Read Online Anatomy of a Girl Gang (9781551525303) by Ashley Little - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ashley Little
Ads: Link
Tell her Iâm okay. Tell her Iâm alive. Tell her I forgive her. That it wasnât her fault. But that would mean going back. And I canât ever go back.
KAYOS
The only time I feel halfway normal now is when Iâm kicking the shit outta someone in kickboxing. Just givin er, letting everything come out. But last night, I got in shit with my Sensei because I went too hard on this dude I was sparring with and didnât stop kicking him when I should have. I donât even know what happened, yo. I kinda just blanked out for awhile. Anyway, turns out buddyâs got three broken ribs because of me, so I feel pretty bad about that. Sensei said I gotta take it easy for a while, and Iâm not allowed to come back to the gym for a couple weeks, not till Iâve cooled off. I apologized to the guy and everything, but Sensei was really upset. He said if it happens again, Iâll be banned from the club.
Sometimes I feel like Iâm losing it, I really do. I donât know whatâs wrong with me. Sometimes I wake up in the morning, and all I want to do is hurt people. Thatâs gotta be fucked up.
MERCY
I love cars. Love driving them, stealing them, working on them, racing them, all of it. My dad taught me a lot about cars while he was around; maintenance and repair, how to change a tire, stuff like that. The Vipers taught me everything else I needed to know. Guess I can thank them for that, if nothing else.
I always thought my life would have been a whole hell of a lot easier if Iâd been born a man. Then I couldâve been a pilot or a race-car driver or something legit, instead of just ripping people off for a living. Donât get me wrong, I love being female; wearing heels, dressing posh, jewellery, makeup, all that, but it just doesnât lead to the same opportunities, you know?
I guess I can tell you about what happened the other night. As long as you promise not to tell anyone. Ever. Swear on your life.
Okay. So, on this particular night Iâm forgetting about all that I could have been and just living who I am , right there in the moment. Iâm cruising in a silver Jaguar XK I picked up over in Yaletown, listening to Nas, bass cranked. The sky had just opened up and turned the city into an aquarium. But Iâm all happy and dry inside my little silver bullet. I wish I didnât have to drop off the Jag, I wish it was mine for keeps. But, for the short distance to the Port of Vancouver, it is. I crank the heat and let it blast in my face. Iâm noticing how smooth the road is under these tires, how soundless the car is; the streets are like black blankets laid out before me.
Then Iâm on East Pender and out of nowhere, bang! A bodycrumples under the hood. Thereâs a sickening bump as my tires pass over it. Oh-fuck-oh-fuck-oh-fuck-OH, FUCK!
I check the rear-view. Thereâs a guy lying in the middle of the road, his black raincoat billowing around him like a garbage bag. Thereâs no one on the street. Itâs four in the morning. No oneâs around. Nobody saw it. I donât know what to do. I do not know what to do. I. Do. Not. Know. I keep driving.
MAC
Mac! Wake up! Someone was pounding on my door. Mac!
I rolled over, looked at Z. She was sound asleep. It was 4:20. The pounding got louder. I opened the drawer beside my bed and took out my gun, wiped the crusties out of my eyes, then got up and opened the door.
Macâ
What is it? Whatâs wrong?
I hit someone.
What?
I just hit a guy crossing the road. With a car.
Oh Jesus. Where?
On East Pender.
Did anyone see you?
I donât know, no. No! She stared at the gun in my hand. She was shaking like she had hypothermia, her thin little face all crunched in panic.
I tossed the gun on my dresser. Alright, just try to calm down, I said. Weâll deal with it. I walked past her and looked out the window. There was a silver Jag parked in our driveway. What the fuck is that doing
KAYOS
The only time I feel halfway normal now is when Iâm kicking the shit outta someone in kickboxing. Just givin er, letting everything come out. But last night, I got in shit with my Sensei because I went too hard on this dude I was sparring with and didnât stop kicking him when I should have. I donât even know what happened, yo. I kinda just blanked out for awhile. Anyway, turns out buddyâs got three broken ribs because of me, so I feel pretty bad about that. Sensei said I gotta take it easy for a while, and Iâm not allowed to come back to the gym for a couple weeks, not till Iâve cooled off. I apologized to the guy and everything, but Sensei was really upset. He said if it happens again, Iâll be banned from the club.
Sometimes I feel like Iâm losing it, I really do. I donât know whatâs wrong with me. Sometimes I wake up in the morning, and all I want to do is hurt people. Thatâs gotta be fucked up.
MERCY
I love cars. Love driving them, stealing them, working on them, racing them, all of it. My dad taught me a lot about cars while he was around; maintenance and repair, how to change a tire, stuff like that. The Vipers taught me everything else I needed to know. Guess I can thank them for that, if nothing else.
I always thought my life would have been a whole hell of a lot easier if Iâd been born a man. Then I couldâve been a pilot or a race-car driver or something legit, instead of just ripping people off for a living. Donât get me wrong, I love being female; wearing heels, dressing posh, jewellery, makeup, all that, but it just doesnât lead to the same opportunities, you know?
I guess I can tell you about what happened the other night. As long as you promise not to tell anyone. Ever. Swear on your life.
Okay. So, on this particular night Iâm forgetting about all that I could have been and just living who I am , right there in the moment. Iâm cruising in a silver Jaguar XK I picked up over in Yaletown, listening to Nas, bass cranked. The sky had just opened up and turned the city into an aquarium. But Iâm all happy and dry inside my little silver bullet. I wish I didnât have to drop off the Jag, I wish it was mine for keeps. But, for the short distance to the Port of Vancouver, it is. I crank the heat and let it blast in my face. Iâm noticing how smooth the road is under these tires, how soundless the car is; the streets are like black blankets laid out before me.
Then Iâm on East Pender and out of nowhere, bang! A bodycrumples under the hood. Thereâs a sickening bump as my tires pass over it. Oh-fuck-oh-fuck-oh-fuck-OH, FUCK!
I check the rear-view. Thereâs a guy lying in the middle of the road, his black raincoat billowing around him like a garbage bag. Thereâs no one on the street. Itâs four in the morning. No oneâs around. Nobody saw it. I donât know what to do. I do not know what to do. I. Do. Not. Know. I keep driving.
MAC
Mac! Wake up! Someone was pounding on my door. Mac!
I rolled over, looked at Z. She was sound asleep. It was 4:20. The pounding got louder. I opened the drawer beside my bed and took out my gun, wiped the crusties out of my eyes, then got up and opened the door.
Macâ
What is it? Whatâs wrong?
I hit someone.
What?
I just hit a guy crossing the road. With a car.
Oh Jesus. Where?
On East Pender.
Did anyone see you?
I donât know, no. No! She stared at the gun in my hand. She was shaking like she had hypothermia, her thin little face all crunched in panic.
I tossed the gun on my dresser. Alright, just try to calm down, I said. Weâll deal with it. I walked past her and looked out the window. There was a silver Jag parked in our driveway. What the fuck is that doing
Similar Books
