Chapter 12
As I watched, he strode toward the back of his car. He popped the trunk and rummaged inside. A moment later, he slammed it with a thud.
He emerged with an old-fashioned tire iron. He held it out in his open palms. "Here," he said.
I glanced down. "What would I want with that?"
"Take it." His eyes met mine. "And hit me."
"Oh shut up," I said. "I don't want to hit you."
"Alright," he said. "Get someone else. Have them do it."
Not too long ago, I'd fantasized about such a thing. And here it was, the chance to make it a reality. This was just my luck. A fantasy comes true, and it's not even a good one.
I shook my head. I should've fantasized about winning the lottery.
He glanced toward the restaurant. "Go ahead, find someone. I'll wait."
"Oh c'mon, you can't be serious."
"Why not?" His voice was raw. "I deserve it. Just like you said."
"You are seriously messed up. You know that, right?"
"Hell yes, I know it! You think I'm liking myself right now? You think I don't know that I deserve an ass-beating? You think I don't wish it was me 'suffering,', as you say?"
From the look on his face, he was suffering plenty. Fearless, that's what he was. But looking at him now, he looked almost terrified, like the ship was sinking, and the last lifeboat was filling up fast. I wanted to rescue him. And I wanted to throw him overboard.
Damn it, Chloe. Just stop. I wrapped my arms tight around my body, both for warmth and to keep myself from melting into him. Or slapping him silly. Or both.
There was a word for how he made me feel.
Psychotic.
Just like him.
"Alright, here's the deal," I said. "You –" I lifted a hand to point at his chest "– need to stay the hell away from me. Stay away from where I work. Stay away from where I'm living. And stay away from anywhere else you think I might be."
"Chloe–"
"You already said that."
"Please." His voice was ragged, and he moved toward me, slowly, like he knew he shouldn't but couldn't seem to make himself stop.
I raised my voice. "I mean it."
He stopped, his expression anguished, but his body rigid. The muscles in his forearms were coiled masses of restrained force matched only by the look of absolute control that slowly settled over his face.
"Chloe, please. Hit me. Yell at me. Do something." His voice choked. "Anything but this."
My heart twisted at the sight of him. But I couldn't afford to let him know that. Not after what he'd done. And I couldn't afford to encourage him either. This had to be over, once and for all.
"You heard me," I said, turning to go.
"Chloe." It was an odd, strangled sound. "Wait. Please."
Slowly, I turned back to face him. "For what?"
"I know what you're thinking," he said.
I crossed my arms. "I seriously doubt that."
"I can see it all over your face. You're thinking talk is cheap."
"So?"
"So you don't want someone to beat my ass? I get that. But you want me to pay, am I right?"
I shrugged.
"Believe me, Chloe. I want to pay."
Oh God, he wasn't going to offer me money, was he? Lord knows I could use it. But the whole idea made me just a little bit sick.
I recalled him peeling off those hundreds for Brittney. It had happened that first time I'd been inside his house. Officially, the money was payment for a destroyed purse. Unofficially, it felt like something a whole lot different. I'd seen the look in his eye when she'd taken the cash.
It wasn't so much a judgment as a dismissal, like she'd lived down to his expectations, and he didn't give a crap one way or another.
But my integrity, it wasn't for sale. "I don't want your money," I said.
"I know."
"You don't know anything," I said.
"I know you want something else."
"Oh yeah?" I said. "What's that?"
"This." He shifted his grip on the tire iron. He took one long stride toward his car. Before I could digest what was happening, he bashed it against the windshield, leaving a cracked, spider-web pattern on the formerly smooth glass.
"What the hell are you doing?" I yelled.
As an answer, he raised the iron again and smashed it against the side view mirror. Another hard blow, and the mirror hit the pavement, breaking on impact.
I dove toward him and grabbed his elbow. "Don't!"
Slowly, he turned to face me. "Why?"
"Because it's stupid!" I was shaking as I looked at the destruction. Oh my God. His car. His beautiful car. I didn't know how much it was worth, money-wise, but I knew exactly what it meant to him personally.
"Isn't this the kind of justice you wanted?" he said. "My car trashed? That's what you said, wasn't it?"
"No!" I gripped his elbow tighter. "This isn't what I wanted."
"Well, I do." Gently, he removed my hand from his elbow. "Because, Chloe, let me tell you something. Compared to you, this car means nothing to me."
He strode to the passenger's side. He raised the iron again. "Compared to you, it means less than nothing."
I watched helplessly, frozen by disbelief, as he bashed off the other mirror, and then destroyed both headlights, leaving scattered bits of glass on the dark pavement.
"Stop it!" I yelled.
He gave a sad shake of his head and raised the iron high above his head. He slammed it down on the hood, leaving an ugly dent in the beautiful finish. He raised the iron and struck again. And again. Soon, the hood was mangled almost beyond recognition.
I was having a hard time catching my breath. He loved that car. He'd spent countless hours restoring it with his own hands. Now he was destroying it right before my eyes.
I couldn't act. I couldn't think. I staggered backward and hit something unexpected.
And then, I heard that dreaded voice. "Sweeeeet."
I whirled around, and there he was. Shaggy. With that damn cell phone.