A Tragedy
The Short Story of
Fox & Tango
By:
C. Desert Rose
of the
All Authors Publishing House
https://allauthorspp.net
Copyright 2014 C. Desert Rose & All Authors Publishing House
ISBN:
9781311970718
“Oh shut up and kiss me!”
“But-” before Tango could finish, Fox had her full, heart shaped lips pressed against his—tight and demanding. She was owning him at that very moment, and he liked it. He felt a sudden wave of weak knees, and liked that too. What was she; a witch? Because, this spell that she had over him was too much to resist. She demanded, and he gave in each and every time. Did that make him a masochist? If it did then he didn't mind. He'd be a masochist until the day he died for all he cared.
Fox's curvy and firm body was pressed up against him, snug and desirous. Her plump, round bottom wasn't too far out of his reach, so since he was locked into her kiss he figured that he might as well have at it.
“Hey!” Fox squealed, abruptly pushing him off of her and swatting at him. “Did I say you could do that?”
Smiling like a vixen, Tango shrugged and a look of mischief crossed his face. “You didn't say I couldn't either.”
“Ass.”
“Mhm.” He winked. His penetrating hazel eyes twinkled in the daylight, and his mouth curled into a sideways smirk.
“Get over here.” Fox pulled him against her again, and as always he let her.
He loved how well her height complimented his. He could rest his head on top of her without any trouble at all.
What was it about her that made him run into a tizzy? Maybe it was her shoulder length curly black hair, or her deep, big and powerful dark brown eyes. Was it the lovely tone of her flawless dark skin? Whatever it was, he was keen to being at her mercy until kingdom come.
Her kiss was like water in the desert. Like warmth on a cold winter’s night. There was also something about the alpha female demeanor, and beguiling coquetry that she combined so well. Oh how he loved it!
He, on the other hand, made her crazy. Sometimes she wanted him, sometimes she didn't. Sometimes she needed him around her, and sometimes she wanted him far away from her.
How could this guy have such a hold on her, she wondered? His impact on her was so powerful, that although she knew that she undoubtedly loved him, at the same time, he made her emotions spiral out of control. It was in her mind that type of love which fit the “can't live with him, can't live without him” description.
Probably it was his eyes, or his shoulder length, dusty blonde hair—she was content with pulling on it ever so often. She loved the freckles that crossed his cheeks and speckled his nose. As well as his pierced ears. It was like a fantastic mixture of nerd and bad boy.
Kissing him with ownership, she pressed herself so hard against him that she could feel every nook and cranny of his body. What was and wasn't covered by clothing. It pleased her, so she curled her right leg around his left calf. He moaned softly into her mouth.
Teasing him, she pulled away and gave him the glance of a well-trained she-devil. “You like that Buddy?”
Playfully, he questioned. “Buddy? Who's this 'Buddy' person? Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Oh shut up!” He snickered again. She wrapped her one arm around his neck, and with the other she grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged at it ever so gently. With the movement of a skilled seductress, she tipped her head, slightly opened her mouth and slipped her tongue into his mouth. After a moment or so she pulled away. “You know? You're so much sexier when you're not talking.”
“Is that so? Well, I guess you just want me for my body,”
“Brains are overrated.” She replied with a sensual wink.
“Fair enough.”
She smiled then reached back in to take full advantage of this scrumptious make-out session.
“Mhm...” Fox and Tango heard someone stiffly scratch his throat. “Shouldn't you two be in class?”
Like a bolt of lightning they jumped apart.
“Sorry Mr. Preacher, Sir.” Said Tango in his soldier voice.
“Taylor Woods, I believe that you should be in English right now.” Tango's eight years of military school showing themselves clearly as he stood at attention, hands tied behind his back and eyes forward. It wasn't until high school that he'd been given the choice to attend a regular school.
“Tango Sir.”
“No. Taylor.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
“Oh grow some balls, will ya Tango!” Came Fox's slick voice.
“Felicia...?”
“Hello Mr. Preacher.”
“There is no need to address Taylor in such a way. Watch your language young lady!”
“Okay.” She replied as she kicked a rock on the ground.
“Now, off to class. The both of you.”
Running off Tango and Fox, hurried back to class.
“See you after school?” Tango asked already knowing the answer to the question. Fox nodded and opened the door to her Geometry class.
Fox felt anxious. Why on earth was Tango taking so long? She didn't like waiting; but in all truth, for him, she'd wait a lifetime. Still, that didn't mean that she had to like it.
Pulling her bag of plain M&M's out of her jacket pocket, she emptied them into her hand and began the tedious yet customary process of separating them by color. This had become a habit. Idiosyncrasy, yes, but a habit nonetheless. One that she was happy to indulge in every time she cracked open a bag of M&M's.
Popping a hand full of green ones into her mouth, she began to pace. What in god's name was taking Tango so long?
That was it! She'd had it with waiting. She popped the red ones in her mouth, then took off to Tango's last period class; shop.
From the distance she could hear some rustling behind the trailer class room. It was funny when the thought occurred to her that you could only find these kinds of mobile-home-class-rooms in Florida. She'd lived in a couple of different states and it was only in Florida where she'd seen them.
The noise became louder and it was suddenly obvious that it was the sound of boys fighting, hidden from public. What the hell is going on? She picked up her pace and made a quick dash in the direction of the noise. There she saw them. A gang of four—maybe five—boys beating on Tango. Tango was on the ground curled up into the fetal position. He was bruised, beaten, blood trickling off of his lip. Fox lost her composure.
“HEEEY! Stop! Stop! Get off of him! HEEELP!” There were no adults or officials around to help them.
She jumped at the guys that were beating on Tango and piggy backed one of them. Posted on his back she wrapped one arm around his neck and with the other hand she began to punch his face. The guy was swinging her to and fro, attempting to get her off of him. Still the others in the group continuously beat on Tango. No matter how hard Tango tried to fight back, he was simply outnumbered, and frail in strength.
In a sudden movement, the guy whom she was attacking succeeded at getting her off of him, and with a jolt she went flying. She felt her cranium crash against something extremely hard; then within seconds she'd lost consciousness.
Minutes turned into hours and when Fox finally opened her eyes the sun had set. Her eyes weighed heavy and for a split second she had forgotten how she'd gotten here. A sharp pain pierced the back of her head and neck. Lifting her fingers to assess the cause, she brought forth blood moistened finger tips. In that instant she remembered.
Like a woman gone mad, she jumped from her place and searched for Tango. He was about
ten feet from her, and in the dark it was hard to see his condition from where she stood.
She crawled to him. He was still just lying there. “Tango?” No answer. She shook him. “Tango?” Nothing. “Tango please? Answer me.” A huge knot was forming in her throat. “Tango!” This time she screamed obligating him to hear her, but he still did not move, nor did he say anything.
“Oh my god! No! No, no, no, no, no! Please god no!” Pulling his limp body onto her lap, she checked for a pulse. None was found. “Nooooo! Please god noooo!” She could no long hold back the sobs that came. Cradling him in her lap, she rocked him back and forth willing him to come back to her, but Tango was no longer there.
After a few seconds, she started screaming at the top of her lungs for help. For anyone to help. No one answered. They were there, in complete solitude with no help. Placing him gently on the ground she reached for her back pack. It was tossed on the ground with a rainbow of plain M&M's surrounding it. She reached in it, and pulled out her cell phone. It was dead. “Oh god,” she whispered in agony. “God why?”
She had no choice. She'd have to drag him from here and find help somewhere else. The moonlight mixed with the streetlights and the area around her glowed in orange. Death, doom and fear filled the air around her. She was alone, only accompanied by the dead body of the guy that she loved. She did what she thought was right and gathering what strength she had left, she tugged and pulled him to the front of the school building.
Once they'd reached the front, from a short distance away she saw a security guard driving around in a golf cart.
With her voice shaking, her knees about to buckle and with tears blinding her she called out to him. “Sir! Sir! Help! Please help me!” Without delay the guard went running in her direction.
What was left of the night went in a blur. She recalled police questioning her, lots of flickering lights, news reporters, paramedics tending to her wounded head. People... lots of people. And before she knew it she was in her room, curled up in her bed. Her knees were to her chest and her arms were wrapped tightly around them. Her face was tucked into her knees and she sobbed without control.
Why did this happen?
Finally standing, she walked to the bathroom, and stared in the mirror. All she could focus on was her appearance. Her bloodshot eyes, her untamed mane and her soaked, colorless face. Her mind seemed choppy. She was only able to process bits and pieces of the happenstances.
Then she went to bed.
Some time had passed—weeks in fact. In all of that time Fox couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she would see Tango's lifeless body, splayed on the concrete floor, drenched in blood, clothes torn and bruised from head to toe.
The funeral had come and gone and now it was just Fox with her memories. Memories that haunted her each and every day.
She didn't feel like life was life anymore. It was just a series of days that melded together into this continuous, unending, tormenting nightmare. She just went to school, having no interaction with anyone—just her and her heartache. People, so called friends, had stopped talking to her. Was it because they didn't know how to talk to the girlfriend of a dead guy? Maybe. But she didn't care anyway. She only had a half a year left, so lack of socialization wasn't anything she worried about. Besides, she preferred the silence. In the silence she would be interrupted and could focus all of her energy on remembering Tango.
Everything in her life reminded her of Tango, and she couldn't make herself get rid of his pictures or any memorabilia. She needed these things. It was her connection to him.
“Fox, I love you.” His voice was soft and watery. Whimsical and mysterious.
“Tango? Is that you?”
Getting up from her bed, she walked to the window of her room and looked out of it. There was nothing outside.
“Felicia...” came Tango's wispy voice again.
“Taylor please? Tell me where you are. I need to see you.” Refocusing her eyes, she jumped at what was right in front of her. “Tango?” He was there, in the window. Not behind it, not in her room—this was certainly not a reflection. He was inside of the glass. From the glass he reached his hand out, trying to touch her. She reached back. Their fingertips met, but did not touch as the glass was the dividing factor.
Fox couldn't help herself. She started sobbing all over again. “Tango, why did this happen? Why you? Why?”
“Fox, don't cry. Please?” His voice was no longer as ghostly as it had been just moments ago. “I need you to be strong. Can you do that? Can you be strong?”
She nodded and wiped away her tears.
“Fox I need you to be strong. Hang on... for me.”
“Bu- but... how?”
“I'll help you, if you'll let me.”
She nodded again.
“I love you baby. I have to go now.” His image began to fuzz.
“No. Please Tango, please don't go. No!” Before she could finish her plea, he was gone.
With a start, Fox was awake and sitting up in her bed.
That day Fox got ready for school and was off—as she always was. There was no difference in her situation. Okay, maybe there was one; she was losing her mind. That dream was so real. She really felt like Tango was there. Like he was really talking to her. She couldn't shake it. Couldn't let it go. However, there wasn't anyone she could tell about it. Everyone that she knew had already dubbed her as “the girl that lost her mind after her boyfriend got killed” and no longer spoke to her.
There was nowhere she could turn for help, no one to talk to. She basically just had to sit there and go crazy all on her own.
After Tango was killed, Fox couldn't get used to dressing in her daily attire. Those clothes that drove him crazy. The ones that he couldn't get enough of.
Now her day to day garb was black. She, contrary to popular belief, was still in mourning. The fact that everyone acted as though nothing had happened didn't fit in her head. She simply could not comprehend how everyone was acting as though nothing had happened.
And she was the crazy one? Pff. Yeah right.
As soon as the class bell rung, while all of the other kids were heading to class, Fox trotted off to the girls' rest room. She hated being here, but she'd promised herself that she needed to finish school. So while everyone was running through the hallways in order to make it to class on time, Fox was hiding in the girls' room.
The second bell rung. She peeked out of the door to make sure that there was no one out in the hallway. Pushing each stall door open in the rest room she assured herself that no one was there either.
Good, good.
Now she could let it out. The knot in her throat had been pestering her ever since she'd arrived. Now, she could let out the stream of tears that she'd been holding back. How much longer would this last? How much more time would she have to cry for him?
Like a flood, they coursed down her cheeks. “Oh god Tango. How much longer am I going to have to miss you? I can't believe this. Why'd you leave me?”
A sudden rush of cold rolled up and down Fox's spine and her hands became ice cold.
“Not much longer...” came the chilling, ghostly voice.
Fox was frozen in place. Her eyes, which were fixed on the sink in front of her, had grown to three times their size. She was trembling without control, but still had not said a word. She had to be hearing things. Everyone was right, she was losing her mind.
“Fox.” Came the unnerving whispered voice of Tango. “You're not crazy. I'm here.”
Fox felt like she was going to pass out. There was no way that he was there. No way! She refused to look up. She had this distinct feeling that should she look up, her theory would be proved wrong.
“You're not crazy.”
With that last sentence, Fox felt a cold hand touch her right shoulder. She jumped. “Holy shit!” She turned around and there was no one there. Not a soul. This caused her to quake like a bowl full of Jell-o. She turned back around to face the mirrors in front
of her, just above the sinks.
There he was.
Fox started to scream, but covered her own mouth with her hands. She shot around to look behind her again and he wasn't there. She twirled to the mirror again and there he was. Right behind her. Clear as day. Once again he lifted his hand to touch her shoulder and she felt the touch.
Upheaval washed over her—a cataclysm of confusion and panic.
Lifting her right hand to her right shoulder to feel if he was there, she felt nothing, but in the reflection of the mirror her hand was on top of his.
“I swear to you baby. You're not crazy. I'm here.”
Her voice was shaking, so much so that she could barely get anything out. “H-h-h-how i-i-is th-th-this possible?”
“I don't know. One minute I'm with you, then the next minute I'm with you again. I don't know where I am when I'm not with you. When I'm not with you it's like I don't even exist. I wish I could explain it.'”
“THIS is freaking insane!” Still her eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets.
By this point any attempt at making sense of it all was totally forgotten. Crazy people didn't need to make sense of anything. Crazy was crazy. End of story.
“Fox, remember what I told you?”
She shook her head like a lunatic. “What do you mean, what you told me?”
“Be strong Fox. I'll help you,” Tango continued.
“Wait! The dream?” She was at a loss for words.
Tango nodded. “Yes. The dream. Do you remember it?”
She nodded her response, but her nod came off maniacal. “You kidding me right? You've gotta be flipping kidding me!” With the last word she pounded the sink in anger.
A hard crackle, a shatter, then a crash was heard and with that Fox raised her hands to her face—they were bleeding.
Shivering now from a mixture of emotions she looked in the mirror once more. Tango was gone. Then she looked back down at her hands and the sink, they were all intact. Fox was so incredibly confused. Within moments someone came walking into the girls' room.
A Tragedy: The Short Story of Fox & Tango Page 1