Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
“What the fuck? Get the fuck off my sister!” Kent’s screams ended it all.
Suddenly Jesse was torn from me, and I watched in horror as my brother drew back and threw a punch so filled with rage, it could not be put back.
I screamed, and screamed, and told him to stop, but Jesse just stood there and took it, and took it until Kent wore himself out against his solid muscle. My brother was built like a quarterback, but Jesse was a linebacker, and when the beating was over he walked away without a word.
The rest was history. I couldn't ignore the fact that Kent must have heard my moans. We never discussed it, but each of us had a broken heart that day. And the next, and for a long time after.
What we did broke what we had. All of us and nothing was the same after.
Eventually, Kent and Jesse made peace in some far off conversations filled with apologies and promises, and I knew deep down Jesse knew it was a mistake. Not just in touching his best friend's little sister, but in bothering with someone like me in the first place.
Hormones and deployments can drive you to do things you would never consider in the cold light of day, and I was one of those things. I could never hope to be anything to someone like Jesse, and since he was the only one I wanted I was doomed.
So I'd turned to anything that might dull my senses. I drank a horrible Miller Lite the day after Jesse shipped out for that first tour with the Marines. Then another, and another.
I hid it better back then though. After Kent died, well... I didn’t really care about hiding it anymore. I just needed something to take the pain away.
Especially when I started working alongside the man I knew I'd never touch again.
Each hour became less and less focused as the vodka began to overtake my brain. By 3 am, we were clearing everyone out, and I knew I better get my shit together before Jesse saw me. He tended to confiscate drinks if he noticed me with them, whether they were from his stock or not.
“Where’s my purse…” I mumbled as I tried to remember which hiding place I used when I arrived sober over six hours ago.
I found it inside the empty box of ‘Diamond Rocks’ tank tops the waitresses were obliged to wear. Waitresses, but not the bartender. I had a uniform all of my very own, on account of the fact my body wouldn't squeeze into the revealing outfit and Jesse told me point-blank I was never to wear one.
I did try one on once, but it had to stretch so far around me the glittery printing on the front was so freakishly pulled out of proportion it was barely recognizable. All the fucking chicks that worked here were like a size 2, except me, and most of them treated me like something they just trod in and needed to wipe off their six-inch fake Louboutins.
I’m sure if Jesse wasn’t my brother's best friend, I would never have gotten a job in a place like this.
I fished in my bag for my phone, and unlocked the screen to check my messages only to find a text from Jenette, one of the dancers. She'd been working the back room tonight, which is a shitty job among shitty jobs, but one that pays better than dancing out front for tips.
Jenette: Gotta go. Not sure where you are, but I'm leaving. This dude's offering a fucking grand if I show him and his friends a good time tonight :-) Can't turn that down! You’re gonna have to find someplace to crash besides my couch!
Jenette and I weren’t exactly friends, but she was one of the less bitchy employees at Diamond Rocks. She loved her gummies and an occasional blunt but unlike a lot of the other girls, was relatively sober, and when she found out I'd been kicked out of my apartment she'd offered a lumpy sofa and a warm blanket.
And a shower. With hot water, no less.
See, I wasn’t too great at paying my bills. Most of my spare time was spent with my friends Grey Goose and White Claw. It wasn’t a combination that made for a super successful financial portfolio.
After Kent got hit by a drunk driver, there was a year or more that I barely remember. Wandering around drunk, staying with friends. Sometimes waking up in someone’s house and having no idea how I got there.
Jesse was away back then on a tour that ended in his squad being wiped out in an ambush, and Jesse’s knee being shattered by a bullet. He could have taken a desk job, but that wouldn’t have been Jesse.