Backstage

by A. m Madden

  “You won’t be laughing soon,” Ron threatens.

  “Your issues should be with Zane, not me.”

  “Really? You show up from nowhere. You practically lick his balls trying to get on his good side.”

  “I don’t lick balls,” I respond arrogantly.

  “Yet.”

  What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

  “Man, I have no issues with you. Zane fired you and asked me to play. That’s all of it.” I turn to walk away as a hand grabs the back of my shirt.

  “We’re not done.”

  “Get the fuck off me!” I twist out of his grasp. All my muscles coil in preparation of what’s coming. This fucker needed to bring reinforcements? I’m pretty certain I have enough anger to take them all out. Frick and Frack surround me and Ron comes closer until his toes are practically touching mine. In a flash, the other two each grab an arm and hook their legs around mine just as Ron’s fist slams into my gut, knocking the wind out of me.

  He sucker punches me over and over, and I all I can do is flex my abs in an attempt to protect myself. This fucker fights dirty. My body isn’t on the same page as my brain. My brain wants to kill this motherfucker. My body wants it to end. A punch to my jaw, another to my temple, another to my nose, break me down piece by piece. I struggle without success as the punches keep coming. One eye swells shut. I can feel blood trickling down my face. I have no clue where it’s coming from.

  He takes a step away, panting and waiting for a reaction from me. When I match his glare, he asks, “More?”

  “You’re a fucking pussy,” I say before spitting in his face.

  He winds up and lands one more punch at the side of my head.

  Then everything goes black.

  “We should have taken him to the hospital. You two are wrong. He could have a concussion or broken ribs,” a female whispers, but I can still hear her. Someone wipes my forehead with something cold and wet. The pain shoots right into my head. I wince, but don’t open my eyes.

  “He’s coming to,” a male voice says somewhere off to my right.

  “If he wants to go, we’ll take him,” another male voice responds, sounds like Bob.

  The cold wet thing is now swiped against my lips, and I wince again. It feels like every part of me is broken. I can actually feel pain in my fingertips and my toes. I scan my brain trying to remember what happened after they beat the crap out of me. I’m coming up empty. I have no idea how long I’ve been out, or what the fuck happened to me after I passed out. I can only assume that prick kept hitting me to ensure I got the message.

  “Trey. Trey, sweetheart, come on, wake up.” I now recognize the female voice as Mel’s. She skims her hand over my hairline, pushing it off my forehead. Part of me wants to open my eyes so I can possibly find out the details I’m missing in my memory, the other part wants them to get the fuck away from me.

  A soft hand wraps around my wrist and squeezes. “Trey, come on now. Wake up.”

  “No.”

  Bob laughs and says, “He’ll be fine.”

  “Trey, what hurts? Can you speak?”

  “Everything,” I say before opening one eye. I try to open both, but my left one isn’t cooperating. I reach up with my hand and feel a large fleshy bump that was once my eye. “What the fuck?” I ask to no one in particular.

  I look around to see Bob and Hank hovering by the end of my futon. Mel sits beside me as she resumes wiping my face softly.

  “How did…” Mel presses an ice pack against my eye, and the pain robs me of the question I was about to ask. Instead I wince again.

  “Sorry,” she apologizes. “But your eye needs ice.”

  “Ahhh fuck,” I say through gritted teeth.

  She ignores me and continues. “Hank found you. Someone ran into the bar screaming you were mugged.” I focus on Mel, waiting for her to continue. “I wanted to take you to the hospital. Bob said not to.”

  “Bob was right,” I admit. “I’m fine.”

  “Something could be broken. You need to be checked out,” Mel insists.

  I shake my head in defiance, “I’m fine.”

  She huffs from frustration, “Why do I bother? You three are asses.”

  “Kid, do you remember what they looked like?” Hank asks, ignoring Mel.

  I have to play this the right way, figure out how to handle them. I may need Bob and Hank to help me retaliate. Hank knows some scary dudes. I’d be more than happy to give up a chunk of change to fuck them up.

  “I wasn’t mugged.”

  “You know the fuckers who did this?” Bob asks as he subconsciously fists his hands at his sides.

  “Yeah.” I pause for a beat, and the short delay is enough to have Bob asking again. “Ron…his goons held me while he did it.”

  “Shit, Trey. Because you took his place?”

  “Yep. Those pricks never liked me. They’ve been waiting for an excuse.”

  Mel stands, releasing a few choice words as she paces. “This is not good. Not only should we have taken him to the hospital, we need to call the police.”

  “No!” I sit up, and the motion causes me to fall back down on my back in pain. With my jaw clenched tight I add, “No police.” Mel once again takes her seat at my side. The look in her eyes is one of pure pity. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine. I do this my way. Promise me you will all keep this to yourselves.” As I flip my gaze to each of them, they all look at each other.

  Bob nods, “You got our word, Kid. No worries. Whatever you want us to do, we’ll do.” Hank nods in agreement. Mel folds her arms, shaking her head instead.

  “Mel, please? Let me handle it. I was mugged. That’s the story.”

  She rolls her eyes and concedes. “Fine, but promise me if you don’t start feeling better in a few days, you’ll go to the hospital.”

  Knowing that won’t happen, I lie and agree, “I promise.”

  “And if those pricks lay one more finger on you, we call the police.” She hands me some painkillers and a glass of water. “Take these and keep that ice on your eye. It looks awful.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Don’t be a smart ass. I gotta go. I’ll be back later with some food, and don’t argue. Consider it payment for keeping my mouth shut.” I nod without argument. The guys also say they are leaving since it’s four a.m., but it takes another thirty minutes until they actually leave for real. Once they do, I force myself out of bed to go inspect the damage. The person looking back at me is unrecognizable. My left eye is swollen shut. There is bruising around my right one. A dark pair of shades should be able to hide most of it. My lip is busted up, my nose feels sore, but it’s thankfully not broken. I have a knot the size of a fucking golf ball on the side of my head. I remove my shirt to reveal huge welts and bruises covering my sides. My body looks like someone took a baseball bat to it. I definitely have a busted rib or two.

  Motherfuckers!

  I want to kill this bastard. Part of me wants to kick the shit out of him until he lays dead. I kick repeatedly at the tub until pain shoots up my leg. My intellect tells me that the best revenge would be to take his fucking job for good…to be better at it than he was. Mind-fucking him would be ideal. Screwing with him so well, he’ll wonder if he’s losing his fucking mind.

  How could I get close to him without getting near him? I’m not sure that he would come to Hank’s just to brag about what he did to me. My gut says that he’ll never show his face again. In any case, I should be prepared if he does.

  My head pounds from both my beating and my nerves. I’m wound too tight. Mel left the bottle of meds sitting on my table. I take four, completely aware that I already have taken two. They didn’t do shit, and I want to sleep for the next week. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move.

  I ease my body down on my bed, my mind racing with ways I can fuck those pricks up. The meds take over before I can formulate a plan.

  All I did all goddamn week was sleep, pop pills, and sleep some more. The p
ills numbed me, and my brain fought to keep my logic intact. I had moments of clarity where my brain tried convincing my body through the haze that I had to stop this shit. When my body was demanding more and more of the pills, my brain won and I flushed them.

  In spite of my self-intervention, I couldn’t leave my apartment yet. The rage tinged my blood as it flowed through my veins. I didn’t trust what I would do, and to who I would do it to. So instead, I stayed in my apartment, plotting my revenge, but getting fucking nowhere.

  That is until Hank told me he took care of Ron. He and Mel came by with dinner. He slipped it into the conversation, right between bites. At first I didn’t think I heard him right and asked him to repeat what he said. He said he got a tip and used it to his advantage. Turns out, that cocksucker has a very healthy heroin addiction and deals frequently. That’s all Hank divulged and basically all I needed to hear.

  Thank fuck that Hank came through, because I had nothing of substance. Every scenario I conjured up involved me taking a bat to his head, and every outcome landing my ass in jail. So Hank’s plan saved my ass. The universe is finally being kind.

  A few days after my attack, news spread of Ron’s arrest. Mel told me Zane has been running his mouth on how he saw it coming and that was the reason Zane fired him. Zane said pot and coke are cool, heroin isn’t.

  What an ass.

  “Open up, Trey.” Kate’s voice disrupts my silence as she pounds on my door. She’s been sending messages that she wanted to see me. I really wasn’t in the mood to see her, but today I happen to be horny and frustrated. When I pull open the door¸ her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

  “Wow, you look like shit. Does it hurt?”

  “No.”

  Kate traces a fingertip across my eye, which is no longer swollen shut. It’s just badly bruised. My injuries feel better, but she’s right. I do look like shit.

  Without waiting for an invitation, she grabs a beer before sitting on my bed. “I missed you,” she admits with a shrug.

  “Yeah? Why?”

  “You need it spelled out?”

  I drag one of my chairs over and sit before her. “You aren’t lacking for sex. So why did you miss me?”

  She looks insulted for about two seconds and then smiles. “I like you.”

  “Why? You barely know me.”

  “I know enough.” While sipping her beer she eyes me devilishly. “Does your ego need stroking? Here I thought just your cock did.”

  “They are one and the same, actually.”

  A tiny giggle escapes. “You do have a huge ego.”

  I sit back and wait for her to answer my question. She sits forward, her knees touching mine, but she doesn’t respond. Her pretty face smiles brightly, as if we are talking about the weather. Her blonde hair hangs loose around her shoulders. I can already see her hard nipples pushing against her flimsy tank top. I lean closer, bringing our faces a few inches apart.

  “Why are you here, Kate?” I ask, and she puts down her beer before taking both of my hands in hers.

  “Trey, why is it so hard to believe that I like spending time with you? Yeah, the sex is off the fucking charts, and yeah I can get some whenever I want, but I like being with you. True, I barely know you since I do most of the talking. I’d like to get to know you better.” She takes my hands and places them on her thighs and then places hers around my neck. “You’re the closest thing to a boyfriend I’ve had in a while. I know we aren’t exclusive. I like to pretend we are, though.” The look in her eyes is one of doubt, as if she’s trying to gauge where she stands with me.

  My suspicions are dead on. A few weeks ago I noticed a change in her. I’m not interested in a relationship. I’m also not interested in ending our arrangement. I like being with her, too. I won’t voice it, but I do. Besides the obvious, I do like her personality. I only look at it as frosting on her cake. The most important part, the single thing that attracted me to her to begin with, was the non-threat of her wanting more from me. Take that threat away and she’s just another clingy chick wanting a man.

  “Trey?”

  What the hell does she expect me to say?

  “Kate, you knew what this would be. If you are looking for a relationship, I’m not it.”

  “Why?”

  “Cuz I’m not!”

  I push my chair back, scraping it along the ugly linoleum floor. What the fuck? I was crystal clear when we started this, whatever this is. Actually, I know exactly what this is. Her words were friends with benefits…my words were fuck buddies. Either way, the rules are the same. So then why the fuck is she changing the rules?

  Wordlessly, I walk over to my fridge to grab a beer. I open and drink most of it while my back is turned toward her. I regret letting her in. It’s time for her to go.

  I turn back to face her, raking my hand through my hair from frustration. “Listen, Kate…”

  “I’m sorry,” she says interrupting me. “Forget what I said.” She walks the short distance and places her soft lips on the bruise on my jaw. While leveling me with her stare, she runs her tongue across my chin to my busted lower lip. With her lips, she helps me to forget that I’m pissed at her. I remain passive, unaffected on the outside. When she slips her one hand under my T-shirt and the other over my cock, she knows my true state. A small smile plays on her lips before she takes the beer from my hand. She places it on the counter and pulls me over to my bed.

  “Sit. Let me nurse you back to health,” she says and gives me a push. “That’s why I came. You need a good fucking to help you feel better.” She kisses my bruises and then my lips gently, over and over. Usually her hands pull on my hair. Today they stroke and caress. Usually we fuck each other with our tongues. Today she probes my mouth slowly. This is different than our other times. Most of the time it’s raw and primal between us. We don’t do gentle. My defenses are still up, and her loving gestures aren’t helping with my suspicions.

  Kate is falling in love with me.

  Her eyes hold me hostage as she steps back to remove all her clothes. They continue to do so when she grabs the hem of my T-shirt and drags it up over my head. Her small hands nimbly work my belt buckle while her lips kiss every visible bruise on my chest. While watching my face, she releases my cock from my jeans. Her hands sculpt over my hardness as her eyes stare straight into my soul. Her eyes are beautiful, so pale in color but so full of life. When I stare back, I feel a cold emptiness in my chest, or is it something else? Whatever it is, I don’t like it.

  She kneels between my legs and dips her head down to take me into her mouth. I lie back, stare at the ceiling, and succumb to the throbbing that’s in the base of my cock. I come hard into her mouth way too quickly. She takes it all and smiles once I have nothing left.

  “Needed that, huh?”

  “Apparently.”

  She removes my shoes, socks, and jeans before she climbs up my body. She’s not done. I am, though. The prick in me wants to dismiss her. I don’t want to sit here cuddling and chatting with her. I don’t even want to exert myself to give her some attention. I just want to lie here, and if she must stay, I’d like to get off on her again with minimal effort on my part.

  Because when I do get off, everything in my head halts. It’s the only time I am thoughtless. During that minute where I’m building and I can feel my cum traveling through my hard cock, there isn’t a thing to think about except releasing it all. I’m well aware that metaphorically I’m subconsciously releasing all my crap through my fucking cock. Which leads me to why I need sex like air?

  During sex, I forget.

  Shit, I feel like a fucking therapist analyzing every goddamn thing I do.

  “Where’d you go?” she asks as she draws lazy patterns over my chest.

  “I’m here,” I lie, still staring at anything but her.

  She leans on one of her hands, looking down at my profile. “Did I scare you?”

  “Kate, what is it you want from me?”

  “Whatever you’re
willing to give,” she admits and repositions her body against the length of mine. Her breasts press against my sore ribs. She drapes a leg over mine. Both her arms are wrapped around me. I feel like I’m suffocating.

  “I have nothing to give you,” I finally speak, several very long minutes later.

  “Okay, then I’ll just give it all to you. You can choose to take it, or not, but I’m still giving you all I have.” She straddles me, placing her warm pussy over my cock. It immediately hardens beneath her. She takes my bottom lip in between hers, and then drives her wet tongue into my mouth. I’m normally not a kisser, especially with the slow, soft romantic kind of kisses. If kissing is necessary, I use it as foreplay to fucking. Otherwise, I find it too intimate, too personal. She once told me she doesn’t kiss her clients for the same reasons that I have. It doesn’t go unnoticed that she’s kissed me more today than in the last few weeks I’ve known her.

  Kate buries her hands in my hair to deepen the kiss. The little voice in the back of my head is telling me to knock it off. That little voice is telling me to disengage. Usually, I have a tremendous amount of self-control. I’m finding it very hard to summon it right now. She’s getting to me. I hate that she is…she has no idea that she is, but she is.

  Her tiny hips move so that her pussy rubs up and down my length. She grabs my cock with one hand as she continues to rub. I’m so lost in the sensations of her mouth on mine, her pussy rubbing against me, that I almost allow her to take me. Her soft moans almost deter me enough to let her. Her warm body covering mine almost distracts me enough to allow it.

  Almost.

  She positions me at her entrance, and when she moves her pussy just a fraction of an inch over me, it’s enough to snap me back to reality.

  “What the fuck, Kate?” I bark. I flip us, so I’m now over her, controlling this fucking train. My confusion morphs into rage.

  “I’m sorry, I got caught up. You feel so good.”

  The daggers I shoot into her pale eyes cause her to cower. She’s lucky I don’t kick her the fuck out. Instead, I storm across the room to grab my wallet and pull out a condom. She watches me as I roll it over my cock, remorse clouding her features.