Say it Louder Read Online Free

weakness.
    Kristina.
    I loved her once. I’m pretty sure of that. But that night in February changed us because it planted a toxic secret that both of us were bound to protect.
    I rub my eyes and my head swims, the alcohol pickling my liver and soaking my brain until my thoughts are mush.
    If only it would do that to my feelings, too. But no, it sharpens them, magnifies them, until I feel this gaping hole in my chest. I lay back on the couch, headphones still on, shots fired and anguished screams from the game filling my ears.
    Images of vultures swoop down and peck at my shredded chest.
    I’m being picked clean, meat off the bone, rancid with heat, saturated by sweat, deafened by the noise of carrion birds’ flapping wings.
    They circle. They land. They rip and tear.
    It’s agony, but I invite them to dine.
    Rip it all away and take me somewhere … other.

    ***

    Throbbing and light.
    I peel open eyelids that feel sticky as a day-old Band-Aid. The smell of vomit gags me and I turn from where my neck is bent against the arm of the couch, spewing pinkish liquid on my hardwood floor.
    It joins another mess there that I don’t remember making.
    I. Am. Disgusting.
    I groan and it reverberates through my skull, heaping pain upon pain that I know I brought on myself last night.
    There is no up to this down.
    Whatever Willa said about there being worse things to lose than my reputation? She has no clue. I’m not just scraping bottom, I’m digging the ditch deeper.
    I drag myself from the couch to the shower and then to the kitchen, where I find towels to mop up my vomit. I trash them and take out the bag, a firm hand on my stomach to keep the bile from rising again. I’m sure there’s nothing left inside me.
    My car’s still gone, as is my girlfriend. She probably shacked up with Chief last night. But I expect she’ll be back to collect her things, and for some kind of confrontation.
    I could shut off her credit cards, but what’s the point? If the only thing she could take from me is money, I wouldn’t be losing my shit right now.
    She could take every shred of my freedom.
    I dial Gavin again but get no answer. Jayce and Chief are out of the question. Tyler’s next on my speed dial, but it goes to voicemail, too.
    Fuck. I’ve always been surrounded by friends. And now, when I’m at my lowest, I’ve got nobody.
    I shove my wallet and phone in my pockets and leave my brownstone, hopping a cab back to the Lower East Side where Violet lives. I don’t have her phone number, but she’s the only other person who understands how badly Kristina can hurt people.
    There’s no answer from the intercom. Fucking fuck on a stick.  
    My empty stomach growls with hunger, so I go in search of a diner. Something greasy. Maybe a Bloody Mary—hair of the dog?
    The thought of more alcohol makes my stomach flip wildly and I reassure it: no more.
    I pass a couple of coffee shops and then I see what I need down the block on the other side of the street: an old-school diner with neon signs and dirty windows. Perfect. I’m about to cross the street when a pink streak catches my peripheral vision and I whip my head around.
    Ow. Too fast. My brain is still pounding from the beating it took at the hands of gin last night. But my eyes are focused on the pink shock of hair and a spectacular set of tits rising from the deep V in a navy shirt as she leans over a pad of paper.
    Fucking Willa. Not what I need right now. I’m about to turn away but she looks up at me from behind the counter. And maybe my reactions are hangover-slow or I’m just stupid, but I freeze.
    It’s another staring contest.
    And this time, I refuse to blink.
    I will myself to hold her gaze and it’s too easy. There’s a magnetic force behind those dark-fringed eyes, something bold and brave and hardened.
    Like I said before, she looks like she could kick my ass.
    And then she’s moving from behind the counter, her expression harder now, and suddenly I’m certain