HOW TO RUIN YOUR LIFE (LGBTQ+)

27

The drive to my house was silent. Joe and I had thrown my motorcycle into the back of his truck after he drove me to his apartment, refusing to let me drive. Apparently it wasn't his truck, but his neighbor's, since he owned a car. He'd borrowed it from her, making me stay outside as he talked with her.

    I knew I could easily get home on my own. I was just bruised.

    But I could tell that Joe really wanted to do this.

    And I...wanted it too.

    I sat in the passenger seat, keeping silent. There was so much unspoken tension between us. This was the first time I'd been in the same vehicle as Joe in years.

    I thought you didn't want to see me again?

    What happened to 'go to therapy or you can't be in my life'?

    Why are you here, Joe?

    Why are you doing this?

    He finally broke the silence, when we were just a few minutes away from my house. He didn't ask me for directions to get there, yet we were going the right way. He must've memorized the route years ago...

    "I don't understand," he said, his hands squeezing the steering wheel without reprieve. "I thought you hated him. Why would you let him do that to you?"

    "I do hate him. But like I said, I'll rip his throat out if he touches Persia again. I honestly didn't expect him to have brought so many people to back him up, but I would've let him beat me either way." I looked over at him, then back out the window. "Both of you asked me not to be rough on him. You and Persia are family. And...family is everything to me."

    Joe didn't respond, but his knuckles grew white against the wheel as he squeezed even tighter. "That's a lie. Dad and mom were family, and look what you did-"

    I slammed my hands on the dashboard, and Joe jolted, the truck swerving slightly on the road. "When are you going to stop bringing that up?" I asked, my voice rising steadily. "I'm so fucking sick of it. It's the same argument, over and over and OVER."

    We pulled into my yard, and the conversation was cut short when I saw a vehicle parked in the driveway. There were skid marks behind the wheels, looking as though whoever it was pulled up fast and stopped hard.

    "Shit," I muttered, my thoughts flying to Cleo, hoping that she had stayed in the treehouse.

    "Who's that?" Joe asked.

    I jumped out of the truck, ignoring the motorcycle in the back and the aching pain in my body, booking it to the front door. "Stay in the truck!" I yelled as I ran. "I mean it."

    I stumbled through the door, coming face to face with one of Max's men. A very recognizable man. The one that had hated me since the moment I joined the gang, and hated me ever since.

    "Asa," he greeted me with a smirk. "Seems you're a goddamn liar." He held the arm of Cleo, yanking her in front of him, displaying her to me.

    She was in tears, but wouldn't meet my eyes. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "It was dark and cold, and I was lonely." Her voice broke at the end, and I clenched my fists.

    "What happened to you, anyway?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as his eyes surveyed my bruised body. "Not that it matters. You're dead fucking meat, just like you've been from the beginning."

    Kill him.

    Kill him.

    Kill him.