I dozed off after we fucked. When I woke up, she was sleeping. Some
shit went down last night…Hard to explain but here goes…
I did get shitfaced. Came and sat at the table, just hoping against
hell Letty might find it in her to bring her ass down the stairs. I
remember asking Mia how she was, if her ribs were broken. They are.
And she has a concussion. I'm so glad Leon pulled her out of the
kitchen when he did. She was already hurt, from that roll in the
car, if I'd have grabbed her, shaken her, lost control…
When I heard `her ribs are broken,' I felt like an A-1 asshole.
She's been hurting…Badly. Broken ribs. A concussion. No wonder she
went fucking psycho. And my goddamn arm…just might hurt
forever.
I couldn't sit there with all of them. I felt so fuckin' low. I
grabbed a beer for the road and staggered to my feet, and I knew Mia
was gonna freak but I ignored her. Climbed into the Riviera. Beat
the hell out of Dodge.
Letty knows I've cheated on her. She'd have to be a real bendeja not
to. And I know whenever I come in late she's smelling me, eyeing me
up, wondering if I've been holding, kissing, inside of someone else…
Not last night. Sat in a rich-bitch bar and waved off any offers I
got. Lots of white people there. Only Mexicans there were
bartenders and waiters. And they don't serve Mexican food. And they
all speak English. Hell, it was just like California, and we're six
million miles from the border.
I didn't drink a whole lot while I was there. The news about Letty's
ribs had been a major buzzkill. One pretty blonde with a fake ID
bought me a shot of tequila, and then another, and then tried to get
me to go home with her, but I said no so she let it be and we just
sat and talked forever…
Got home at four almost sober but tired as fuck and Letty was still
awake. She's shakin, all upset. I can tell she WAS worried, but now
she's pissed. Started preachin right away—"Don't you ever do
something so fucking stupid again." I'm pissed with myself, not her,
but I fight with her anyway. I'm too tired to fight. My comebacks
are lame. I could tell she didn't want to fight, either. I started
stuttering out an alibi, a weak one for once, but she didn't want to
hear it.
"Just shut the fuck up, Dominic," she said. "Just shut up." And I
did, leaning against the wall. "I just hate this shit, Dom. I can't
take it right now. I have been scared shitless, you know that? I
was just so sure any second I was gonna get a call saying you're…
you're…Like Jesse. And I love you, Dominic. I'm sorry it doesn't
always seem that way, but I do." I swallowed, staring at her a
minute, then went to her, lifted her so her legs were around my
waist. There was no hard passion there, only love. She wasn't
biting at my neck or fucking with my head. She just hung on me, her
head on my shoulder, as I carried her upstairs.
I love the way she smells. Took all her clothes off and rubbed her
all over with my hands. Gave her a massage. She loves that. Calms
her down, like a cat. She's just always been wound so tight…
I couldn't decide how I wanted her. I went in slow and laid there a
minute. I love the way the insides of her thighs feel against my
hips, love the way her teeth are crooked, the way her top lip tastes
and her hair is like satin. All that love made me go slow at first,
and then…Then there was all this shit…This helplessness, this fucking
white rage over Jesse and Vince and Brian and the whole fucked-up
thing, and all that shit just made me want to all-out fuck, a rough
ride, and she was with me all the way.
I came hard and said I loved her as I did. Whenever I say that, she
gives me this look, like `Oh, really?' Like, `Sure, I believe you.'
