Foreword

Chapter 9

"WHAT THE FUCK, TALINDA?!" Chester spat, blood rushing to his face.

How dare she cheat on me, he thought. She's no fucking better than Samantha, that bitch. That godDAMN BITCH!

"Chester..." his wife rose to her feet and tried to place her hand on his shoulder, but was smacked aside. A burning mark was left on the backside of her hand and began to swell up into a painful-looking welt.

"Sir, I'm afraid we must remove you from the premises or we will be forced to call the police." A thin, wiry looking woman slunk up next to him. She was shoved aside, her mouth forming a perfect 'o'.

"You loved me. I thought you did, at least!"

The handsome stranger who sat across from Talinda was completely pale and looked somewhat nauseous. His glass of water had spilled on his previously crisp suit and his glasses had fogged up from the heat his body was emanating.

"And you're dating this fucking loser here?!" He snarled. Fists clenched. A single vein pulsating in his neck.

"He's a friend, honey. Please don't..."

"Don't WHAT?! Am I a fucking MONSTER or something? Who the HELL-" And in that moment, Chester saw his reflection in the mirror behind the other man on the wall. He looked like a monster. Scaring away the people he loved, and the ones who possibly loved him back- he doubted everything now. He looked inhuman.

Backing away, disgusted and frightened at his own reflection, he stumbled backwards and hit his head on the edge of a table.

The last image he saw before he passed out was Talinda and her "friend" leaning over him, with the man wiping his forehead with a cold and wet paper towel, and reflections of cop lights flashing outside the door. So familiar, this scene was. Like back to the days of heavy drug abuse, passing out in bars while drinking underage, and sex. So much sex. Sex, love, drugs, rock and roll. Just with different people- replacements.

--

Merely replacements.

A flash of blinding light forced Chester to snap his eyes shut in pain and he became aware of a dull throbbing in his fist and the back of his head.

Couldn't even open his eyes.

Passing out.

Where was he?

--

3 AM.

Rubbing the sleep out his eyes, the tattooed man rose up and out of his bed. At home. Home? When the fuck did he get home?

Images. They came flooding back again, but they were nightmares, weren't they?

Talinda, was she alright? Chester gently found his wife's hand under the thin bed sheet she had wrapped around her slim body.

Bruised. The hand was bruised.

I don't believe myself. I had only wanted to check up on her and had mistaken a situation for something different in context.

But I believe her now.

What have I done?

--

"Tyler, you BRAT! Come back!" The sounds of laughter filtered through the cracks in the walls and the pounding of feet faded into the distance.

"Talinda?" Chester called meekly.

A piece of paper fluttered to the floor as a gust of wind puffed through the open window.

"Mm?" He rolled over and picked the sheet up. "Police report."

"TalinDA! Honey!"

The door warily creaked open.