Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit: That Which Destroys Me with The Alternate Ending Read Free

again.
    “Babe? You okay? I thought I heard you crying.” I feel Trina’s dark brown eyes scan, searching my turned face while I continue staring at the damn rust stain. “You’re still in your sports bra and panties, Stella.” She pulls my hand that was resting on the edge of the tub into hers. “Your hands are cold,” I see her fingertips brush the water from the corner of my eye, “The water’s ice cold, Stella, come on…” she pulls me from the water, my eyes still haven’t left the stain, I feel a warm towel swathe around me. “Come on, sis, let’s get some clothes on you… You sleep with me, ‘kay?”
    She turns the lights off in the bathroom and I blindly follow with that stain fixated now in my mind. I somewhat recall her drying me off, dressing me in a big warm hoodie and yoga pants, then tucking me into her warm bed.
    I fall asleep, still staring at that fucking rust stain seared behind the lids of my eyes.

Chapter 3
    Familie s are A Bitch- Even The Rich Ones
     

     
    As I step out of my Audi R8, grab my brief case and Starbucks espresso, a nine walks by fucking the shit out of me with her eyes.
    Are you kidding me, bitch? It’s too goddamn early for this shit.
    No — I am not a morning person, nor am I a Monday person. Yes — I’m over these bitches constantly looking at me as if they hold sexual promises as well as all the answers to my deeply rooted, confounding disorientation where life is concerned.
    The fuck did I say? Don’t look at me like that, dammit. It’s fucking Monday morning.
    When I slam into my office, Rach almost drops the bottle of water she has halfway to her mouth. “Rachel.” I nod as I make my way towards the solid mahogany double doors that lead to my inner-sanctuary, the head office, the throne that the king of Jacobs Publishing House sits upon, mothafuckas.
    Rach is hot on my heels, “Mr. Jacobs…”
    I spin around and advance until I’m leaning over her like the prey she is, our faces a breath away when I whisper, “ Rach, It’s Wesley or Wes.” I grab her chin in between my thumb and forefinger. Grasping it hard, I growl, “My cock’s been in that pussy, Rach. From that point on, you lost the right to be polite. Stop acting so goddamn virtuous, do you understand me?”
    My eyes slide down her face and I watch as her neck bobbles, trying to swallow… She does swallow too—Just in case you were wondering.
    In a breathless fluster of mumbled words she finally replies, “Wes,” She clears her throat, “Wesley, your father, Mr. Jacobs is in your office, sir.”
    Oh, huh. I should probably be embarrassed, especially after the way I’ve just, well whatever. I’m not. I’m pissed! Not at Rachel, at my fucking father. Mr. Jacobs.
    The scowl on my face is not something I could mask, even if I wanted to. I stalk into my office and there they are - Victor and Josephine Jacobs - somehow looking down on me standing over them at my full six-foot-four stature.
    They’re the embodiment of rich pompous pricks. So am I, but at least I don’t look down my nose like an asshole at people.
    I’m a product of my father’s infidelity. Josephine, my step mother, was almost eighteen when she married my father at forty-five. On the day after my father’s forty-sixth birthday, yep, you guessed it—I was born to a stripper-slash-escort girl my father had been having an eight year affair with during his frequent business trips to New Orleans.
    Now, anyone that knows me knows I love my ma. She’s a great fucking woman. I don’t blame her for what she had to do in order to feed her younger brothers and sisters while cancer ate her own mother alive.
    My plans of becoming a football star with a law degree and being able to care for my mother financially, allowing her to live in the lap of luxury, were thwarted by a football injury they’d originally said would prevent me from ever walking - much less running - again.
    For as long as I can remember, I allow the simple fact