The phone rang before my alarm. Hell hath no fury like a woman woken before her alarm. I fumbled to find the phone in the dark.
“Hello?” My voice cracked.
“Hey, Z. This is your reminder to pack your bag. You promised to cover tonight.”
“Ethan. You are sick to call me this early. I said I’ll be there. Now, leave me alone.” I ended the call without a goodbye.
The phone rang again before I could drop it back on the nightstand.
“What?” I answered.
“I’ve dusted your gloves, babe. You’re overdue.”
The call disconnected, and I smiled in the dark. Only Ethan, the huge pain in the butt I called friend, could annoy me and make me smile at the same time. He was right. I needed to go in and really purge.
Hitting the bag at home helped, but I suffered from a slow buildup. Ethan compared it to PMS. I grew moodier until I started an actual fight. Except the fights were never fair. In my anger, I pulled too much of my opponent’s emotions, and they tended to just stand there with a stupid smile as I hit them. But I couldn’t avoid the fights. I needed them. Hitting an actual person drained me way more than the bag, and it was the only thing that helped when I got like this. I hated fighting but didn’t see any other choice.
With a sigh, I slid from the sheets and shuffled to the bathroom. My long, red hair was a tangled mess, and I scowled at myself in the mirror. The green of my eyes seemed vivid against the bloodshot background.
I should have slept longer. I already felt edgy and knew it would be a long day.
Many hours later, I parked in front of Ethan’s bar and spar—located in a less than desirable part of town—and leaned my head against the steering wheel. How could a day go so wrong? I cringed remembering how, in a fabulous fury, I’d stormed my boss’ office, told her to shove her petty self-pity, which she’d been radiating all day, up her butt, and then left, slamming doors and pushing coworkers. Not one of my better resignations.
Ethan had been right; I was overdue.
Sitting back with a sigh, I started to change. I kicked off my flats and pulled my yoga pants on under my skirt. Someone walked by the car and stopped to stare in as I threw the skirt in the passenger seat. I pulled the curiosity right out of him, and he kept moving. The extra emotions bloated me and didn’t help my mood. Gritting my teeth, I swapped tops, not caring who saw. In a hurry, I pulled on my socks and sneakers. It felt good. I knew what was coming.
I stepped out of the car, not worrying about the people I sensed in the nearby alleys. They were too busy getting high to notice me as I strode across the street. The emotions of those inside the bar drifted toward me, increasing the tension I carried. With a scowl, I yanked the door open. The warm air pushed past me, lifting my hair slightly. The heavy beat of music beckoned me, but I didn’t pause. I shouldered my way through the bodies that crowded the room and made my way to the bar.
Ethan stood behind the cheap, laminate counter, filling orders. Tall and lean, he had the attention of most of the women in the room. The tight t-shirt he wore probably helped. He glanced at me as I moved around to the side and ducked under the bar to join him.
“E-Z!” a regular called out. I ignored him.
The bar came to life when Ethan and I tended together. We didn’t do it too often, anymore. It called too much attention to me.
“Damn, girl!” Ethan shouted to be heard. “The more you sit on that thing, the better it gets.”
I rolled my eyes at him, glad he’d chosen to comment on my butt rather than how early I was. The extra padding I’d acquired by taking up an office job only seemed to want to settle on my butt. It had to be those frozen dinners, I thought. It certainly wasn’t lack of exercise. I’d hit the bag for forty minutes straight last night.
“Glad you decided to quit yet another job so you could come in early to help. Better start shaking that thing.”
He just had to go there.
“Shut up, E.”
A few of the patrons who sat listening to our exchange laughed.
“Which one of you idiots wants a drink?” My voice carried over all the noise. Happy faces turned my way. They knew me. They knew how this place would get soon. While they got high, I’d swell with every negative emotion they let loose. Oh, how I hated them.
“The spit’s free,” I said with a glare. One of the customers had once told me my light green and amber-flecked eyes reminded him of snake eyes when I glared. He’d loved snakes. Of course he had.
Ethan bumped into me, drawing my attention and breaking my death glare.
“Don’t be like that. They love you.”
“Right.”