Finding Mayhem

by Layla Frost

Fuck, I was tired. Not just physically—though I was sure as shit that, too. Riding up the coast to Maine, then down to North Carolina before returning home to Massachusetts within two days would wear on anyone. After all those hours on my bike, my ass hurt. My thighs ached like I’d done a thousand squats. My arms muscles still twitched. Toxic sludge energy drinks and shitty gas station coffee were all that fueled my body. But it wasn’t the physical exhaustion that got to me. It was the mental kind. I was being a pussy. Knew it. Owned it. That shit might have been hard on me and my brothers, but it was far worse for the people we helped escape their nightmares. Their monsters. And there were always people. Always nightmares. Always fuckin’ monsters. And that was why the exhaustion had sunk deep into my bones, leaving me defeated. Discouraged. Kicked in the damn crotch and spit on. ’Cause it was never-fuckin’-ending.