Read Online Diaries of an Urban Panther by Amanda Arista - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amanda Arista
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of decorators to have her apartment match a picture in a magazine. And it did. Something out of the pages of Single and Fabulous . I ordered almost everything online from IKEA and Craigslist.
Jessa suggested a steak and cheesecake night. It was a bit of a tradition. Break up with boyfriend: steak and cheesecake. Have another script rejected before it even hit Drew’s desk: steak and cheesecake. Lose your fiancé to another woman: steak and cheesecake.
I ordered a little fillet mignon with a side of potatoes and Jessa ordered the thirty-five-dollar steak she would undoubtedly only eat half of. But that was Jessa.
“So what’s eating you?” she asked as the waiter finally left, after offering Jessa every sort of appetizer and drink and even his phone number.
“Work’s getting crazy and I needed to get out.”
“You don’t look too great, a little peaked.”
Jessa knew the word peaked ? “I’m fine.”
I mean, doesn’t every girl have a stalker who threatens her life when she refuses to buy into his little delirium? Isn’t that part of the Single and Fabulous life style?
I looked down at my little steak and my mouth watered. It had been eight hours since toast. I was starving. I cut into my steak and took a huge bite. I closed my eyes and chewed on the juicy meat. It tasted wonderful, perfect, and as I swallowed, my mind flooded with the sensation of ripping the meat off of the bone.
My eyes snapped open and my pulse raced. What the hell was that? As I looked back down at my plate, all I could see was what my little steak used to be and how much better it would be if it was still connected to bone, still had blood racing through it as I sunk in my huge teeth and ripped the meat off it.
I jumped up out of my chair, much to the surprise of my dinner mate, stumbled away from the gorgeous meal, and ran to the bathroom.
Full visions of running, no, chasing something through the tall grass, filled my head. The wind in my ears, the need to pounce on the small furry creature, to sink large white teeth into the hot meat.
I threw up everything I had eaten that day and probably a few days before. Stale toast with apricot jam was worse the second time around.
Jessa tentatively walked into the bathroom as I was splashing my face with water. I still had the vision of blood just behind my eyelids as I leaned over the white marble sink.
“You okay?” she asked with the concern written over every inch of her face.
“I’ll be fine,” I said through clenched teeth. Having to lie to another person almost made me sick again.
“Was it the steak?”
“Something like that.” I patted my face dry and forced a smile. “I think I’ll stick to the potatoes.”
Jessa walked me out, her arm around my waist, and I was glad to see she had already ordered to-go boxes, and the waitstaff had taken away most of the meat at the table already.
“Is it the flu?”
“Must be something I caught along the way.”
I ’m pretty sure it won’t surprise anyone that I don’t exercise. So you can imagine my anger when the first, and decidedly only, time I decide to take a jog around my neighborhood, I get hunted down by a pack of big burly black dogs who want to play chase.
It had been an odd sensation. In the middle of an outline for a new script, I suddenly wanted to be outside. And more than that, I wanted to run. At first, I thought it was an instinctual retreat from the roadblock I had come across in this project Drew was trying to get off the ground. But it wasn’t. My muscles wanted to move: my legs, not just my fingertips.
Standing outside, I tucked my spare key under a terra cotta pot without a flower and faked my way through the few stretches I remembered from the three scarring years of high school gym class before the school took pity on me and waived that class for an extra journalism course.
It was broad daylight. I was safe. Nothing happens in broad daylight. I started off down the sidewalk at a sedate jog. I
Jessa suggested a steak and cheesecake night. It was a bit of a tradition. Break up with boyfriend: steak and cheesecake. Have another script rejected before it even hit Drew’s desk: steak and cheesecake. Lose your fiancé to another woman: steak and cheesecake.
I ordered a little fillet mignon with a side of potatoes and Jessa ordered the thirty-five-dollar steak she would undoubtedly only eat half of. But that was Jessa.
“So what’s eating you?” she asked as the waiter finally left, after offering Jessa every sort of appetizer and drink and even his phone number.
“Work’s getting crazy and I needed to get out.”
“You don’t look too great, a little peaked.”
Jessa knew the word peaked ? “I’m fine.”
I mean, doesn’t every girl have a stalker who threatens her life when she refuses to buy into his little delirium? Isn’t that part of the Single and Fabulous life style?
I looked down at my little steak and my mouth watered. It had been eight hours since toast. I was starving. I cut into my steak and took a huge bite. I closed my eyes and chewed on the juicy meat. It tasted wonderful, perfect, and as I swallowed, my mind flooded with the sensation of ripping the meat off of the bone.
My eyes snapped open and my pulse raced. What the hell was that? As I looked back down at my plate, all I could see was what my little steak used to be and how much better it would be if it was still connected to bone, still had blood racing through it as I sunk in my huge teeth and ripped the meat off it.
I jumped up out of my chair, much to the surprise of my dinner mate, stumbled away from the gorgeous meal, and ran to the bathroom.
Full visions of running, no, chasing something through the tall grass, filled my head. The wind in my ears, the need to pounce on the small furry creature, to sink large white teeth into the hot meat.
I threw up everything I had eaten that day and probably a few days before. Stale toast with apricot jam was worse the second time around.
Jessa tentatively walked into the bathroom as I was splashing my face with water. I still had the vision of blood just behind my eyelids as I leaned over the white marble sink.
“You okay?” she asked with the concern written over every inch of her face.
“I’ll be fine,” I said through clenched teeth. Having to lie to another person almost made me sick again.
“Was it the steak?”
“Something like that.” I patted my face dry and forced a smile. “I think I’ll stick to the potatoes.”
Jessa walked me out, her arm around my waist, and I was glad to see she had already ordered to-go boxes, and the waitstaff had taken away most of the meat at the table already.
“Is it the flu?”
“Must be something I caught along the way.”
I ’m pretty sure it won’t surprise anyone that I don’t exercise. So you can imagine my anger when the first, and decidedly only, time I decide to take a jog around my neighborhood, I get hunted down by a pack of big burly black dogs who want to play chase.
It had been an odd sensation. In the middle of an outline for a new script, I suddenly wanted to be outside. And more than that, I wanted to run. At first, I thought it was an instinctual retreat from the roadblock I had come across in this project Drew was trying to get off the ground. But it wasn’t. My muscles wanted to move: my legs, not just my fingertips.
Standing outside, I tucked my spare key under a terra cotta pot without a flower and faked my way through the few stretches I remembered from the three scarring years of high school gym class before the school took pity on me and waived that class for an extra journalism course.
It was broad daylight. I was safe. Nothing happens in broad daylight. I started off down the sidewalk at a sedate jog. I
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