“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling on my shirt. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

    Jack frowns. “Don’t be sorry. It has nothing to do with you. It’s me. I’m fucked up. It’s why I don’t date. It’s why I don’t have relationships. I keep everything strictly in the club.”

    “I get it.”

    My stomach twists in knots, and I stare at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. “Thanks for looking after me tonight.”

    Silence weighs heavy in the air between us, but still he doesn’t leave. Finally I look up and I am startled at the softness in his face, the longing and regret. He really does think it’s him, and for some strange reason, it makes me want him all over again.

    “I think you should go.”

    He winces like I hurt him, but I need to be alone, and for some reason he isn’t taking the hint. Maybe because he senses we can’t be friends after this. We went too far, revealed too much, and now… We both feel the pain.

    “I guess I’ll see you at the gym.” He pulls open the door and looks back over his shoulder, questioning.

    “See you at the gym.”

    And then he disappears into the night.

    * * *

    My stomach floods with dread when I wake up the next morning feeling numb. After Jack left, I did everything I could think of to ease the pressure. I took a bath, ate a tub of ice cream, and watched some bad telly. But it wasn’t enough to deal with the stress of being rejected all over again.

    Worthless, no-good piece of shit. The monsters start chanting before I get out of bed, always in my father’s voice, their words—his words—pounding into my brain with the same rhythm as his fists when he decided to punish me yet again for being born. Of course Jack didn’t want me. Why did I think he would?

    My gaze flicks to my nightstand where I keep my blade case—six shiny razor blades, cleaned and sterilized, a surgical scalpel, cotton to mop up the blood, and disinfectant to clean the area before and after the big event. I could call in sick and cut myself this morning, which would give me almost the full day to treat the wounds and recover, but if the monsters have only just started chanting now, it is going to get a lot worse, and I don’t want to have to cut twice.

    Heaving myself out of bed, I pull on yesterday’s pale blue chiffon skirt from the floor and pair it with a sleeveless white tank from the laundry bin. I add a white sweater and finger-comb my hair before tying it back in a ponytail. A quick look in the mirror reveals a disheveled, exhausted, rumpled version of myself in all my dull, pale, curvy glory. But I don’t have the energy to fix myself up. The monsters are howling, and I need to get to work to drown out the noise.

    I show up at the office a few minutes early and thankfully before Ray arrives. After putting on the coffee, I head to my office and close the door. The building is quiet, and I lay my head on my desk and try to find the courage to make it through the day, even though I have learned that courage is overrated.

    When I turned seventeen, I met Adam. He made me feel loved and gave me the courage to stand up to my dad. But when I did, my dad said he never wanted to see me again. He told me he never wanted me and never loved me. He said that I was a worthless, no-good piece of shit and that I had made his life a living hell. Despite his hatred, I had always nurtured the tiniest hope that I could make him proud. That was the moment I knew I never would.

    I had failed. Just as I always fail.

    “Penny? You in here?” Ray pushes open the door, and I jerk up, rustle the papers on my desk, pretend to be busy although my computer is off and I have no pen.

    “Coffee’s on,” I say, forcing a smile.

    Ray stares at me. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a dark hoodie, which means he’ll be out on surveillance all day. This is a good thing. Ray is far too astute, and he has a way of seeing things people don’t want him to see. Like right now, he’s scowling, which means he knows something’s up and he’s not going to leave until he finds out what it is. Too bad I have practiced deception for years.

    “What’s wrong?”

    “Nothing.” I turn on my computer, pull open my desk drawer, and hunt for a pen.

    “Don’t give me that bullshit. You look like you just went a coupla rounds in the ring with Torment. You sick or something?”

    There is only one way to put a man like Ray off a line of questioning, and right now I’m sinking so fast I don’t give a damn if I’m betraying all of womankind. “It’s that time of the month.”

    “Whoa.” Ray’s hands fly up, and he backs up a step, as if I’ve just told him I have a communicable disease. “Right. Okay, then. Yeah. So, I’m gonna be out of the office until around four this afternoon. Maybe all day. You…uh…look after yourself. See you later.” His footsteps echo in reception, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear the door slam.

    Nothing. Works. Better.

    Amanda keeps me busy for the rest of the day. I try to focus on the work and not on the taunting of the monsters in my head, but they shriek and yell every time I do something wrong. I drop a pen, stumble on a crack, miss a button, drop my papers, and all the time they chant that I’m worthless and no good and no one could ever love me.

    Cora stops by for lunch so we can talk about the double date she has planned for tomorrow night. I tell her I’m too busy for anything—lunch, the gym, the double date. From the way her lips purse, I know she doesn’t believe me, but good friend that she is, she doesn’t make a fuss.

    By the time I get home at the end of the day, my head is pounding, and I am desperate to feel something, anything except the emptiness inside me. I stumble to my bedroom and pull out my kit.

    Release is at hand.

14

    I never claimed to be a gentleman

    RAMPAGE