Page 77 of Such Sharp Teeth

“She’s okay?”

“Yes. Her and baby, both fine.”

The relief is euphoric. I release my shoulders from under my ears.

“I’ll find you.”

I hang up and wander the halls. Good to know security is tight. I follow signs for maternity. It’s not a big hospital, but it’s a labyrinth. I get in the elevator and go up to the third floor. When the doors open, the first person I see is Matty.

He paces the hall. He’s on his phone. He wears a leather jacket and black jeans and combat boots. His dark hair is up in a half bun. He plays with his necklace, a long chain with a pendant etched with the letter S. He’s worn it for years, ever since they first got together. He also has a tattoo of my sister’s name on his right pec.

I was always certain that he loved her. Had I ever thought there was a chance he’d fuck her over so royally, I would have never let him near her. I would have . . .

He sees me. He hangs up the phone.

“Hey, Rory,” he says, reaching out to me for a hug.

“Do not fucking touch me, you piece of shit.” I take one hand and shove him back.

He screams.

He hits the wall behind him. Hard. He grabs his shoulder. His arm hangs limp from it, and I can tell even through his jacket that I’ve done real damage. I think I dislocated his shoulder.

Good.

“How dare you show up here?”

I’m in his face. He’s been drinking. He smells like liquor and fear. His heartbeat is out of control. His pulse is fast, his blood churning. He turns his face away from me. There’s dark stubble on his chin, a small cut at his jawbone. I wonder what it’s from. I wonder if I were to reach out and hook my nail in, how much of his skin I could peel away, how much of his face. I wonder what it would sound like. Smell like. Taste like.

The rage wraps itself around me like vines, like moss swallowing a rock. It’s a natural state. It’s good. It’s symbiotic.

He hurt my sister. I hurt him.

I could kill him.

I would like that. It would be so much fun.

“Back up,” he says, trying to get away from me by stepping to the side. He holds his limp arm. “You fucked up my shoulder.”

“Lucky that’s all I’ve done.” Think how easily I could remove his genitalia. A single tug.

“Jesus,” he says. “Why are you mad at me?”

“Why am I mad at you?” I think my head might explode.

“You’re making a scene,” he says. He nods his head and turns the corner into a side hallway. I follow him. “Why do you always need to make a scene?”

“Why are you still talking? Stop talking.”

“Hey, she broke up with me, okay?” he says. “She threw me out, so I don’t know what your problem is. This wasn’t my call.”

The hospital comes back, the scene around me materializing as the rage wanes, giving way to confusion.

“What?”

“Convenient,” he says, rolling his eyes. “She told me she didn’t want me around. She didn’t want me at the house. She asked me to move out. What should I have done? She asked me to leave, so I left.”

I’m stunned into silence.