They stood back and watched for signs of breathing. There were none. Eric was completely lifeless. They each took turns spitting on his body, before walking off to grab another beer.
"Get rid of him," Hayden said to Chester. "And make sure he can't be found."
Chester didn't move, staring down at Eric's body. He could have sworn he saw Eric's hand twitch. Just a very slight tremor of his index finger, and then he was still.
"Sometime today, Chester," Hayden told him impatiently. Apparently, she had not noticed the small movement which would have indicated that Eric was still alive. Barely, but enough for intervention.
"I want his wallet and his shoes," Chester said, kneeling beside Eric's body and searching his pockets.
"Hurry up," Hayden ordered him and walked away to jump into one of the trucks that awaited her.
Chester waited until all the trucks had sped off from the clearing, before snatching Eric's cell phone from his back pocket. By some miracle, the phone was still intact enough to dial 911.
"911, what's your emergency?" A dispatcher finally answered.
"My friend's hurt bad. You need to get out here now. Look for the gray Civic on the North side of Highway 68."
Chester shoved the phone back into Eric's pocket and darted off into the darkness for his own truck. He sped off up the dusty trail, leaving Eric for whatever fate should meet him.
His Side of the Story
It so happened that while doing her laundry one day, Chantel shook out one of her sweaters and a black square thing fell out.
She jumped back with a yelp at the unexpected surprise. Whatever it was, it wasn't hers.
Approaching it again slowly, she realized it wasn't a cockroach, but an mp3 player. Eric's mp3 player.
A month had gone by since she'd last seen or heard from him, and the sight of his most prized possession stung her with the memories she'd tried so hard to repress. How it had ended up in her sweater was a complete mystery, but her first clue was written on a sticky note attached to the back of the mp3 player:
A playlist for a playlist. It's only fair.
-Eric
Chantel broke into a smile as she remembered doing a similar gesture for him that previous summer. When he wasn't looking, she sneaked a CD she'd burned with all her favorite songs into one of his textbooks. On the CD, she had written with a purple sharpie: EDUCATE YOURSELF.
Apparently Eric had returned the favor. His note was all she had left to prove that Eric Chandler had once been a part of her life.
Yet surprise was brief as doubt and confusion began to settle in again. Why would he leave his mp3 player behind instead of just a CD? Was it a way to say goodbye, or was it a way to tell her that his absence was only temporary?
The answer to that question would of course depend upon if he had written the sticky note before or after he fucked her.
If he had written it before the sex, then the gesture had probably been one of the many attempts to seduce her into trusting him, and ultimately getting her into bed with him. However, if he had written it after they slept together, it would indicate that, at least in heart, he had not completely abandoned her. He was still thinking about her even after they slept together, and there was still a small chance that they would meet again. After all, she didn't believe Eric would leave behind his most prized possession for the pleasure of inflicting one last insult on her self-esteem.
There was no telling what his intentions were for sneaking it into her sweater, but Chantel decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, it might turn out to be quite an education walking through the mind of a "psychopath".
Powering the mp3 player on, she sifted through the menu and found a playlist titled, Chantel, filled with hours' worth of songs that Eric had pre-selected for her, which was convenient because she had no idea who the artists were anyway. She hit the shuffle button, put in her earphones, and continued to sort her laundry.
The first song, "Raining Blood" by Slayer, hadn't even played for thirty seconds before she cut it off, "Uh, yuck. Next."
She skipped three more songs before settling on one that she found tolerable enough to listen to, "Broken" by Seether and Amy Lee.
In fact, despite it being kind of depressing, she found it beautiful in its own way, especially toward the middle when she realized it was actually a duet.
In some odd way, it felt predestined, like Eric had intentionally picked the song for the sole purpose of making her remember him.
Or perhaps, he just liked the song and it had nothing to do with her at all. Perhaps it was her own repressed feelings that she projected onto him in an effort to attach meaning to his unexplained disappearance. Maybe he wasn't thinking about her at all, and the torment of something gone missing from her life was her own burden to bear. Whether it was another one of Eric's subtle messages to her, or the consequences of her heartbreak, Chantel found herself quickly addicted to the song. She left it on repeat for the remainder of her laundry time.
She was still listening to the mp3 player when she arrived at the big fountain later that evening. Sitting at her usual spot, she didn't even bother to take her books out of her bag. Reading was the last thing on her mind. The day had been stolen from her by Eric's mp3 player, and without meaning to, she had completely shut the rest of the world out. Even her conversations with Mia were minimal, and she found herself wanting to get away from everything, lie under a tree somewhere, and let Eric's playlist loop over and over again in her ears.
It wasn't that she particularly liked all his songs, but listening to them made her feel closer to him in a way. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, somehow they were connected again through music.
It gave her some consolation, which she hadn't felt in a while, but at the same time, it was a double edged sword, as dwelling on the past never made anyone feel better.
The tree he used to stand under on the other side remained abandoned. There was no cigarette smoke to choke out its leaves. No Eric to sneak glances at her from across the water. No matter how many times she closed her eyes and opened them again, he never reappeared.
She realized then, more than ever, that she missed him. It was irrational to think that she could miss him and all the disaster that came with him.
But she did.
And every day he didn't turn up, she lost a little faith in him ever coming back.
Consumed in thought and music, she didn't hear the footsteps approaching her from behind.
Trey took an earphone out of her ear and put it against his own ear, listening to the lyrics of the song she had on. "Every time we lie awake, after every hit we take. Every feeling that I get, but I haven't missed you yet..."
Trey snatched the earphone from his ear and handed it back to her. "You've changed. A lot," he said. "Is that really what you're listening to these days?"
"What's wrong with it?" Chantel asked.
"That kind of music plays with your emotions," he said, sitting next to her. "That's how them white boys be going crazy. They listen to shit like that and it trips out their minds."
"Only the weak minded," Chantel replied, turning off the mp3 player and winding her earphones around it delicately.
Trey was the last person she expected to find there, but she didn't have the energy to move to a different spot. She didn't have the energy to do much of anything, really.
"You been quiet lately," Trey said. "You never answer my texts."
"I changed my number."
"Oh. You got a new one?" he asked, taking out his phone. "That would explain it. What's your new number, girl?"
"I got to go to class," she said quickly, grabbing her bag and sweater to leave.
"Now you lying," he replied. "Mia told me you were done with class today. She said to look for you here."
"Mia didn't tell you that."
"Ask her," he insisted. "She said she's worried about you. You don't talk to no one. You don't come around to chill. You're not acting yourself lately so I tho
ught I'd holla at ya. See how you doin'."
"Is that supposed to make my day?" she asked.
"Look, I know things went down between us, but you still my queen. I care about what bothers you. I think we should be able to talk."
"No. We can't talk," she said. "The conversation stopped when you brought that skank into my dorm room."
"Damn, girl," he laughed, shaking his head. "You'll take a grudge to the grave."
"I'm holding a grudge? How many girls did you sneak into my dorm room while I was in class? Just give me a quick estimate," Chantel said. "How many hoes did you pick up when you borrowed my car for work?"
"Come on, girl. Now you know that was back then. You diggin' up old shit now. That was the old me," he said. "I got career goals now. I'm workin' on another album coming out next year, and I got this track I'm gonna title 'Chantel'."
"Please don't use my name in a rap album."
"It's from my heart, yo. It's me realizin' how I let a good thing go, and how I'm feelin' it now. An icebox, Chantel. I got an icebox for you here, like Omarion, yo," he said cupping his hands on his chest. "For real, though."
"Trey," Chantel stopped him. "Listen to me very closely. I forgive you for what you did. I hope you find peace with yourself someday, I really do, but you need to stop pushing the getting-back-together thing. It's not going to happen."
"Hey don't be tryn'a turn this around on me, girl. I'm over here tryin' to help you out," he said. "I could be goin' about my day, but I'm over here tryn'a boost yo'r self-esteem, you know what I'm sayin'? He ain't the first white boy who hit and dipped on a queen, and he ain't gonna be the last, I'll tell you that. Ya, ya I know about that shit. I may have done a lot of things, but I ain't never disrespected you in that way. I kept you safe."
"Safe?" Chantel cried furiously. "Is that what that was?"
"I said I was sorry."
"Sorry will never be enough," Chantel replied, walking away.
"Boo, listen."
She kept walking.
"I'm talking to you. Bitch, don't you walk away from me." He seized her arm and forced her to face him. "Tell that cracker he need to back off. This relationship was our investment. No other parties involved."
"Do not touch me," Chantel ordered, snatching her hand away.
"You've gotten strong, girl," Trey remarked, nodding and massaging his wrist. "But you strong because I let you be. You have all you got because I let you have it. There's nothin' you can do without me letting you do it. You can't have nothin' that I don't say you can have, you feel me? It'll save you a whole lot of pain if you stop lookin' in other places when you got all you need right here."
"Pain," Chantel laughed. "What's pain feel like? I can't feel anything anymore. You took that away from me."
"Girl, that was nothing," he swore. "I can do worse. You don't want to wake up and find that white boy missing one day. I suggest you start recognizing who you really talkin' too."
He meant what he said, and it was a legitimate threat that he was prepared to make good on, but Chantel wasn't even paying attention anymore. In fact, she was smiling now and glancing over his shoulder.
"You think I'm playin'?" Trey demanded.
"Oh, no, not at all," Chantel replied, finally drawing her attention back to his face.
"Then what are you smiling at?" he asked.
"I just don't think I'm relevant to this conversation, considering that we're not really talking about me anymore," she said. "But the person you are interested in is actually standing right behind you. I'll let you explain the situation to him."
"You asked for me?" Eric said from behind Trey's shoulder.
Trey laughed as he turned to face him. "She over here playin' me, man. Here you come out the woodwork. So you're the cracker boy, huh? I gotta admit, man, you ain't at all what I expected. This gotta be a joke, man. Are you for real right now? Chant, this is what you got you so confused?"
Eric looked him up and down. "I don't know you, dude, and as intelligent and charming as you sound, I didn't walk over here to find out who you are," Eric told him. Then he turned to Chantel. "Can we talk? Alone?"
"Rude ass son of a bitch," Trey spat. "I know you see me here. You steppin' into a private conversation that you wasn't even invited in. She ain't got no interest talkin' to you, and you ain't got no business talkin' to her, you know what I'm sayin'? You an outsider. You need to stay in yo' territory, man."
"Well, she's her own person. She has the right to talk to whoever she wants. She also has the right to not talk to whoever she wants, and this is the second time she's asked you to leave. Why are you still standing here?"
"Fool, I'll kill you."
"You're welcome to try."
"Hold up. This is how it's actually going to go," Chantel stopped them. "I'm going to walk away. What you guys choose to do after that is your business. I do not need this drama in my life right now, and both of you are equally capable of ruining of my day. Trey, we're done. Eric, the time to talk was a month ago. So right now, I don't want to hear nothing either of you have to say."
"Alright," Eric replied. "I understand. I'll see you later then."
"I mean it, Eric," she said firmly. "There won't be any later."
"I heard you the first time you said it," he said. "It's cool. I didn't expect you to talk to me anyway."
That was it. That was all the fight he gave her, and it infuriated her. He had never agreed with her so effortlessly before, and when he did, it almost always meant he was up to something. Why was he being so passive about the situation? Was she invisible? Did she still matter? Why wasn't he acting like the normal Eric who got in your face and forced his opinion down your throat? For once, when she was dying for him to say something, to force her to look at him and make her listen, why wouldn't he do it? Why wasn't he trying harder to make things right and explain his side of the story?
He never gave her those answers. He practically shrugged her off, as if nothing had ever happened between them a month ago, and though it shattered her inwardly, she did not lose face. She refused to give him that. He wasn't worth the afterthought.
"Eric, I'm sorry, but I'm over this," she said to him, making it perfectly clear to him that she didn't want to be pursued. "I just can't play this game with myself anymore. I deserve better. I am better than this."
"You're right. And I'll respect that," Eric said quietly. "I won't follow you."
Chantel nodded, and for the very first time, they mutually understood each other.
She didn't linger. She brushed pass him, and didn't slow down until she was far off and secure across campus.
Eric waited around until she was out of earshot and out of sight before turning to Trey. "You got to be sprung off your ass or clinically insane to put up with a woman like that. But I guess that's all women. Hot one minute, cold the next. I guess I only got myself to blame this time," he said. "She seems to talk to you the same way she talks to me sometimes. Were you two ever serious?"
"We workin' it out," Trey answered.
"I don't understand what that means," Eric said. "Were you dating her before or are you currently dating her? Which is it?"
"She was my girl, man. She still is."
"So what happened?" Eric asked.
"None of your damn business."
Eric nodded. "Ok, I feel that, but I couldn't help but notice how she acts around you. It's more than just the typical ex-boyfriend awkwardness. It's intimidation," he said. "You ever...hit her?"
"Excuse me?"
"You know, take a swing at her? Put her in her place?"
"Man, I ain't never laid my hands on any woman."
"That's not what I'm asking," Eric replied. "I asked if you touched her specifically. Have you ever hit her? It's a simple question. You can choose to answer or not, but I'm going to find out one way or another. I always do."
"I got a clean record, man," Trey said. "Ask anybody. Whoever says otherwise is throwin' dirt on my shoulder when they don't even know t
he facts."
"Well, I'm listening to you," Eric said. "What's your side of the story?"
"It don't matter what my side is," Trey answered. "Society sides with the female, man. If she say she got raped, beat, looked at the wrong way then anything I say as the man being accused is irrelevant. She can make up any story she wants and my life goes up in chaos. I mean, the girl's got some jealousy issues, dude. For real, though. I ain't never done her wrong, but she think every time I look at another bitch, then she go ahead and assume I must be creepin' on her. I don' know how many times I got accused of cheatin', and every time she got more violent, man, I'm tellin' ya. She would scream and throw shit and beat on the windows of my car. When that girl get angry man, watch out. You don' want to be in her crosshairs."
"No shit. I know what you mean by that," Eric agreed. "So what did you do then?"
"I did what any sane person would've done, dude. I defended myself."
"So you did hit her."
"I tapped her a little bit, man, but not like you think. It was in self-defense. The bitch was all up in my grill accusin' me of nonsense. What was I supposed to do?" Trey replied. "I regret it and I'm sorry it happened, but sometimes shit happens. You know what I'm saying? She should've never got up in my face like that."
Eric grinned and nodded. "Ya, shit happens..."
White Privilege
Back at her dorm, Chantel was busy working on a midterm paper, or at least staring at a midterm paper on her laptop screen.
For the life of her, she couldn't find a reason to care about why self-control was important to the society of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. A psychology term paper on bi-polar personality disorder or emotionally abusive "fake" ex-boyfriends might have been more applicable. In that case, she knew of an excellent specimen that might have given even Freud a run for his money. Had anyone come up with a psychoanalytic theory on Eric Chandler yet? Somebody needed to capitalize on that shit A.S.A.P. She was done trying.
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