by Anthology
I shake my head quickly: too quickly. It’s clear I’m nervous. I need to be better than this. I need to act stronger, and firmer. “No, no one. Well, kinda – my friend, Katie.”
I don’t know why I said that. It was like my tongue ran away without me. My cheeks blossom with heat. I wonder if I should back away. This guy isn’t letting me through. That much is clear. But I don’t trust what he’ll do if I turn my back on him.
“Your friend?” The man with greasy hair asks. He raises an eyebrow. “So there’re two of you? What brings a girl like you to a place like this?”
“A girl like me?” I ask. Again, I chide myself inside. I know I need to disengage. I need to pull away from this conversation. This guy’s no good. But I’ve never been one to back down from a fight. I’m a good girl, sure – but I’ve got a spine.
The man’s hungry eyes drop away from my face. He pats down the pockets on the front of his denim jacket. “Girls that come here,” he grunts, “don’t dress like that.”
My cheeks heat up again. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Greasy-hair finally finds what he’s looking for. A pack of cigarettes and a light. He flicks the base of the pack, and a cigarette shoots out. He plucks it from the pack with his lips, and lights it one-handed.
“That supposed to impress me?” I ask. My tone is cutting. A flicker of anger flashes across Greasy-hair’s face. I guess he’s not used to girls talking to him like that.
“What’s your name, bitch?” Greasy-hair growls. He takes a step towards me, and breathes a thick, choking cloud of cigarette smoke into my face. I cough, and take a step back. My fingers clutch against a red plastic cup in my right hand, and the plastic crackles. My hand is splattered with rum and Coke.
“Hey!” I protest. Plus I’m already moving. I know better than to stick around in a place like this. It’s time to run.
But I’m too late. I barely move a couple of yards before Greasy-head’s fingers grab my jacket, tugging me back. He then wrenches my shoulder back, and the joint explodes with pain.
“Hey!” I say again. This time my voice is tinged with fear. “Get your hands off me!”
The awful man grunts. I can feel the desire surging through him. He turns me to face him. “Tell me your name, and I’ll think about it,” he says.
“Olivia,” I reply. I raise my voice. I have a feeling that if I allow this man to scare me into silence, bad things will happen. “Liv.” Maybe if I shout loud enough, someone will hear. Maybe someone will help.
The man’s lined face wrinkles into a terrifying smile. He can’t be much older than thirty, but his skin is wrinkled and yellowed from hard living.
“Some Christmas party, hey, Liv?” Greasy-hair breathes, tickling my lungs with another cloud of foul cigarette smoke. It reminds me of my dad; that’s never a good thing. “You like the music?”
I nod. I don’t really, but I know better than to anger this man, right now. I don’t want to give him any reason to react badly. The way his fingers are wrapped around my shoulder, I know he outmatches me in strength. Heck, he’s got at least eighty pounds on me. It’s not muscle, nowhere near, but if it comes down to it, it’s not going to matter one little bit.
He nods along with me. “I’m Russell, by the way. You can call me Russ. It’s real, right? Raw.”
“Huh?” I reply. I don’t know what Russell’s talking about. There’s no way I’m going to call him by some pet name, either – not even in the peace and quiet of my own head.
“The music, Liv,” he snarls, stroking my right arm from top to bottom. My fingers grip the red cup once more. It feels like a constant, something to hold onto.
Russell pushes me back against the wall with the hand he’s wrapped around my shoulder. His other keeps stroking my arm. It’s a slow, steady, incessant stroke. It makes my skin crawl.
“Get off me,” I say through gritted teeth. The words come out with more conviction than I’m feeling right now. I look left and right. Where on earth is Katie?
“Who you lookin’ for, darlin’?” Russell asks, following the journey of my eyes. His fingers make it to the bare skin at my wrist. I don’t want to look down and see it. I don’t want to make it real.
“I told you,” I said, my voice wavering, “Katie. My friend. She’s with Jason –.”
I break off. I can’t remember the guy’s surname. I wish I could, but Katie goes through so many guys.
Russell leans forward threateningly. His foul, hot breath assaults my cheeks. “She’s the bitch who’s got Jace wrapped around her little finger?”
Anger flares up inside me. “Don’t you dare speak about Katie using that type of language. Now. Get. Away. From. Me.” I hiss, punctuating each word with a stab against Russell’s chest with my extended right index finger. His face betrays the slightest hint of surprise. I guess he didn’t think I had that kind of fight in me. I guess there’s a lot he doesn’t know about me.
“The fuck did you just say to me?” Russell spits, flicking my face with spittle. I don’t wipe it off. I stare him down, doing battle with my eyes. No one speaks about my friends like that – even if that friend did drag me to a party I never really wanted to attend.
“I said get away from me. Who the heck do you think you are? You don’t get to tell me where I can and can’t go. You’re disgusting.” My voice climbs higher and higher, louder and louder. I know I must be disturbing someone, anyone; that’s what I’m hoping for. Katie must be in one of these rooms. I’m going to get her, then get out of here.
I wrestle my shoulder free of Russell’s fingers. He seems momentarily stunned. It’s like he’s not used to people – maybe not used to women – standing up to him like this.
I can’t believe that. He’s not the kind of man that inspires respect: fear, maybe, if you’re walking down a dark alleyway late at night; but sure as heck not respect. I can’t imagine any woman who would be happy to go along with this man’s foul-mouthed bluster.
“You don’t talk to me that way,” Russell growls. “No one talks to me that way.” His voice is slurred. He’s louder now, too. I guess whatever filthy drug he put up his nose in the bathroom is starting to kick in.
One of the many chipped, once white-painted doors that line the hallway clicks open.
“Dude – what the hell?” A guy says, poking his head through the crack in the doorframe. I can’t see much of him. He’s white, with black hair – but that’s all I can make out. “Keep it down, alright?”
Russell doesn’t look round. “You stay the hell out of this,” he growls. “Ain’t none of your business.”
My eyes dart between the two men. I knew it was a bad idea to come here. I never wanted to get in the middle of some pissing contest. I don’t care whose dick is bigger – I just want to get the heck out of here.
Except, maybe I do care…
“Russell?” The black-headed man grunts, sounding surprised. “Is that you? Who the fuck said it was okay for you to come?”
My unknown hero shoulders the flimsy door aside. It clatters against the wall. He steps out of the room, shirtless. His upper body is bare and open. And what an upper body!
I’ve never seen anything like it. His stomach is flat, and crisscrossed by a gently rolling series of muscled mountains. His arms pop like they were chiseled out of stone, and as he rolls the knots out of his huge, defined shoulders, they bunch and pop.
“Piss off, Dylan,” Russell grunts. He doesn’t look round and that means I can see his face. Suddenly, he’s not looking so confident. I wonder who this Dylan is. Suddenly, I want to know. I want to know a lot. “This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.”
Dylan pads out of the room – his room? I can’t tell. He’s barefoot, and wearing dark indigo denim jeans rolled up at the ankles. The top button of his fly is undone, and there’s no belt holding his jeans up.
No, they hang at his hips. They dip down, until that perfect ‘V’ is on full display. I’m not lying when I say that he�
��s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen – in real life, or on TV. I can’t tear my eyes away from him.
“Oh?” Dylan growls dangerously. I’m jolted back to what’s going on around me. I can almost taste the tension in the air. My eyes flicker back and forth between Russell and this new guy. My savior? I still don’t know.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Russell growls menacingly. He wipes his palms on his jeans, and spins round to face Dylan. It’s like he’s getting confidence from somewhere; maybe whatever he put up his nose. “This ain’t your place, Dylan. Get your nose out from where it doesn’t belong. Me and Liv here –.”
Dylan glances up at me, ignoring Russell’s tirade entirely. “Liv? That you, doll?” He speaks softly, with a lilt to his voice I can’t quite pin down.
I nod. I’m entranced by Dylan’s eyes. The hallway is dark, and poorly lit. Still, there’s something different about the gemstones glinting on his face. I can’t tell what it is, but it’s drawing me in.
“It’s a beautiful name,” he says, smiling. I feel a thousand butterflies doing backflips in my stomach. I need to cut it out. This is no time for romance. But it’s hard. His smile starts to make the rest of the world fade away.
“Don’t you fucking make a move on her,” Russell growls. “I got here first.”
I can’t see Russell’s face, but I can imagine it. I’m guessing he’s wild eyed. Whatever chemical is running through his veins is a nasty one, and it has him hopped up and angry. I’m no expert on fighting, but I don’t see how Russell is going to come out on top in this fight. Dylan has six inches on him – and where Russell is heavy with fat, Dylan is striped with muscle.
Dylan glances up at me once more. This time his eyes are hard. The glint that had flashed in them before is gone. This is different. It’s hard, and searching. It’s like he’s looking deep inside me. “Oh?” He asks, rolling the word around his tongue.
Irish. The word pops into my head. Dylan is Irish. I blink, shaking the distraction from my mind. I need to stay focused – especially now.
“Oh?” Dylan repeats. “That’s how this is, is it Russell? You see a pretty girl and you make your mark on her, and she’s yours?”
Russell growls, making a sound that isn’t words; it’s just pure rage. He flinches, and for a second I think he’s going to rush towards Dylan. I think that would be a bad idea. But I’m happy to let him make his own mistakes…
“I said stay out of it, Dylan,” Russell warns. “It ain’t your business.”
“Maybe I’m making it my business,” Dylan replies, walking right up to Russell and staring him down. Russell quails underneath Dylan’s powerful glare. It’s only slight – his shoulders’ hunching, his brow wrinkling, but I see it, and I know Dylan does, too.
Dylan shoulders Russell aside. The long, greasy-haired bully backs away, and stands watching open mouthed. It’s like his brain crashed half way through figuring out what to do next.
Dylan walks up to me. I feel like my feet are glued to the floor. He doesn’t say a word, just moves closer and closer until he’s standing right in front of me. He fixes me with a stare that rocks me into silence. “That alright by you, doll?”
“Sure,” I croak. My voice barely makes it into the realms of a whisper. I find myself nodding. “Sure, that’s alright by me.”
Dylan leans forward, reaches out with his arm and caresses my jaw line with his fingers. A couple of seconds ago, Russell’s touch felt like an assault. This – this is completely different. It’s delicious. My whole body breaks out in goosebumps.
“This guy causing you trouble?” Dylan asks softly. His accent is soft – barely there, in fact. It’s just the icing on the cake. I could let him whisper sweet nothings into my ear day and night and I’d never get bored. I know that right now.
I nod.
“Bitch!” Russell explodes, starting forward. In his anger, it looks like he’s forgotten how scared he was of Dylan just a few seconds before.
I hear a thump from inside one of the other bedrooms. I don’t pay any attention to it. My mind is focused on what’s happening right in front of me. Dylan spins on the ball of one of his bare feet. I notice how calm he is.
Russell rushes forward. He looks like an ox – all blinded rage and sheer bulk. Dylan, in contrast, looks like a wild cat. He’s light on his feet, and lithe in size. His black hair glistens. It’s just long enough to run a hand through. He reminds me of a panther.
“You sure you want to do this, Russell?” Dylan asks, dancing to one side – out of Russell’s reach. It’s like he’s offering a warning – a way for Russell to escape the predicament he’s pulled himself into. But Russell is neither big enough, nor clever enough to take the way out.
I’ve got two men fighting over me. Some girls would kill to be in my shoes. I never wanted this.
Chapter 2
Liv
Russell growls. His face is consumed by anger. Black clouds are flitting across it like the leading edge of a hurricane. It’s like he’s lost all connection with reason. At this point, I don’t think he could speak a coherent sentence if his life was on the line.
Dylan shrugs. “Fine by me.”
Russell rushes forward again, but this time Dylan stands his ground. Behind the action, another of the hallway’s doors clicks open, and Katie rushes out. Her naked body is wrapped in a white bed sheet, and her eyes are open wide.
I’m not sure where to look. So I keep my eyes on Dylan’s perfectly sculpted body. I can’t tear my gaze away from it. I think Katie is shouting something, but whatever she’s saying, I can’t hear it. Blood is rushing in my ears – pounding like the waves crashing on a rocky beach. It’s blocking everything else out.
Anyway, I’ve only got eyes for the man risking his body for me. I’m living the fight as though I’m the one whose body is on the line.
Russell throws a punch, and Dylan ducks it easily. It’s like the bare chested man is operating on a completely different world than his potbellied, long-haired opponent – as if gravity is lighter for the tall Irishman.
“Come on,” Dylan chuckles, “is that all you got?”
I cover my hand with my mouth. I trust my protector to wipe the floor with Russell – I don’t know why, but I do – but I can’t help but wonder if he’s wise to antagonize the man. Russell’s one of those guys who has a very thin skin. He’s one of those men who can’t take any assault on his pride.
“Fuck off!” Russell roars. My lips crinkle in a grin. I shouldn’t laugh. This isn’t funny; but it is. Anger is all Russell has got on his side. Dylan has so much more. Russell swings again.
Dylan ducks, crouches, and then explodes upwards. He drives a balled fist into Russell’s sloping stomach, and then hits him with a left hook in the jaw. He takes a step back, ducking from any reply, but he needn’t. Russell’s beaten with two blows. The fat, greasy man who terrified me so much collapses to his knees. His hands jump to his stomach and cradle it. He makes a sad, moaning sound.
Dylan charges forward once again.
“No!” I scream.
Dylan stops mid-charge. His foot was flexed, and knee bent, he was ready to drive his foot through Russell’s body. Instead, he skips over the man’s heaving, dribbling frame. He stopped – for me. There’s something powerful about that, even if I’m not sure exactly what it is right now. I feel like my brain is scrambled.
Dylan lands light as a feather on the other side. He’s barely breathing harder than I would at the end of a Sunday morning walk. He cocks his head at me. “Everything okay, doll?”
I nod. I don’t trust my voice for a second. I gather the strength to talk, closing my eyes. “I’m fine, but please – just don’t hurt him anymore. Look at him; he’s done.”
Dylan licks his lips. I can tell he’s dying to keep fighting. I wonder if it’s natural – if the adrenaline pumping through his system is driving him on, even though he looks calm on the surface.
Katie steps out of the bedroom, looking stunned. Lik
e me, I think she lost the ability to talk for a few seconds. “Liv – what the hell happened out here?”
My back slumps against the wall behind me. I feel like my feet are going to give way beneath me – like the stress of the past few moments is finally catching up with me.
“Mike,” Dylan growls in the background. “Give me a hand dragging this punk out into the snow.”
That, I’m all for.
Then Katie’s in front of me, blocking everything else out of my vision. She grabs the plastic cup in my hand and presses it to my lips.
“Here,” she whispers, “you’re shivering – drink this. Get it all down you. It’ll help, I promise.”
I knock the rum and Coke back. It’s strong – I didn’t pour it myself. I’d never mix one like this. But right now, I’m glad someone did. The alcoholic beverage burns its way down my throat. It warms my stomach. I let the cup fall to the floor. It lands with a light clatter.
“Shit,” I moan, sliding down the wall. I surprise myself. I would never normally use language like that, but if I was ever going to start, now is the right time. I put my head in my hands, and I rest there. It feels like a couple of minutes pass. It could be longer.
“What happened, Liv?” Katie asks me, her voice soft. “Did he – did he hurt you?”
I shake my head. No. “I thought he was going to,” I say, my mouth dry. “But he, but Dylan interrupted just in time.”
Katie crouches down beside me. She strokes my cheek, just like Dylan did. It feels nice, but nothing like as good as when he did it. The alcohol burns in my stomach. It warms me right through. I hear a loud bang and a thud as a door collides with a wall, as – I assume – Dylan and Mike toss Russell’s still-prone body out into the snow.
“Man, I’m so sorry, Liv. I never should have brought you here.” Katie whispers. She feels so guilty. I can see her regret in the expression on her face. She knows what Christmas means to me and – more importantly – what it doesn’t mean.
“Don’t be sorry,” I say. I try and stand up. Katie was right – I am shivering. I’m operating on autopilot. “You’ve got nothing to feel guilty about. I wanted to come.”