by J , Louise
“Why doesn’t she trust you?” Joe looks confused.
I’m finally experiencing the whole what goes on behind closed doors thing. To everyone outside, we probably seem perfect. I think we are in many ways, but what people don’t pick up on is Brooklyn’s insecurities. They see the confident side to her. They and she have no clue about the kind of shit that goes through my head – that’s another door altogether.
“She knows all about me, doesn’t she? It seems to be a problem sometimes.”
Although, I’m not entirely sure the problem lies solely with me and what I’ve done. Her shit runs deeper. Or maybe it is me. Fuck it! Alcohol time. I tip my bottle to my lips.
“Tonight we’re getting wasted, brother,” Gerard states. “Fuck all that shit with Brooklyn and Saffron until tomorrow. We’re following these beers up with something that stings on the motherfucking way down. We’ll start off with something tall, dark, and damn tasty, and I’m not talkin’ ‘bout that smokin’ hot chick over there. Though, I wouldn’t mind ending the night all up in her.”
“Shit, let’s do this.” This is exactly what I need tonight.
Right, so things are a little blurry now and I don’t even know how many fucking cocktails I’ve had. Gerard’s a bastard when it comes to these things.
“Man, I miss our single days. Fuck, we had some good times,” Gerard says. He knocks back the last of whatever that shit is he’s drinking.
“You need to figure your shit out, motherfucker,” Adam says to him.
“Boy, you’ve been pussy-whipped your whole damn life. Fuck that,” is Gerard’s response.
“If putting my wife first and treating her like the queen she is makes me pussy-whipped, then I’ll fuckin’ own it – I’ve got nothing to prove. You should try it sometime,” Adam says.
“What the fuck is in this?” I ask Gerard, holding up my glass containing a green colored something. I lost track right after the Sake Bomb. Or was it the Mai Tai?
“I can’t disclose that type of info, sorry, brother. Who’s for another?” he asks, getting up from his chair.
“Nah, I’m done,” I tell him.
“Me too,” Joe says.
“One for the road. I’ll choose.” Like he didn’t choose every single one so far.
“Don’t give me the same thing. Just get me a Bud,” Joe says.
“Make that two,” I say.
“Don’t get me anything,” Adam says.
Gerard heads to the bar and he’ll bring us back whatever he decides he wants to.
Five minutes later, four glasses of whisky land on the table.
“Guess who’s here?” Gerard says to me, as he sits down.
“Who?”
“Dude, I said guess. Here’s a clue. She fucks like a demon bitch.”
Adam laughs. “How the fuck do you know that? Ah shit, don’t answer, I can figure it out myself.”
I look behind me, scanning the bar. It’s quieter now. Shaking my head, I turn back. “He doesn’t know shit,” I tell Adam.
“I’d totally love to fuck the shit out of her,” Gerard says. He homes in on me. “Don’t you miss that?”
“What?”
“The freedom to take that ass anytime you like?”
“No. Why the fuck would I?”
“Where do I start? Not that Brooklyn ain’t hot. For sure she is, and she’s got that sexy accent going on, but all this stress. Mia never stressed you out, and you’ve been fucking her for years. Brooklyn’s been on the scene two minutes and she’s messin’ with your head.”
“You have no clue,” Joe says to him. “It’s not the same thing.”
“Mia doesn’t even compare to Brooklyn,” I say, though Gerard really wouldn’t have a clue what I’m talking about.
I knock back the Jack and embrace the sweet heat in my throat. “Fuck me.”
“Yes, please,” a female voice I know all too well says, coming up behind me. “How’s it going guys,” she says, putting on that slow, seductive tone she uses when she wants to get her way.
Next thing I know, Mia’s hand slides across my upper back, under my locks, and rests on my opposite shoulder. Her hip presses up against my shoulder that’s closest to her.
“Mia!” Gerard says, grinning. “What’s up, girl?”
Joe leans back in his chair, cupping his hands behind his head. His lips curve wide, the fucker wants to laugh. I’d like to know what the hell he finds so funny.
Reaching up, I gently move Mia’s hand off of me. I’m pretty damn sure that was pushing the boundaries.
She pulls up a chair and sits down, at the head of the table, between Joe and me. “Just in town for a couple days, working and visiting the folks. What you guys up to tonight?”
Forearms resting on the table, she leans forward attacking us all with her alluring perfume that reminds me of … fuck what it reminds me of, I don’t give a shit. And I don’t need to look at her to know what she’s displaying, sitting like that.
“Ah, just hanging out, you know? Man talk and all that,” Gerard says.
What the fuck is this shit? Joe and Adam snicker. I’d really like to know why.
Mia’s gaze slides from Gerard to me. “How’s it going, Dane?” She’s using that voice again.
“Good. You cool?”
“No, not really. Somebody’s taken my favorite man away from me.”
“I wouldn’t call it taken, I was more than game.”
“More than game,” Gerard pipes up. “He’s all pussy-whipped now, kisses at the end of text messages and shit. He’s completely off the market.”
“Ain’t that a shame?” Her stare lingers on me. I can almost feel her desire.
She already knew the situation, I made it clear to her when she text me weeks back. This is a woman who always gets what she wants. Definitely not in this case, though.
“Goodnight, Mia,” I tell her.
Smiling, not at all offended, Mia leans close enough to whisper in my ear, “I’m still gonna think about you when I fuck myself. Let me know if it doesn’t work out.”
Up she gets and off she glides like a cat in heat that has all the time in the world.
There was a time that talk of hers would’ve had me hard in seconds. Now all I feel is suddenly sober and ready to head home.
Gerard chuckles. “Man, that’s restraint. Weren’t you even a little tempted?”
“Why would I be? Thanks for the backup, anyway.”
“Cool, we’re buddies, we stick together, right? I figure that might get me some good karma also.”
“You’ll need to save a country to make up for the shit you’ve done.”
“I’m not that bad. C’mon, I’m not. This is all for the greater good.”
“If ever there was a deluded motherfucker it’s you,” Adam says to him.
“And kisses at the end of text messages?” I ask. “Is that the type of shit you do?”
“Hell yeah – some chicks like that. Makes ‘em feel nice. I figured you did it with Brooklyn.”
“No. A period or occasionally an exclamation mark at the end – nothing more, nothing less.” Brooklyn doesn’t either, she just puts in those emoticon things. I’m conflicted over whether to object to his pussy-whipped statement. Adam made quite a good point. Fuck.
Joe leans forward, folded forearms resting on the table. “I’ve never seen you look so awkward, man,” he chuckles, “shit.”
“I’d have a hard time convincing Brooklyn that having a woman draped all over me like that was innocent on my part, if that shit got back to her. Especially if she found out we have history. It was only hours ago Leona left here. You know yourself people are way too quick to talk.”
I grab my cell. No messages. It’s two-thirty a.m. I call Brooklyn and go straight through to her voicemail.
As we step outside the bar, the cool breeze strikes my face. Walking home might be the best idea. The four of us fall into stride with no spoken agreement. Rewind a few years and three of us wouldn’t
be heading home alone, as we are right now. Rewind just a few months and that would still be the situation for Gerard and me.
Random bullshit is the focus of conversation as we walk. We don’t live in the same neighborhood, so the guys will get a cab at some point. We approach a night club with a bunch of people standing outside with their backs to us. We thread through the collection of bodies and continue down the street.
I realize I don’t even know where Brooklyn went with Kayla. Why the hell didn’t I ask Leo–
“Holy shit!” Gerard shouts.
I look at him, about four feet ahead of me.
“Is that?” he says pointing down the street, his pace picking up.
“What the fuck!”
Like bulls, the four of us charge toward a sight that has me wondering if I drank myself into oblivion and now I’m seeing shit. As I get closer I can’t even focus right, my vision is fucked with confusion, which is abruptly replaced with rage.
It all happens in the blink of an eye. I lift Brooklyn up from behind, with my arms around her waist, and pull her away from a guy the size of the Incredible Hulk, who she’s screaming at from the top of her voice. Leona and Kayla are screeching at him, too. Some flimsy brunette, next to the dude, is hollering right back at Leona and Kayla, who Gerard and Adam are now trying to cool down. The big-ass motherfucker is looking at Brooklyn with fierce, narrow eyes, and I can’t even tell what the fuck he’s saying.
Everything but the guy’s face becomes nonexistent to me, but I’ve got Brooklyn in my hold, and she’s wriggling around trying to get free. Joe steps to the guy, but I’m not happy with the way he’s staring at Brooklyn. I release her and turn to the son of a bitch and the next thing I know a stiletto flies past me and straight into the dude’s head.
Brooklyn attempts to charge at him. I block her, lift her, and hoist her over my shoulder and move down the street away from the scene. I ignore the hands grasping at the back of my jacket and her demands to be set free.
When I’m satisfied with the distance between us and them, I set Brooklyn down. The moment her feet hit the ground and she’s upright, she’s ready to go at him again. I pin her to me. “Brooklyn, what the fuck are you doing?”
“He’s scum, let me go,” she yells, pushing against my chest.
I tighten my hold on her. “Go and what? Are you trying to beat the motherfucker?”
She’s struggling against me like crazy. I glance back there and I can see Joe and Adam are talking to the guy. Gerard’s between the three girls who look like they want to kill each other.
“You need to calm down, Brooklyn. Stop. Now.”
She stills and looks up at me. “You can’t tell me what to do,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Right now I can. Stop wriggling and stay still.” Fuck, she’s putting everything into her bid for freedom again. I grip her arms at the tops and ease her back a little. “Stop this shit right now,” I tell her keeping my voice low, but firm.
She holds my gaze, her lips pressed tightly together and her chest moving rapidly with her heavy breathing. Who’d have thought Ms. Dancer had a temper like this. Her stare flits between me and down the street where the others are. She yanks herself out of my grip.
“You don’t have to hold me so hard,” she says to me with a solid tone, at the same time pulling off her remaining pump.
“If I was holding you hard you wouldn’t have gotten free. Don’t even think about it,” I warn, as she flinches like she’s weighing up her chances of getting past me. “I’ll pin you to the ground if I have to. Why are you so determined to get at that guy? What did he do to you?” I’ll fuck him up myself if he’s touched her in anyway. I scan her quickly, and all she looks is drunk and angry.
“Nothing. He thinks it’s okay to hit women, though. Someone needs to defend his girlfriend if she can’t do it herself.”
“Hey, man,” I hear Gerard say. He approaches with a silver stiletto in his hand and passes it to Brooklyn, who looks at it like she doesn’t know who it belongs to.
“Thank you,” she mutters, as she takes it. She drops both shoes on the floor.
Gerard’s gaze comes back to me. “Joe’s escorting Leona and Kayla back to their boyfriends. Apparently they’re inside that club. We figured Brooklyn’s staying with you now–”
“I’m going back with them,” Brooklyn interjects.
“No you’re not,” I tell her.
She challenges me with her eye contact. “Yes, I am.”
“The only place you’re going is with me.”
“Uh, I’m gonna head back to … yeah, whatever.” Gerard moves away.
Brooklyn’s brows draw tight. “Since when do you tell me what to do? You don’t own me.”
“Tonight, sweetheart, I do tell you what to do.”
We stand glaring at each other. She’s damn serious and way too fucking rebellious for my liking. I’ll be fucked if I’m letting her go back in that club.
Brooklyn’s gaze shifts to her left and a small, hesitant curve touches her lips. The tap tapping of high heels tells me it’s a female approaching, so I don’t move my focus from Brooklyn. She’s totally fucking wasted. I definitely feel sober now.
“Babe, here’s your stuff,” Leona says, giving her a black coat and purse.
“Where’d that guy go?” I ask Leona.
“Joe and Adam made him get a cab.” She looks at Brooklyn, who’s staring at the ground. “He made us sound like proper psycho bitches,” she says.
“I bet he did.” Their eyes meet and then they hug.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Leona says. She glances at me. “Sorry about all this.” Turning away, she starts walking back down the street to Xavier. It looks as though they’re leaving now.
Brooklyn grasps her purse between her knees and starts to slide an arm into her coat. I go behind her and take over. Once it’s on, I move around to the front and button her up.
She grabs her purse and hooks the strap over her shoulder. Glancing down at her pumps, she frowns like she doesn’t know what to with them.
“Let me help you with those.” I crouch down and raise her right foot, ready to slip the first shoe on. I feel the light press of her hand on my shoulder, as she supports herself. Once both stilettos are on, I stand and take her by the hand. As we go to walk, she stumbles into me.
“Sorry,” she mutters. I scoop her up and hold her in my arms. “I can walk, I just need a– I think I’m gonna be sick,” she says placing her hand over her mouth.
Fuck me, this just gets better.
Forty Three: Brooklyn
With me draped pathetically in his arms, Dane enters his apartment and shoves the door closed with his foot. Setting me on my feet, he stands me up and steadies me by holding my shoulders. When he’s certain I won’t topple over, he lets go, turns on the light, and unbuttons my coat and takes it off.
Whilst he starts to remove his leather jacket, I slip out of my heels and bend to retrieve my handbag from the floor. Bad move. The world spins and a rush of nausea grips my stomach like a tightly clenched fist. “Oh, fuck,” I mumble with all the clarity of a six-month old baby.
With my hand over my mouth, I upright myself and rush through the bedroom to the bathroom. I slam into the doorjamb as I enter. It’s barely lit from the moonlight shining through the small window, but there’s enough gray illumination to find the toilet.
Dropping to my knees, I raise the lid with my free hand and proceed to hurl what feels like my entire stomach contents into the bowl; champagne, champagne, onion rings, champagne, chicken burger, oh and tequila – waaay too much info.
I’m not quite sure when the lights came on, but during my fit of puking, Dane came in and he’s now sitting on his haunches, right fucking next to me. I had a close shave on the street, but managed to avoid this humiliation.
The sting in my throat makes me cough before I can speak. I drag my hand over my mouth to wipe away the wetness. “No, no, no,” I grumble lamely, with my vo
ice rebounding off the porcelain hole. “You cannot watch me toilet hugging. Go away.” I try to push his shoulder, to get him to move away, but he’s solid in place and doesn’t budge.
“You should’ve thought about that before you got yourself into this state,” he replies.
As he tucks some strands of hair, which came loose from my chignon, behind my ear the act carries a tenderness that makes me want to cry.
But his tone couldn’t have been more unsympathetic. Cold.
Whilst contemplating my reply I also measure the potential for another round of toilet hugging. I think it’s safe. “It stinks, how can you bear it?”
“That’s not really my concern right now.”
That flat voice. It’s not one I’m familiar with.
I look at Dane. And properly, for the first time tonight.
Reaching forward, I pull the lid down and press the flusher. Folding my arms on top of the lid, I rest my head sideways on my forearms and look at Dane again. “You’re angry with me,” I whisper.
“I’m all kinds of pissed at you right now, Brooklyn.”
I can see it, right there in his eyes. The golden brown with lovely flashes of green look as hard as granite, not a trace of the caring warmth I’m familiar with is present. Yet, he’s so controlled. With the rigid hold of his body, the tone of his voice, and those eyes, I can tell he’s furious. Yet, he’s completely controlled.
Why can’t those other thuggish, bastard men do that?
Rather than scared, I just feel disappointed that I’ve caused this.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Getting wasted? Getting involved in a situation that had nothing to do with you and putting yourself in danger? Throwing your damn pump at a guy built like a brick shit house? A guy who clearly has no problem with hitting a woman? What exactly are you sorry for?”
“I’m not sorry for intervening or for throwing my shoe at him. I hate men like him.”
His brows draw tight, jaw muscles flexing. “Fuck you, Brooklyn. Who do you think you are? What precisely do you think you can do to a son of a bitch like that? Why not ask one of the other men on the roadside to help? Why not call the cops? Do you have any idea what I would’ve done to him if he’d put his hands on you?”