Savage

By A.M. Bristow

A runaway groom has to face the mother of the bride he left at the altar. A teacher snaps under the pressure from his student’s entitled and disrespectful father. A woman takes matters into her own hands when a sexual assault complaint goes ignored. A stressed driver becomes reckless when she realizes she's being followed.

How far is too far when we feel we’ve been wronged? The answer is funny, satisfying, and sickening all at once. Savage is all the ways, big and small, in which we unleash our worst selves. It’s deliciously petty or unnecessarily ugly, depending on who you ask, but inarguably it’s harmful to everyone involved. Savage is what happens when we treat others as less than human, and they respond with a little less humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.M. Bristow
• Release date: Aug 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463798720

A.M. Bristow

A.M. Bristow is a Cuban-born writer raised in the United States who writes contemporary fiction when she’s not traveling and writing about that. In fiction, she explores the overreaching philosophical theme that hell is other people. She currently lives in the Czech Republic, where she gives life to her cynical thoughts.Bristow was formally trained and shaped by the world of academia, before abandoning her scholarly pursuits in psychology and education in order to dedicate herself to writing on a nearly full-time basis. You can find her insights and tips about travel on her blog, www.GnomeTrotting.com.Available books by the author include: Savage, Elskerinde: Confessions of the Other Woman, Crimson Sheets, and A Trilogy of Disappointment (and a dash of hope). You can connect directly with A.M. Bristow on Twitter.

Book preview

SAVAGE

A.M. Bristow

Copyright 2019 A.M. Bristow

Published by A.M. Bristow at Smashwords

Copyright © 2019 by A.M. Bristow

Published by A.M. Bristow at Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a completely fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

The line-cutter

The sauna

The investor

The boss

The wedding

The dinner

The teacher

The heater

The flight

The immigrant

The tailgater

The breakup

Acknowledgements

About the Author

The line-cutter

The familiar sound of the check-out scanners welcomed Matthew into his neighborhood grocery store. He had taken a half-day to go to a doctor’s appointment, but he needed to make a pit stop for lunch. He figured the grocery store deli would be cheaper and healthier than fast food. He marched right past the other shoppers who were lightly squeezing vegetables and idly pushing their carts while they looked at grocery lists. When he reached the deli at the back of the store, he found a small crowd of people waiting to be served. He let out a long sigh.

Matthew looked at his watch, already worried about the time. The ironic thing about the way doctors operate is that they could make him wait for an hour and a half after his appointment time, but if he arrived fifteen minutes late, they would cancel his appointment and charge him a $100 penalty.

He walked up to the counter and took the number 24. He looked up at the digital display which read 18. He quickly scanned the people around him to size up the other shoppers who had beat him to the deli counter. A large man in a suit holding nothing but a bottle of iced tea was waiting around, surely a 9-to-5er picking up lunch. Near him was an elderly man with a cart full of Ensure, bread, and bananas. Matthew prayed to himself that the old man would be quick about his order, but he looked like he might be the weakest link.

Nearby, casually browsing the refrigerated cheese section was a plump woman who looked like she was shopping for a family of eight. Her cart was already overflowing with each of the food groups well-represented. Though she was a few feet away looking unconcerned with the line at the deli, he could see that she was holding a small blue number in her manicured hand. Leaning impatiently against the covered deli counter was a guy who looked like he was in a bigger hurry than Matthew was. He was staring intently over the counter as though trying to make eye contact with the employee on the other side.

Matthew barely had 30 minutes to spare, but he distracted himself from the thought by pulling out his phone. As he browsed the day’s headlines and checked his social media, he heard the number 19 get called. He glanced down at his number again as if it might have changed since he had first looked.

The young brunette behind the counter turned to the old man to ask how she could help. Matthew recognized her from his frequent lunch visits, and he ordered the same thing so often that the girl would usually remember his favorite toppings.

I’d like half a pound of gouda and half a pound of low-sodium ham, said the elderly man. The girl behind the counter got to work, expertly and quickly slicing up his order. As the old man pushed his cart away, Matthew felt a small sense of relief.

Next up was the impatient guy.

Finally! he said to the lone employee handling the lunch rush. She smiled and apologized for the wait.

I know it’s not your fault, sweetheart. the man complained. But what kind of store doesn’t get someone else to help when there’s eight people waiting here? We’re all probably on our lunch breaks!

The small crowd around the deli sighed and shuffled around uncomfortably as Mr. Impatient decided to pay it forward by doing his part to waste everybody’s time.

We’re short-staffed today. How can I help you? the girl asked.

Let me get a meatball sub on wheat bread.

The girl started preparing his sandwich while the plump lady approached the counter to inspect the selection. At least she was already thinking about what she was going to order.

When number 21 was called, the businessman with his iced tea stepped up to the counter. He wanted black forest ham and provolone on rye with the works.

No pickles! he yelled, amending his order. Hate pickles.

As the girl put his sandwich together, the man walked over to the refrigerated drinks and replaced the probably-warm iced tea in his hand with a colder one.

The girl handed the businessman his sandwich before calling number 22. Everyone looked around for a brief second, considering the possibility that number 22 might have bailed because of how long this was taking. But from the end of one of the aisles came a young girl, waving her blue number in the air. Her boyfriend or husband or gay roommate followed her to the deli counter with a cart.

Son of a bitch, Matthew whispered to himself. He checked his watch. The only way he was going to have time to eat this sandwich was if he ate it in the car on the way to the doctor. Though he supposed he could also take it to the waiting room – there would be plenty of time to eat there. Just then, his alarm went off. He needed to take his medication. Having just recovered from a stomach ulcer, he couldn’t do that without having his lunch. He began to feel exasperated, and he started to wonder why he hadn’t just gone to the drive-through to pick up a burger instead.

Before long, number 23 was called. The plump woman with the full cart sidled up to the counter.

Hiii, she said patronizingly slowly with a single finger on her chin. Do you think I could try the peppercorn turkey?

Matthew widened his eyes, realizing he had mistaken her preliminary browsing for efficiency when it was actually uncertainty. He stood with his arms crossed and watched intently as the woman put a slice of turkey in her mouth and shook her head.

Oh no, I don’t like that at all. Can I just get a half pound of oven-roasted turkey?

Then as the girl behind the counter sliced and began to weigh her order, the lady stopped her.

Actually, do you mind slicing it a little thinner?

The deli attendant, her sweet demeanor never faltering, complied with her request and discarded what she had already sliced.

Can I get you anything else? she asked after handing over the wrapped and labeled package.

Yeah, the lady replied. Let me also get a quarter pound of cheddar and a quarter pound of Muenster. Slice it a little thicker than the turkey please.

As the girl got to work on her order, the lady started scrutinizing the hams again. Matthew began tapping his foot nervously. She must not be done.

Matthew looked at his watch again. His appointment was in 30 minutes, and it would take at least 20 minutes to drive there. He considered running out of the store, but he needed to have lunch to be able to take his medication. And his number was next; he couldn’t give up now.

As the girl returned from the slicer with her cheeses, the plump lady asked, Do you mind if I try the honey maple ham?

By now, a new batch of customers were waiting at the deli counter as the indecisive shopper did another taste test. A tall middle-aged man let out a sarcastic chortle while looking around at the other people waiting. He might as well have said, Can you believe this bitch?

I’ll take half a pound of that as well. Thin-sliced please!

After a couple of minutes, the girl at the counter handed her the wrapped ham. Everyone around the deli watched the interaction on pins and needles to see if she would order anything else. But thankfully, she just said Thank you and sauntered away with her full cart. Matthew breathed a sigh of relief and approached the counter before the girl even had a chance to call his number. She smiled genuinely at him, instantly recognizing him. If he wasn’t in such a hurry, he would have taken this opportunity to flirt with her.

Instead, he quickly got to his order, Can I please have a large sandwich on white bread with hickory smoked turkey and Swiss cheese?

Lettuce, banana peppers, and mayo? she asked knowingly.

That’s exactly right, Matthew replied, painfully aware that he has blushing. Thank you for remembering.

The girl put together his sandwich and handed it to him with a napkin. Enjoy your lunch, she said with a friendly smile.

Thank you! he shouted with a wave before rushing to the front of the store.

The cashiers looked just as busy as the deli had been. He scanned the aisles quickly and picked what looked like the shortest line in aisle seven. There were only a couple of shoppers ahead of him with relatively few items. As he waited, he began looking at the drinks in the refrigerated endcap. As much as he would love a bubbly soda, his stomach couldn’t handle it. As he reached inside to grab a water, a shopping cart sideswiped him and pulled into his aisle. It was the plump woman and her bloated shopping cart.

Excuse me, Matthew said to the lady. Sorry, but I was in line.

No, you weren’t, she responded, to his surprise. You were looking at the drinks.

Yeah… as I waited in this line.

The end of the aisle is not the aisle. You weren’t in the line! the woman persisted as she began to put her items on the conveyor belt.

What are you doing?! Matthew yelled. I was ahead of you! I have two items, and you want to skip me with half the store in your cart? I have a doctor’s appointment in fifteen minutes!

The lady merely shrugged, We all have somewhere to be.

Matthew stood in disbelief as other lines around him got longer and longer. The cashier in aisle seven either hadn’t noticed he had been in line or didn’t care to get involved. He wasn’t going to win this fight. He stood there seething while the lady who had cut him in line after making everybody wait at the deli unloaded her heavy cart item by item.

He looked at his watch again. He would definitely be late to his appointment.

When the woman reached the front of the line, she motioned to Matthew and said to the cashier, Can you believe some people? Chivalry is dead, I’ll tell you.

The cashier wasn’t interested in making small talk and remained quiet while she slowly scanned the lady’s items. As she finished ringing her up, she lifelessly read her total.

I have a coupon, the lady said, going into her oversized bag.

Matthew felt like he could crush his sandwich in his palm, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of reacting.

After the woman paid and packed her groceries, she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked away. But not before turning around and telling Matthew in a purposeful and condescending tone, It’s your turn now!

His eyes blurred momentarily and his heart pumped, making the veins at his temples throb – he thought he might pass out from the anger. After he paid for his sandwich and his water, he bolted toward the exit. The plump lady was almost at the automatic doors with her cart full of groceries. Matthew wanted to push her into oncoming traffic, to smash every single item in her cart on the floor. As he got closer, he spotted her phone sticking out of her giant open handbag, which was carelessly bouncing at her back.

Matthew tailed her closely out of the store until he was no longer under the watchful eye of the store cameras. In one fluid motion, he nabbed her phone from her purse and slipped it into his grocery bag. Feeling exhilarated by his unexpected reaction to her disrespect, he power-walked past her, turning around to give her a dirty look before hopping into his car.

None the wiser, she opened up the trunk of her SUV and started loading bags inside. Matthew wanted to stick around to see her reaction, but he didn’t want to get himself caught. So he started the engine and pulled away, watching her in the rearview mirror as he did so. It was only after he turned out of the parking lot that he took her phone out of his grocery bag.

She had a photo of herself at the beach as the lock screen of her brand new smart phone – oversized like her bag and her shopping cart. In it, she was holding up a peace sign and making a kissy face. It was obvious she was sucking in her stomach. He didn’t bother trying to guess the password, but he suspected it would have been her own birthday.

What a dumb bitch, Matthew said to himself. A few blocks away from the grocery store, he pulled into the parking lot of a Taco Loco and threw the phone into the rear dumpster before driving off.

The sauna

Since moving to Mountain View, Gabrielle had felt like a small female fish in a big pond full of dicks. Her first job had been at a start-up that was run out of some guy’s six-bedroom house. As the only girl on the team, she was subject to unwarranted advances, privy to their gross objectifying jokes about other women, and had her opinion constantly disregarded as less informed and less important.

Slowly, she had moved up in the industry, nabbing coveted desk space in the open office of a national tech company. They were the kind of company that based their office atmosphere on the Google workplace, full of perks to keep employees happy and productive. Employees had a gourmet canteen where they could have lunch or snacks throughout the day. They were allowed to bring their furry babies to work. And they had a full gym complete with a sauna and steam room available for round-the-clock use.

For Gabrielle, these perks meant that being at the office was more comfortable than being home, an apartment she shared with four other people. As part of her regular morning routine, she would get up and out of the house before a line formed for their one bathroom. By the time her roommates woke up, she was on her way to the office. There, she would wake herself up on the treadmill and in the sauna before taking a shower and getting to work. If she’d had a bed at the office, she would probably never leave.

On many of the early mornings, the office fitness area was mostly empty, save for one or two others. Coding at a computer all day didn’t offer many opportunities to socialize with her coworkers but when she was working out in the morning, she would occasionally make small talk with some of the other employees. That’s how she met Ben. Ben was on the company’s sales team, something that was obvious by his physique; most computer guys didn’t look so buff. Their work never had them intercepting at the office, but at least a couple of mornings a week, Ben would make an appearance at the gym. He usually did weight-training while Gabrielle did her morning runs.

One day, they crossed paths in the steam room.

I see you around here often but never at the office. Do you actually work here, or are you just squatting at our facilities? he asked.

She laughed. She could see that he was the kind of guy who had probably never had trouble with women.

I do backend stuff. I’m always plugged into a computer click-clacking away, coding software or working on a firewall, she told him, letting out a deep steamy breath.

Oh cool, he replied. How long have you worked here?

I think it’s been about 18 months now, she estimated aloud. How about you? What do you do here? You don’t strike me as a nerdy computer guy.

I am not, he said with a haughty laugh. I work in sales. Been here since this company was a baby.

Wow. That’s lucky, she said. Realizing that her comment might be misconstrued, she explained. I had so much trouble finding a good company to work for. I kept getting involved in projects that went nowhere.

Yeah, I know what you mean, Ben said. I’ve been in the industry a long time. Usually, these guys just don’t know how to market their product, and they don’t bother to hire someone to help them do that.

Someone like you? she said.

Exactly. You can’t get past the struggling garage start-up stage to where we are now without guys like me.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Though he was obviously quite full of himself, she felt like he was just charming enough to get away with it. Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t get a lot of male attention, but his confident tone and his obvious attempts to impress were kind of endearing. Or maybe it was his perfect teeth and his six-pack abs.

Feeling like she had nothing more to add to