Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman by JB Lynn Read Free Book Online Page B

grief, he delivered the knockout punch.
    “Why do you hate your mother?”
    “Because it’s all her fault!” The accusation came from somewhere deep in my core. Like lava it bubbled up and out, obliterating everything in its path. There was no reason or logic left, just the searing pain.
    I fell to my knees in the foyer, shards of glass tearing at my flesh. My eyes burned. I wanted to cry, to let it out, but no tears came.
    “I should have been keeping an eye on the girls, but I was so busy watching her, making sure she didn’t do anything crazy, that they wandered off.” Speaking softly didn’t dampen the ugliness of the admission. I hated my mother because of my own failure to protect my little sisters.
    “You are going to feed me soon, I hope.”
    Disbelievingly, I turned to give the scaly little guy the evil eye. Here I was, pouring out my heart, and he was worried about his stomach?
    “Typical male,” I muttered.
    God flicked his tail, a sure sign he was displeased. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “It means that the minute I start talking about my feelings, you go and change the subject. Typical. A guy says he wants to know you, but that’s a lie. All he cares about is food, sex, the latest app on his phone, or the score of the game.”
    “There’s a game involved? I like games!”
    I began sweeping up the broken glass with short, choppy strokes. “Never mind.”
    “No. I want to understand about this game.”
    “There is no game! I just meant guys are always checking on a baseball, football, or basketball game.”
    “I enjoy more intellectual pursuits. I am not into sports.”
    “I didn’t say you were.”
    “You did say I was a typical male.”
    I considered throwing the swept up shards at him, but he was too well protected by his cage. I’d just have to sweep them up again.
    “Just to be certain I’ve assessed this situation correctly: you hate your mother, you hate your aunts, and you hate all males. Is that correct?”
    I shook my head. Geez, when he put it like that, it made me sound like the most bitter, lonely woman on the planet. No wonder I’d been reduced to talking to a lizard. “I don’t hate my aunts. It’s just that they drive me insane.” I winced at my unfortunate choice of words. “And I don’t hate men.”
    “Then what’s with the unprovoked male bashing?”
    “It wasn’t unprovoked! You—”
    “All I said was that I’m hungry.”
    I took a deep breath. If men are from Mars, and women are from Venus, that must mean lizards are from Zargon. We were never going to understand one another. “Fine. I’ll feed you.”
    I hauled myself to my feet. A million splinters of pain set my knees on fire. Looking down I saw glittering chips of picture frame stuck through my pants. “I just need to get this glass out of me first.”
    Carrying the dust pan, which tinkled with every step, I limped into the kitchen. I dumped the contents into the trash can before hobbling into the bathroom where I grabbed my first-aid kit.
    I glanced at the light fixture above the sink. A light bulb had blown out in the morning, but being late for work, I hadn’t had time to replace it. As a result, it was too dark to perform minor surgery.
    Walking lamely back into the kitchen, I turned on all the lights and slumped into a chair. This practically put me at eye-level with the lizard.
    “You’re going to need tweezers.”
    “They’re in the kit.”
    “And antiseptic.”
    “It’s in there.”
    “And bandages.”
    “Thank you, Doogie Howser. I think I can treat my own wounds.”
    His tail flicked, but he stayed mercifully quiet.
    Gritting my teeth against the pain, I used my fingertips to pull the biggest shards of glass out of my knees. It hurt like hell. I tried to remember whether I had any Percocet left over from the root canal I’d had three years earlier.
    “Can we watch Wheel of Fortune ?” the lizard asked.
    “You like Wheel of Fortune ?”
    He nodded. “I’d like to