the girl, after all this time I felt a twinge of excitement in my gut. There was an overwhelming urge inside of me that was screaming, Go ask how she’s doing? Or if she remembers you. Then my subconscious barks back with, Of course she doesn’t remember you, you idiot! She was unconscious!
Or maybe she does remember you and somehow discovered what you really are.
Maybe she’s the reason the feds are here.
Maybe she somehow figured out what you’re mixed up in and ratted out the brotherhood.
I gag on those ridiculous assumptions for a second and let out a long winded sigh. There’s no way. There’s just no way. When I approached her, there was a genuine look of shock on her face. And if she remembered me, wouldn’t she have said something.
Anything?
Part of me wanted her to. And then there’s another part of me that was glad she was clueless.
The less she knows about me, the better.
That’s another reason why I don’t do the relationship thing. It’s hard to trust people. You let one thing slip and you’re back behind bars in an orange jumpsuit. I’ve got enough to deal with without having to worry about winding up back in County. That would put a severe strain in my schedule.
My cell vibrates in the center consul and I don’t bother checking it. I know it’s either Connie. Or Tee. And if it’s Tee, I just talked to her not too long ago so I’m not sure why’d she be calling again. Unless she needs something. And if she needs something, she’ll still need it after the sit down. So I decide I’ll handle whatever she’s calling about then.
I’m fifteen minutes late for my sit down with the brotherhood and I know Connie is probably turning ten shades of red right now. The man hates when people show up late to the sit downs. But I have a plausable excuse. I had training. I have a big fight coming up. And I just got pistol whipped by a broad I never thought I’d see again. A broad part of me hoped I’d see again.
What the hell is the matter with me?
Why am I even thinking about her?
Why am I even thinking about those wide, child-like blue eyes? Her platinum chestnut colored hair. I’m not so sure if I like the brown hair on her so much. Her white blonde hair reminded me of something angelic when it fanned out across my front seat, two years ago.
It’s at that second that I have a flashback kind of moment and I’m staring at her face. Her beautiful face.
The way it’s shaped like a heart.
How she has a slight hint of pink in her cheeks.
How her pale complexion is smooth and flawless.
How it feels soft like high thread count sheets to the touch.
Damn it!
I need to find some other girl to hook up with tonight. Maybe it will take my mind off this girl.
Sexual escapades usually seem to take my mind off a lot of things.
Son of a bitch! My last hurrah was a few nights ago.
Now I know I’m fucked. Ha. Ha. The pun isn’t funny.
I’m going the speed limit—which is exactly 35 MPH. In my side mirror, I notice the Crown Victoria parked farther down from the gym now. I swear it was much closer yesterday. I’m not nervous anymore. I can’t be. The feds are hunting, probably grasping at straws. They were probably given a tip-off by some sneaky bastard mixed in with our crew, but don’t have any hard evidence to build a case off of. Which is why they’re just watching. Waiting for someone to fuck up.
Waiting for someone to blow their case wide open.