Cocktales

by The Cocky Collective

  I guess I’d fallen off the wagon since he’d been gone.

  “Does he even give a shit?” Knight barked, sitting up abruptly. His zombie eyes narrowed, his face bathed in dim red light. “Does he not think it’s weird that he’s fucking a skeleton?”

  I felt as if I’d been punched in the gut. My mouth fell open and my eyes welled with tears. There he was. The motherfucker who’d pushed me away time and time again. The one who humiliated me when we were together and stalked me when we were apart. The one who flew into violent rages at the drop of a hat.

  The boy I’d just slept with was Ronald.

  This motherfucker was Knight.

  Feeling ugly and exposed under his disapproving sneer, I pulled my ripped wifebeater closed with one hand. “You didn’t seem to mind this afternoon.” I wanted to sound bold and bitchy, but the words came out weak and wounded instead.

  If I could have run away I would have, but I was covered in cum and in desperate need of a new shirt. Schooling my emotions, I crawled away instead, in the direction of the restroom.

  “Oh, I fucking mind,” Knight’s voice called out from the hallway as I sat on the toilet. I had just begun to pee when he pushed open the door and flipped on the light. He’d tucked himself back into his camouflage pants but hadn’t bothered to put on his shirt.

  “I mind that while I was off getting shot at in Iraq, you were back here fucking some piece of shit dropout who doesn’t give two fucks whether you live or die.”

  “He didn’t drop out, he got expelled,” I corrected, trying to stay calm as I wiped at the mess between my legs in vain.

  “Will you hand me a wet paper towel?” I sighed, extending my open hand.

  Knight did as I asked, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared. I could almost see the anger radiating off of him in waves as he wrung the white square out in the sink.

  I snatched the cloth out of his hand and stood to clean myself up. I could feel the humiliation staining my cheeks pink, which only upset me more. I was trying so hard to act unoffended, but I knew my stupid fucking face was giving me away. “You did this,” I snapped, turning my back on him as I wiped the evidence of our blissful reunion away. “If you don’t like what you see,” my voice broke, revealing a glimmer of the insecure teenager I tried so hard to hide, “then maybe you shouldn’t have left in the first place.”

  I threw the paper towel into the wastebasket, followed by my decimated wifebeater, and pulled my panties and jeans up over my ass.

  “Better yet,” I pushed past him without making eye contact, “maybe you shouldn’t have come back.”

  “Punk.” Knight grabbed my wrist, but I twisted it free and continued down the hallway. In the year that we’d spent together, I’d learned how to get out of all kinds of restraints.

  I’d had to.

  I stomped into the main tattoo parlor with Knight right on my heels. Black leather tattoo chairs lined both sides of the darkened room, and beyond that, a cash register sat atop of a long glass case filled with merchandise. Squatting down behind it, I began digging through stacks of Terminus City T-shirts. The only light in the room was the glow from the streetlights and headlights outside.

  “Punk, I’m sorry.” Knight’s black combat boots stopped mere inches away from mine.

  “Good.” I finally found an extra-small on the bottom shelf.

  “I just…hate to see you like this.”

  “Fuck you,” I spat, unfolding a smaller version of the T-shirt Knight had been wearing earlier.

  Knight’s arm shot out and cleared the top of the glass case in one fell swoop. I ducked and covered my head as stacks of flash art notebooks and tattoo magazines crashed to the ground.

  “Fuck me? Fuck me?”

  Shit. Time to go.

  I turned and marched back in the direction of the fire escape door, pulling the T-shirt on over my head as I walked.

  “What did I say when I left, Punk? Huh? What the fuck did I say?” Knight matched me stride for stride. “I told you I loved you. I told you I was doing this for you. I told you to find somebody fucking better! And what did you do? I wasn’t even out of basic training yet and you were already off getting high and fucking that piece of shit, Harley!”

  I snatched my purse up off the floor and pulled open the fire escape door. Night had fallen, but there were still plenty of cars on the road and people milling about downtown. Thank God. Whenever Knight got like this it was best to have witnesses.

  Ignoring him and fighting back tears, I dug my keys out of my purse and hit the button to unlock my doors. Jerking my driver’s side door open, I turned to face Knight. I was about to say something catty and unfair before speeding off dramatically into the night, when Knight cut me off.

  “What’s that?” he asked, his eyes trained on the white fabric filling my backseat.

  I followed his gaze. “It’s a fucking garment bag.”

  “What’s in it?” His tone was accusing.

  I threw my hands up. “Oh my God! It’s not good enough that you have to know where I am and who I’m fucking at all times, but now you want to know what’s in my backseat too? It’s a dead body, okay? I better go before it starts to smell.”

  Knight pinned me with a murderous stare, his pupils pulling the truth from my lips like twin black holes.

  “It’s a fucking prom dress, okay?”

  “When?” Knight hissed through gritted teeth.

  “Saturday. Listen, before you give me the third degree about going with Harley—”

  “Oh, you’re not going with fucking Harley,” Knight sneered. “You’re going with me.”

  Five

  Inch-long pixie cuts don’t exactly lend themselves to up-dos. Juliet and I tried spikes, tiny curls, lots of little barrettes, one giant flower barrette, and even a few stupid headbands before I finally just parted it on one side and slicked it all down with hair gel.

  Fuck it.

  With our hair finally done, Juliet and I stood side-by-side at her bathroom sink, caking on the eyeliner—mine liquid, hers kohl.

  “So, no word from Harley, huh?” Juliet tried to sound casual, but I could tell she’d been dying to ask me all day.

  “Nope,” I replied, emphasizing the p.

  “Wow. What…a fucking…asshole.”

  I shrugged, reaching for my mascara. “Whatever. I didn’t want him to come anyway. He’d probably just get fucked up and do something to get us thrown out, and then I’d have to wait with him in the parking lot until the limo came back while he tried to stick his hands up my dress.”

  Juliet snorted out a laugh. “Girl, that’s exactly what would happen. You’re better off with no date than fucking Harley. Or a gay one, like mine.”

  Juliet beamed. She was going with JayShawn Butler, her buddy from school. It was too damn bad he wasn’t into girls because the two of them together looked like Will and Jada Pinkett Smith. Until he wagged his head and snapped his fingers in a sassy little arc, that is.

  “I have a date,” I said barely above a whisper, swiping on another coat.

  “You what?” Juliet’s head snapped in my direction, causing her freshly curled braids to bounce around her shoulders.

  I swallowed, staring straight ahead into the mirror.

  “You’re not gonna like it.”

  “If you say Knight, I swear to God…”

  My eyes flicked to hers in the mirror as my face contorted into a guilty grimace.

  “No! BB, what the fuck?” Juliet screeched. She hated Knight for the obvious best friend reasons, but also because he kinda sorta beat the ever-loving shit out of her baby daddy one time and carved BB IS WITH KNIGHT MOTHERFUCKER into the hood of his car.

  “Oh my God, you’re such a fucking idiot.” She shook her head.

  “It’s not my fault!” I whined. “I couldn’t tell him no, Jules. You know how he is. He’s fucking crazy!”

  “Oh, I know.” Juliet nodded in sarcastic agreement. “I also know that that asshole is not riding in the
limo with us.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. I didn’t even invite him to dinner, I swear.” I held my hands up. “I told him where the dance was, and he said he’d be there. That’s it.”

  Juliet gave me a nasty side-eye, then suddenly burst out laughing.

  “What?” I asked as she gasped for air and blotted the corners of her eyes.

  “I was just wondering what kind of tux Knight would wear…” She cackled. “And then I realized…it’ll probably be made from the skin of his victims!”

  “Ha, ha.” I rolled my eyes. “Very funny. He’s a psychopath, not a cannibal.”

  “Hey!” Juliet shouted in a defensive tone. “Cannibals are psychopaths too.”

  Now I was the one laughing my eyeliner off. “Oh my God,” I snorted. “I fucking hate you.”

  Goth Girl and Steven, her Lord Licorice-looking boyfriend, showed up at Juliet’s house around five, giggling and falling all over each other like they’d smoked a pound of weed on the way over. They were in head-to-toe black, per their usual, but happily, Steven had left his black lipstick and fishnet shirt at home.

  JayShawn showed up right after them, wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo with a crisp white shirt, black bow tie, and a shimmery black and gold paisley jacket. I tried to talk him into trading outfits with me—I was already way over the whole high heels/strapless bra thing—but he said blue wasn’t a good color on him.

  Juliet’s little brother watched the baby while Juliet’s mom took pictures of us in the front yard. She had us stand in front of a cluster of overgrown azalea bushes with the sun in our faces, then yelled at us to stop squinting.

  This was a stupid idea, I thought, turning my head from left to right on command. My first date stood me up, and according to Juliet, my second date might possibly kill and eat me.

  “BB! Smile like you mean it!”

  Damn, woman. I cranked my phony smile up wider. My cheeks hurt. My feet hurt. And this stupid dress cost two hundred—

  “Ho…ly…shit.” Juliet muttered through her forced smile. “Look who decided to show up.”

  I heard the low, throaty rumble before I even turned my head. God, I loved that car. It was a ’69 Mustang fastback, fully restored, Boss 429 engine, matte black paint job, matte black wheels, and the sexiest loser driving it you’ve ever seen.

  As long as his tattoos were covered up, that is.

  Harley parked in the cul-de-sac in front of Juliet’s house and stepped out of the car. At first glance, he looked amazing. Blond pompadour messily pushed back. Black suit. White shirt. Skinny black tie. Chain wallet. Simple. Masculine. Badass.

  But the closer he got the more comical his outfit became. The sleeves of his suit jacket stopped at least three inches above his wrists. The button looked like it was going to pop off at any second and put someone’s eye out. Harley’s tie had literally been tied in a knot like a pair of shoelaces. And speaking of shoes, he was wearing his ratty old black combat boots, which helped to hide the fact that his pant legs were also at least three inches too short.

  “What the fuck is he doing here?” Juliet whispered through her teeth like a ventriloquist.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I whispered through my teeth as he approached.

  “I’m takin’ you to prom, lady.” Harley flashed me that panty-melting, baby-faced, bad boy smile, and all four females, plus JayShawn, sighed in unison.

  Standing next to me, Harley wrapped his arm around my shoulders, kissed me on the side of my head, and posed for the camera.

  Fuck. Me.

  Six

  “So…Harley,” Juliet smiled awkwardly as she took the seat to my left in the back of our white stretch Lincoln Town Car. “Glad you could make it.”

  I reached over and discretely pinched the shit out of her thigh.

  Harley was kicked back on my right with an arm around my shoulders and an ankle resting on his knee. He gazed down at me with genuine affection in his pretty blue eyes and gave me a little squeeze. “If my woman wants to dance, I’ma take her to a fuckin’ dance.”

  Not rolling my eyes was physically painful. His woman. He hadn’t even called me in over a week.

  “You look good, man.” Goth Girl deadpanned. She was sitting between JayShawn and Steven on the sideways bench seat, facing the wet bar. “Where’d you get that suit?”

  I looked around as all three girls, plus JayShawn, bit our lips and tried not to laugh at Harley’s shrunken, wrinkled excuse for formal wear.

  Steven was oblivious.

  “Thanks. I borrowed it from my brother.” Harley smiled at Goth Girl as if there was absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. “He bought this for a court date a while back.” Harley admired the fit. “It’s a little snug, but fuck it, right?”

  “Honey, do you mind if I…” JayShawn gestured toward Harley’s tragic tie situation with a look of pity on his beautiful face.

  “Fuck yeah, man. Do that shit,” Harley leaned forward so that JayShawn could fix his tie. “Just don’t make it into one of those little bows…No offense.”

  I laughed through my nose and turned my head to glare at Juliet, who was also about to burst. Shaking my head slightly, I mouthed, What the fuck do I do?

  She simply smiled with her big red lips and shimmered in her bright red gown and shrugged in amusement over my impending doom. “Drink?”

  By the time we got to the Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse in downtown Atlanta, the six of us were higher than the Bank of America building. Goth Girl had a brick of weed in her clutch bag. The limo driver had “accidentally” left a few bottles of champagne out, probably hoping for a fat tip. Steven had a silver vial of coke hanging around his neck under his shirt. And Harley had a flask full of tequila in his breast pocket.

  Or he did, before we got ahold of it. Now he had an empty flask, and we all had a bad case of the giggles.

  Our server, a middle-aged fellow who looked like he probably taught chemistry to little shits like us during the day, took full advantage of our inability to comprehend what was on the menu by bringing each of us the surf and turf, a side salad, a dessert, and a bill for five million dollars.

  That sobered us up real quick.

  We rode to the Fox Theater in quiet contemplation of our life choices.

  Me especially. I was minutes away from what had the potential to be World War motherfucking III. A jealous, rage-fueled, psychopathic Marine with a hair-trigger temper and unresolved childhood trauma was waiting for me, and I was going to walk up to him arm-in-arm with a scrappy, impulsive drug-slash-gun dealer who probably still carried a shiv as a memento from his days in the clink.

  My hands trembled, my armpits began to sweat, and “Someone’s Gonna Die Tonight” by a grimy little punk band called Blitz played on repeat in my mind like elevator music from hell.

  When the limo pulled to a stop underneath the twinkling white lights of the Fox Theater’s marquee, my stomach lurched, threatening to spew tequila-soaked chunks of lobster and filet mignon all over the off-white carpet.

  Someone’s gonna die tonight! Oi oi oi! Blitz cheered in my head, taunting me, as I stepped out of the Town Car. When fists didn’t immediately start flying, I stood up, a little wobbly on my stilettos, and looked around. The sidewalks of Peachtree Street were lined with smiling, sharply-dressed teens. Sequins and satin glittered under the marquee as they filed into the historical, Moroccan-themed theater.

  No one was screaming.

  No one was being murdered.

  In fact, there was no sight of Knight at all.

  I exhaled a deep, shaky sigh and glanced at Juliet. Her face contorted into a cringe that was anything but reassuring, and we shrugged at each other in mutual confusion and hesitant relief. Taking my elbow, Juliet ushered me into the building before Harley could offer to be my escort, just in case a certain pair of zombie eyes were watching.

  Once inside we had to check in at a table manned by four Peach State High School teachers. They wanted to see a student ID from
at least one member of each couple, and every student had to sign in and provide the name of their date. I scrawled our information with trembling hands, looking over my shoulder every few seconds.

  Student Name: Brooke Bradley

  Accompanied by: Harley motherfucking James

  Tucking my ID back into my shimmery silver clutch bag and praying Coach Johnson couldn’t smell the alcohol on my breath, I followed Juliet and JayShawn across the lobby to the photographer’s booth. Harley was right on my heels, but Goth Girl and Steven were already gone, probably making out in a corner somewhere.

  “Let’s get our pictures taken while our hair and makeup still look good,” Juliet suggested, staring at me as if she were trying to communicate something telepathically.

  “Um, don’t you think it would be better if we danced first and waited for the line to die down?” I replied with my mouth, but what I said with my eyes was, What the fuck are you doing? I can’t be standing here with Harley when Knight shows up!

  “Nah. If we do it now we can see what everybody’s wearing as they arrive. It’s good people-watching.” Juliet replied, cocking her head to one side and glaring at me.

  People-watching. She wanted to watch for Knight so we’d know when he got there.

  I nodded, my senses on high alert as I glanced at the front doors.

  “I can’t believe they let you in,” JayShawn laughed, clapping Harley on the shoulder. “Didn’t you get expelled a few years ago for punching the principal or something?”

  My cheeks reddened, but per his usual, Harley just laughed as if there was absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. He was so fucking cool it drove me crazy. I hated to admit it, but seeing him in that borrowed suit with his combat boots and chain wallet, looking effortlessly badass in a sea of stuffy rented tuxedos, had me questioning why we broke up in the first place.