Page 62 of Brutal
Some of my college classmates had invited me on a trip with them last summer, but I couldn’t justify the cost—and anyway, I hadn’t quite wanted to spend an entire week with them.
“Well, if you like it, we can go more often.” He seems to realize what he’s said, and he adds, “Maybe. It depends on how you act today.”
“Maybe it depends on how you act,” I counter.
What I can see of the beach so far seems nice enough. The boardwalk is fairly crowded and we’re driving at a very slow pace now. Even on a weekday, there’s a lot of activity.
It’s probably everybody rushing to enjoy the last hurrah of summer before vacations are over and fall weather makes the beach less appealing.
Drake mutters something under his breath, but I choose to ignore it. “All right. There’s a parking garage not far from here,” he says after a moment, turning down a street that leaves the ocean behind us. “It’s a short walk to the casinos… and the water. We can play around for a little bit, get some food, then walk it off on the beach.” He pauses, then scowls as he asks, “Is that okay?”
I gaze at him steadily. “I don’t know. Is that okay? You’re calling the shots.”
He tenses up. “I was asking you a fucking question, Mimi. It’s like I wanted your goddamn opinion for some reason. But whatever. That’s what we’re doing.” He pulls up to a parking garage. Instead of heading in to find a place to park, he exchanges his keys for a ticket at the valet entrance. “C’mon.”
I suppress a laugh and get out of the car, making sure to stay close to him. “Now you’re mad. You were pretty clear at the beginning where I stood with you. Sir.”
He’s put his sunglasses on, and I can’t see his eyes. His tone is pretty clear, though, when he says harshly, “Yeah. For all the good that’s done.” He turns, starting to storm off toward one of the massive casino buildings.
I hurry after him, and I’m grateful he didn’t make me wear a pair of high heels. I can walk in heels, but not for long periods and definitely not at the brisk pace he’s setting.
“Did you know,” I say when I catch up, “sometimes, communication helps other people understand you.”
“You don’t need to understand me,” he says. “You just need to obey.”
He gets a weird look from a woman passing us by, but he glares her down, and she hurries away.
“I think you want me to understand you.” I look at his arm, and with slight trepidation, I hook my own arm in his. “You want me to be nice to you.”
Drake stays tense, but he lets me take his arm without snapping at me. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Mimi. I swear to fucking God, we will turn around and go right back home.”
“You’d ruin the day for yourself, then,” I point out. We walk into the casino, and a blast of cold air hits me. The air conditioning is way stronger than it needs to be, but I always think that during the summer.
I’m struck by how loud it is, and we’re just in the lobby. The lights on a nearby slot machine grab my attention, and I watch as somebody pulls on the handle. The numbers and symbols spin, landing on a combination that has an older woman swearing.
“Come on,” he says, not answering me. “I want a drink.”
I start to walk toward the right, but he tugs me in the other direction.
“I figured you’d want to stay in the nonsmoking areas.” He gestures to the signs. “This way.”
“You asked me if this schedule was okay,” I say as we line up at the bar. “I don’t know, because I have no idea what we can do here. But I do know it’s too early to start drinking.”
“It’s never too early to start drinking,” Drake replies, frowning at me. “Especially at a casino. Half the reason to come here is to drink and smoke. Oh, and to eat at the big buffets. The one here is pretty nice.”
“You didn’t come here to enjoy a day out with me?” I ask. “Because I’d enjoy it more if you stayed sober.”
He stops, looking hard at me. “Yeah?” There’s something a little wary, a little vulnerable even, as he regards me.
“You don’t need to be high or drunk to have a good time, Drake,” I say gently. “Let’s just check things out. Show me your favorite games here and give me a heart attack by gambling away my entire college scholarship in the span of a few hours.”
“Is that all?” he drawls.
The bartender catches his attention, and for a moment, I think Drake is going to order something alcoholic. He orders a soda, though, and looks at me in silent inquiry.
“Water’s fine,” I tell him.
We’re probably the most boring two people at the casino, but the bartender doesn’t seem to care as he gets our glasses and fills them.