I heard myself thinking, "boy, the expensive cars never feel like you're driving a hundred and fifteen miles an hour," and looked at the speedometer, to confirm how fast I was traveling up the Pacific Coast Highway. 115.

The last time I'd driven to his house, it was for sex. We didn't have sex that night, we didn't have sex until The White Party in Palm Springs-- but tonight I was going to get was I was coming for. Blood.

My hands gripped the steering wheel as my mind wandered back.

Seeing Mark Fitzgerald for the first time at Andrew's garage sale six months ago. Feeling my heart skip at how handsome, how secure he was. Seeing the look on Andrew's face when he saw Mark moments after I did.

Feeling Mark's intense heat from his mouth gripping mine on New Year's Eve. Right there, in public, in front of everyone-- with Drew only feet away-- kissing me brazenly with a fierceness I loved.

Then having Mark attack me in the bathroom of Mocha Daze. His roughness, and again-- his confidence, his security in who he was. He didn't think of himself as an animal, but the rest of us did!

And then seeing Drew walk into that bathroom. Turning behind me, seeing Mark smile... Smile! The gall! He had planned the entire thing from beginning to end. I didn't care any longer what happened to me and Andrew because I wanted to kill Mark Fitzgerald.

I had worked my entire life for what I had: a great job, a wonderful man to share my life with, and a home. I'd even done what I thought was the hardest thing to do in my life-- come out to my parents.

Now, everything had vanished because of one man. This man.

I pulled into his driveway, slammed on the brakes, turned off the motor and heard the crashing waves of Malibu.

*****
"Mark!" I screamed, pounding on his front door. In my hand, a baseball bat from my trunk.

"Fitzgerald! Goddamnit -- open the door and face me, you son-of-a-bitch! I know you're here-- open the door!!!!"

Nothing. It was quiet except for the crashing ocean nearby.

I went around the side of the house, looking in the windows. The house looked empty but his car was there. I knew he was somewhere in the house!

Leaping a fence, I landed on the beach sand just beneath his house. I jumped up and grabbed the bottom of his terrace -- swinging myself around and finding myself standing outside his living room on the wooden deck.

I tried the doors-- all locked.

Having left the baseball bat on the sand to scale the terrace, I looked for something to pry a sliding door open... nothing.

Finally, in frustration -- I picked up a large, heavy beach stone, smooth from the ocean. I heaved it at the door -- the entire thing shattered and glass flew everywhere.

I crossed into his living room, screaming, "MARK!" Louder and louder, cursing and shouting for him to show himself.

But he wasn't there.

Mark was gone.