Interview with the Bad Boy by Rylee Swann

Author:Rylee Swann [Swann, Rylee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Alice Ward
Published: 2017-09-16T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Cole

I’m fucking everything up, I know that. I should have gone to class today, should have paid more attention in practice, but all I could think about was slamming down enough alcohol that I’d forget all about Becca.

So here I am. I’m at a new bar this time, one that won’t remind me of a fuzzy sweater. One where hopefully no one knows me. I don’t want to drink at my apartment. It still smells like her. Besides, I don’t know if I’ll have enough willpower not to shoot up.

I order another drink, and the bartender gives me a look but pours it anyway. I slam it back and order another. I have to numb the rage building inside me. I feel like a bottle of soda that someone has shaken up but then refused to open. It’s like I’m going to explode.

Even feeling that way, I have no idea where to direct this anger. I’m not really pissed at Becca. I mean, I am, but it isn’t the same kind of anger I have towards myself. Towards life in general. I get why she cut out. I’m a mess. She’s going places. I get the message.

But fuck her anyway, the angry part of me says. Fuck her and her holier than thou attitude. I don’t need her. I don’t need any woman coming in, opening me up and then leaving me bleeding. I have to focus and get my shit together.

“Want to slow down, son?” the old bartender says. “Maybe switch to beer for a bit?”

It’s sound advice, but it still pisses me off. I’m not causing any trouble. He should mind his own business. I need to calm down, numb the anger, and make some plans.

I have to get my house in order. I tore the shit out of it before I left. After practice, I went home to shower and change, but ended up breaking every damn thing I touched. I don’t know why violence makes me feel better. It just does. Maybe I should have been an MMA fighter instead of a quarterback. Maybe when I fail college, that will be my back up plan.

Silently, the bartender puts a beer in front of me, and I accept it without a word. My mind turns to Becca. Her fuzzy sweater. Her beautiful face. The way she looks at me when she comes.

She’s so beautiful. All the worst ones are. My ex wasn’t half as beautiful as Becca, though. I gulp half of the beer, hoping it will take away the rest of those feelings. I don’t want to feel soft towards her at all.

I’m reeling out of control. I want to find a girl, some cute blonde, and have my way with her. I want to get into a fight. Something visceral and real. Opening up and talking about my past and my feelings never does anything except lead to this shit. Fucking and fighting are real, true. They don’t lie. There is something to be said for giving in to animal instincts.

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