Page 16 of Beast

I wanted him to throw me over his back and take me back to his bed, fuck me all night. Grady’s wounds, his scars of war, were likely so deep, that no amount of love could heal. Maybe he was actually right—no amount of therapy could help either, especially with an unwilling patient. He was not right for me—I couldn’t risk getting involved with and loving another person who would leave me.

Pathetically I still hoped for a second that he would ask me for my number, or out on a date. Somewhere public, without a loaded gun in the vicinity. Some sign to show me that this was more than just a one-night stand.

But he just opened the door.

Isa, you’re embarrassing yourself. He doesn’t want anything to do with you. Just make a clean break now and forget this night ever happened.

I squeezed his hand, gave him a kiss on his cheek, and darted out of his apartment.

7

Grady

Man, she couldn’t leave fast enough, just like all the other girls. I’d been wrong, thinking there was a chance she could actually be interested in more than just a hookup. She definitely would never agree to attend the ball with me and be seen in public with a freak.

I threw my beer against the wall—shards of glass flying through the air, the liquid dripping down the wall.

Had I said something wrong? I didn’t have a tolerance for bullshit or small talk. I never knew what to say to women. After living through the hell that was my life, talking about my favorite color or what movies I liked seemed so superficial.

This entire night had been so fake. Another meaningless hookup. I’d actually been about to ask her out before I had that flashback at the party. But once she’d followed me back to my place, of course I tried to fuck her. I’d hoped she’d stay the night, and maybe we could slowly learn about each other. If she’d seemed cool, I was going to ask her to the ball.

But asking her out was a dumbass idea anyway. I clearly couldn’t handle being out in public, even with my face covered. Where could I take her? Some smoky bar where she wouldn’t have to look at me?

I paced around my apartment, the blood pulsing violently through my body, my adrenaline spiking. Had she taken pity on me? A pity fuck—that was all I was these days.

And I’d seen her before, but I just couldn’t figure out where. When I asked her where, I could swear she was lying to me. My mind never cooperated anymore. Her face, her body, her eyes, even her voice. It was as if I knew her. But that wasn’t possible. Maybe I was really losing it.

Fuck that bitch. It would’ve never worked out between us anyway. She was training to be a shrink. If I dated her, our relationship would turn into a never-ending counseling session.

Fuck women. I’d risked my life for my buddies and they had done the same for me. My love for my brothers was the only thing that mattered to me. My best friend was dead, and here I was acting like a pussy, stressing out because some girl I met took off. It didn’t matter. None of this dating drama mattered.

Living in San Diego didn’t help. I missed my hometown friends. And the Southern girls too. Everyone out here on the left coast only cared about appearances and money. I had neither.

I regretted ruining a perfectly good beer over this bitch. I grabbed another bottle, drowning myself in liquid regret. Each sip increasing my rage. Yes, I was a fucking alcoholic. And no, I didn’t need any help.

I should’ve never left my place. I couldn’t handle being around people anymore. From now on, I would hide away from the world. I’d fulfill my duties to the Corps and complete my required treatment.

I still needed to find a date to the ball, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be Isa.

8

Isa

I woke up the next morning with the worst hangover, but it wasn’t from the alcohol, it was from the guilt. My head throbbed, and my eyes were blurry. God, I hated myself for dashing out of there last night after he’d asked me to stay. I could’ve been honest with him about finding his loaded gun and asked him if he was suicidal. What was wrong with me? How could I claim to want to be a psychologist if I ran away at the first sign of trouble?

I also should’ve just opened up to him, told him I used to be on Dancing under the Stars. Maybe we could’ve connected. He would’ve probably understood how fame distorted reality since he was also in the public eye. A brief fantasy of grabbing brunch after incredible morning sex, maybe topped off by a walk on the beach later in the day, filled my head. We’d fall into a deep relationship before either of us really knew what had happened.

But more than likely, opening up would’ve just led to nothing.

But I didn’t feel sorry for stealing his bullet. Granted, he was a Marine, so I was pretty sure he had more ammo around the house. At least if he had a weak moment, he would have to reload his gun, and even that short delay could potentially save his life. I’d missed all the signs that my mother was suicidal, so I refused to regret being proactive.

I did entertain the thought that my action could’ve possibly put his life in more danger. An intruder could break into his place, Grady could reach for his gun, think it was loaded, and then shoot, and lose his life. But that was the chance I’d taken, and my gut told me that he had a higher likelihood of committing suicide than of being robbed.

I Googled him the second I returned home. He was so beautiful before he’d been injured. Kind of looked like a young Elvis Presley but with a way better body. I was still attracted to him, even with his disfigurement and scars. In a way, it made him sexier. More badass.

My fingers shook as I clicked away. I glanced around my room—a dust bunny perched on my nightstand, last night’s costume in a pile on the floor, a day-old coffee mug on my desk. I definitely wasn’t neat like Grady was. I wondered if he had always been that clean and organized or if being a Marine made him that way.

I hoped he didn’t think I’d left because of his injuries. I shuddered, thinking I could have possibly made him feel like he disgusted me. Maybe I was being conceited—he clearly knew he had a great body and could get any woman. Maybe he’d been relieved when I left.