Page 19 of Caged

“Can’t say I blame you,” she adds. “How’s the leg?”

“Look at this thing,” I say, hiking up the side of my shorts.

Her eyes go wide. “Jesus! That’s a nasty bruise.”

“Jace is a fucking asshole,” I seethe.

“At least you got a slap in,” Viv adds, reminding me of my one moment of triumph.

“I hope he has my handprint on his face this morning,” I grumble.

“Maybe we should go slit his tires,” Viv suggests.

“Actually, that is a great idea. Do you think a kitchen knife is strong enough to do the job?”

Viv looks at me with concern. “I was kidding. You could get arrested for vandalism.”

“Honestly, slitting the tires on his motorcycle would be worth the jail time.”

And who drives a fucking motorcycle in upstate New York?I seethe to myself as I make the painfully slow trudge toward the campus store. I have a fair amount of class course packets and books to purchase. When is this shit going to be fully digitized?Just because paper is a renewable resource doesn’t mean we need to waste it when the digital version is preferred. Not to mention, digital files don’t weigh five thousand pounds.

But, back to the motorcycle. What a dumb idea. A month from now, the weather will turn cold, and shortly after that, snow will arrive. I never took Jace for a Neanderthal, but he sure as fuck is acting like one.

I catch myself grinding my teeth at the thought of slitting those tires. God, wouldn’t that be satisfying? I’m not prone to violence, but I’m also not completely opposed.

I grab a handbasket and head to the section of the campus store where course supplies are kept. When I see that the packet for the Economics of Advertising course is two inches thick, I grimace. Maybe I should have chosen to pursue a strategy concentration instead of marketing, because the ones for senior-level strategy classes are laughably thin.

I find the course packets I need and toss them into my basket, now irritatingly heavy, and audibly grunt when I try to pick it up. The person standing at the end of the section turns around upon hearing my struggle, and I don’t know how I didn’t notice him before.

“You,” I sneer.

Part of me thinks I should walk away, but that part of me is a pussy. Besides, I wouldn’t be walking away, I would be hobbling, and I won’t give Jace Carver the sick gratification of seeing how badly I’m injured.

I drop my basket. “What the fuck is your problem?”

It takes a considerable amount of strength and focus to hide my limp. Jace gives me a once-over, then turns around, pretending to be preoccupied by the packet in his hand.

I sidle up next to him, forcing him to acknowledge me.

“What do you want?” he asks without looking at me.

“What do I want?” I all but gasp. “How about a fucking explanation and apology for last night?!”

He puts the packet back on the shelf, which is confusing in its own right because why would you pick up a shrink-wrapped course packet unless you were taking the class? It’s not like a book you can open and peruse.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. His gruff tone is borderline dismissive, which only enrages me further.

“Seriously?” I ask, raising my voice an octave. “Look at my fucking thigh, Jace. Look at it,” I order, pulling up the hem of my shorts to expose the massive brown and purple bruise. His eyes glance down at my thigh without so much as a wince, let alone turning his head to look at the injuryheinflicted.

“I get it, you hate me, but are you that much of an asshole that you think it’s okay to physically assault me? And, for what? For daring to show my face at fucking Sigma?”

“You shouldn’t be there,” he says, turning to walk away.

“Hey,” I say loudly, grabbing the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Get over it. We broke up over two years ago. Move on."

The muscles in his jaw feather. He gives me that look – like he might rip my head off but also start weeping – and my fire ignites.

“What did he do to Monroe?” I say with slow enunciation. Jace shakes his head and scoffs a laugh like he’s mocking me.