Branded (Ignite #2)

I’ll take a bath. I’ll fill up my Jacuzzi tub with hot water and bubbles and, for a few moments, I’ll pretend that I’m just a normal woman who had a one-night-stand and has a bright future filled with possibilities ahead of her, instead of a fucked-in-the-head person who needs to harm herself simply to feel alive.

I think about the smell of vanilla and lavender bubbles instead of cigarette smoke and burning flesh as I walk up to my front porch. A note taped to the front door gives me pause and I rip it from the wood, tucking it under my arm so I can unlock the front door. Once I’m inside, I toss my purse to the couch and lean back against the door, pulling the note out from under my arm and tearing it open. Finnley sent me a text earlier saying she had a surprise for me and I smile to myself, wondering what she’s up to and when she resorted to leaving me notes like we were still in high school.

Inside the envelope is a small card with the words Thinking of You! printed amongst a bouquet of pink and purple flowers. I shake my head and laugh to myself as I flip open the card. I choke on the laugh and gasp when I see the words printed inside, the messy block lettering nothing like Finnley’s girly script.

My heart starts thundering in my chest and my palms sweat. I read the words over and over until I have them memorized and still, I don’t understand. Someone knows. Someone saw. How in the hell could this have happened? Is this some kind of sick joke? For a second, I wonder if DJ did it to try and be funny, but I immediately dismiss that thought. He wouldn’t do this. As much as he irritates me, he’s not the type of man to sink to this level of cruelty.

The note drops from my hands, fluttering to the floor at my feet. There’s a whooshing sound in my ears that grows louder and louder until I can’t even hear the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall right next to me or the sound of my ragged breaths. My skin itches and I clench my hands into fists at my sides to stop from clawing my fingernails down my arms to give myself some measure of relief. There’s only one thing that will help me now, only one thing that will stop the ringing in my ears and the put an end to the tightness in my skin.

I push myself away from the front door and walk blindly through my living room and down the hall to my bedroom. My senses are overwhelmed the minute I walk in the room, the sights and sounds and smells coming back to me with a force that has my hands shaking so hard by the time I pull open the drawer of my nightstand that I drop the lighter and the package of Marlboro Smooths three times before I get them out.

I hold the cigarette between my lips, flick the lighter and stare mesmerized at the flame as I inhale enough drags to make the tip of the cigarette glow bright orange. As I exhale a lungful of smoke, I quickly strip off my hospital scrubs and underwear with one hand and let my body sink to the edge of the bed.

Closing my eyes, I bring the burning tip to my hip and breathe easy for the first time this afternoon.

I want the pain.

I deserve the pain.

I can’t breathe without the pain.

Thwack-thwack-thwack.

The sound of my fists beating the shit out of the heavy bag is almost louder than the music blaring through the speakers. Nothing like a little Rob Zombie to get me even more fired up than I already am. Sweat drips down my back as I shuffle back and forth on the balls of my feet, delivering one blow after another to the bag until I feel my knuckles start to swell and my arms threaten to fall off my body.

I have no fucking idea why I’m so pissed off, no clue why I’ve been tossing and turning the last week and snapping at everyone I come in contact with. I thought blowing off some steam in the weight room at the station would get me back on track and calm me the fuck down, but I’m pretty sure it just made things worse. With each upper cut to the bag, I see Phina’s neck and chest flushed that gorgeous color of pink after one of her orgasms. I slow down my punches to explore the memory, and then that smug bastard’s face pops into my head. I see her resting against his chest, I see his hands touching her body, I hear him whispering in her ear and my fists collide so hard and fast with the bag that I’m surprised I don’t break my knuckles.

“Motherfucking piece of shit!” I shout as I circle the bag and pound it with everything I’ve got. “Fucking asshole touching MY girl!”

That thought just pisses me off even more, and I stop where I’m at and let my arms fly. I alternate my punches with each hand, over and over until I feel the skin of my knuckles tear and still, I don’t stop. I picture Dax’s face in the middle of the bag and I attack it like a fucking beast¸ blood smearing all over the bag and my taped-up hands in the process. I shout and curse above the thumping bass and screeching guitar, wishing Dax really was standing in front of me right now so I could mess up his pretty fucking face. I’d break his nose, split his lip and knock out a few of those perfect white teeth for putting his hands on her.

I’m a goddamn hypocrite. She asked for something and I happily gave it to her, simply so I could have her. I didn’t care about her rules, I didn’t care about the consequences…I just wanted to taste her.

I’ve never been a jealous person. If I’m dating a chick and some guy makes a pass at her, I smile and wrap my arm around her, perfectly fine with the fact that other men find her attractive. She’s going home with me and that’s all that matters. I’m not even fucking dating Phina. One night, that’s all we had. One fucking night where she set the rules and the boundaries and I did whatever she asked because I couldn’t stand the thought of going one more minute without putting my hands on her. She keeps her underwear on at all times? No problem. It’s weird as shit, but whatever she wants is okay by me. She’s got a little voyeuristic streak and has always wanted another man in the room to watch? Perfect, I know just the guy. I can give her a shit ton of orgasms but I can’t fuck her? Fine, whatever. We never speak of what happened in her bedroom ever again? Well, alrighty then, my lips are sealed.