by Liz K. Lorde
Glimpsing an image most beautiful in my head, I thought back, for that brief infinity, and saw that Biker’s irresistible face. With those pensive eyes that made me forget how to breathe.
Elizabeth and Jake, more friends of Damien than my friends, really, let out nervous tittering. They were trying to play off the awkwardness and cruelty of our sycophantic relation. Where Liz had this punk green hair done in a ponytail, Jake had a shaggy bed head of medium length brown hair.
I waved to the two and plunked myself down at the end of the couch. “Sorry,” I felt the need to apologize.
Elizabeth shook her head, “It’s okay,” she offered.
My eyes slid down to the glass pipe and lighter in her hands, and it felt like my stomach dropped right out of my body. She must have noticed the way I was looking at it, because Elizabeth’s brows glided upward, and then she lazily passed the gear to me. Trying to act nonchalant about it, I grabbed it from her as Damien walked back into the living room with a bottle of water.
He stalked across the room and over to the couch, sitting between me and Elizabeth and muttering some agitated string of words beneath his breath. Tilted his head back, drank for a moment, and then looked toward me out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t hog it all, MJ,” he warned with that degrading tone, and instantly my mind snapped back to the last time that I’d pissed him off.
Made my gut wrench just thinking back on it. When I brought the pipe to my lips, Damien slung an arm behind me and over my shoulders, leaving a trail of disgust wherever he managed to touch. I waved the thumb of fire around the base of the glass; the chamber filling with pearly-white smoke – then I pulled in a long, ecstatic drag of smoke.
The high was so intense, so pure and gut punching that my insides vibrated with this basic, primal joy. Blood just flowed differently when I was high, like liquid fire swam to every inch of my being. It was easy, sinking back into the couch and exhaling the white from my blue colored lips. Harder to give up the pipe itself, but Damien took it from me all the same – he filled it up quickly with half a gram and took a hit.
All that pain, all that darkness that buried itself beneath my porcelain surface – it vanished just like the smoke in the air. Jake was fiddling with his smartphone, whilst Elizabeth was trying to find something to watch on TV. Or maybe she was just amused at switching the channels one after the other.
Damien leaned over to me and kissed at my neck, but it was like it barely registered. I felt nothing from it, there was no passion, no love – and all lust had long since been removed from our personal equation. He breathed in my air with a certain anger to his tone, “You gonna apologize, yet?”
“For what?” I murmured in response.
He just looked at me with those spiteful, demanding eyes. “You embarrassed me last night,” I could hear the impatience in his voice; Jake and Liz were going on about some local band now, no doubt trying to shut us out from ruining their high.
“You were being an asshole,” I told him straight up, the prescription from Dr. Feel Good still flowing through me. Of course, this wasn’t anything new. Damien knew he was a piece of shit, he just didn’t care.
Damien flicked his tongue across his lips and straightened in his place, the veins around his neck beginning to become visible. His hand on my shoulder jumped to the back of my head and he balled his hand into a fist, pulling on my hair. Pain blossomed, and he said, “You need to watch your fucking tongue.”
Giving out a low kind of squeal from the pain, I moved against his touch and pushed at him, trying to create space between us. “Let go,” I said, “you’re hurting me.”
Right then, Elizabeth sluggishly pulled at him, telling Damien to get off of me. Jake inched away from the three of us, and could only seem to stare anxiously.
With a single motion, Damien shoved Elizabeth off of his person and growled, “Stay out of this.”
I pulled at his wrist as hard as I could, but it just wasn’t getting me anywhere. “Damien,” I pleaded, a swirl of pain and serene absence caressing me. I wanted to tell him off, tell him that if he touched me like that for a second longer I’d break one of his filthy fingers – but he was much too strong, and I considered it easier to play weak. “Just let me go? Okay?”
Liz parroted, “Seriously dude.”
The lines of anger on Damien’s face gentled, and he took a deep breath.
Even Jake spoke up, “We didn’t come over for this…”
Damien kept his gaze on me, and finally let go, his lips curling into a smirk. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah you’re right,” he brushed his hand along his nose and sniffed, tilting closer to Liz and Jake. “I’m sorry,” his apology felt hollow. He turned his head back over to me, and his eyes told me everything that I needed to know. “I am,” he said, “I’m sorry, MJ. You know, I just get crazy when you push me like that. You pushed me last night and…” he stopped himself, and then shook his head.
I just rubbed at the spot where he’d pulled my hair, trying to soothe myself of the fading pain. Apology not accepted, dickhead.
We smoked and hung out, the four of us, for maybe another hour or two at the most. Jake had fallen asleep on his end of the couch with his bowl of Tortilla chips beneath him, his hand draped over it. Elizabeth was starting to nod off to, a thin line of drool escaping the side of her mouth. She’d had more than me, and that was where I wanted to be.
Geeked out and away from it all. Damien had the pipe, and was rolling it between the palms of his hands as he stared lazily at whatever gameshow was playing. Every now and again, checking his phone for texts – no doubt relating to his lackeys and what they were pushing.
I reached my delicate hand out to him, asking with the look in my eyes first before saying, “Can I?”
He turned his head and knitted his brows together, “You just had a hit,” he chastised, continuing to roll the pipe, “no. You can’t,” he exaggerated the words with the motions of his mouth.
“Baby,” I begged, and sickly worms crawled through me at even calling him that. “I need a bump,” the urge was gnawing away at my will, and the stress of it all was choking my soul. “Please?” I asked again, inching my hand up his wrist and to the end of the pipe.
“No,” he responded much more sternly.
I licked my lips and felt the stinging behind my eyes – every bone in my body was hating me and every nerve was demanding I get another go-round. When I pursued and trying to grab the pipe, Damien met my aggression with his own; pulling away and pushing at me with his one hand. I kept going after it, and the world around me felt like I was wading through a thick sludge: “Please,” I said, “Damien. Just, just one more.”
That was when the anger really hit him. “I said no,” he snapped, slapping my hand away, before rearing his hand back again and striking my face.
I moved with the force of his blow, the back of his hand rocking me – a stinging pain and a dull sort of ache blooming where he’d hit. I yelped out in pain and immediately brought my hand to my face, feeling the sting behind my eyes intensify and a thorn of rage prick at my chest. Stared at him for what felt like forever, the way his gaze smoldered with this perverted authority over me. He wasn’t regretting what he did in the least, and he never did.
This was him at his truest form. And just like how he snapped, so too, did I.
Everything crystalized in that burning moment, where I wanted to grab him by the throat and choke the life out of him – call him every name in the book for the way he’d treated me. The way I’d let him treat me. This wasn’t like the past. This was a different kind of clarity.
Every part of me was ready. “That’s it,” I said, surprised at my own level of calm and sobriety in speaking. “That’s it,” I repeated, the curious laugher and anger rising up my chest and rolling from me, “that’s the last time.”
“What?” He narrowed his gaze, trying to pinion me where I was. “Fucking sit down, MJ,” Damien barked, I hadn’t gotten up yet but he knew. He knew that I w
as done. And his cowardly ass was scared.
It only emboldened me more. “No,” I susurrated with a deathly venom, my face twisting into a pained scowl. “No, I told you before. I’ve told you, Damien. That’s it,” I said, getting up – and he must have been shocked at this, because he didn’t even bother stopping me.
His jaw fell and his mouth became somewhat agape.
I wasn’t nearly done. There was an image that burned through my mind, of the way that guy had looked at me like I wasn’t just some ivory box to keep on a shelf. Standing was proving a challenge in and of itself, but I backed up a few shaky steps from Damien. “We’re done,” I said, “and we should have been done a long time ago.”
Liz’s sleepy eyes slid over to me, and I swore I saw the beginning of a smile.
After a moment, Damien just laughed, like it was nothing at all. “Bullshit,” he said, pushing himself off of the couch and slinking over to me, getting dangerously close. “You can’t leave me, you never could – you need me.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t,” and after a heartbeat, I turned away and glided toward the door of his rented out brownstone. His hand caught me, and he called out my name – pissed beyond belief. Forcibly pulling my hand free in a single motion, to catch him off guard; I didn’t even look back at his pathetic ass.
It was time to put him and this chapter behind me.
For once, and for all.
6
Gabriel
The clubhouse had really come into its own after spending some time giving it a lot of TLC. The foundation of the building was stone, and it was located on the outskirts of town. It was a mechanic’s shop originally, and we’d made sure to keep that part of it purring along smoothly – getting a small, steady set of work.
Inside, the front lobby that had once looked like a sparse, lifeless office, was now our thriving pleasure lounge. It’s receptionist desk had been repurposed to become a sort of makeshift bar, with the wooden paneling being redone and a nasty looking deer head plastered above it. There were prospects buzzing about, and I raised my chin at Sexton, who was playing pool with Haymitch.
Sexton was a bull of a man, and was always one to pull the douche move of wearing sunglasses at all times. He raised his square jaw at me in response, a small smile walking along the lines of his hard face. We let him get away with that quirk though, because at the end of the day he was one of the truest, kindest brothers you could get to know – although you’d need tranquilizers to keep that dog leashed. He was always hounding from one piece of ass to the next.
I moved over to the bar and grabbed an ice cold bottle of Coors, clearing my throat at our local bartending talent Chelsea. She’d fallen on some hard times, and I’d known her kind of when we were just kids in highschool – in the sense that I’d get picked on by her a lot at lunch. Always kind of figured she had a crush on me or something, and it wasn’t anything personal – but I never felt that attraction. Not that she wasn’t drop dead sexy; maybe if things had gone differently, I’d be balls deep inside of her – any other man would be.
Chelsea turned around, not spooked in the slightest, and gave me that kind, nostalgic smile. “G man,” she greeted, her voice smooth as buttermilk. To me? Chelsea was just good, loving Chelsea. A friend that I knew I could trust.
“Keepin’ the boys loose I see,” I bashed the cap of the beer on the end of the counter, a satisfying pop and hiss punctuating the air. Tilted my head back and let the icy brew coat my throat, downing the bottle in a single go.
“Mm-hm,” she said, “have to keep the bills paid somehow.”
“You know we don’t charge you for the room,” I teased, giving her a warm smile and setting the bottle on the counter. “And yet, you still insist on paying…”
“It wouldn’t feel right,” she defended, swaying her body to the right a bit. Chelsea was a year my senior at the age of twenty four, but she looked maybe just twenty one. Had hips for days, and a killer hourglass figure – she wasn’t as tall as that bona-fide beauty I’d spotted last night, but she also wasn’t as petite in frame. Where Madeline had long platinum hair with rocking black streaks, Chelsea kept her blond hair done in ponytailed dreads – with a striking, close buzz cut on the sides of her hair.
Made her kind of look like a Viking or something. Like I said, good looking woman, and an honest heart – now if she could just stop getting her pussy mixed up with bad dick, the world might be blessed with some pretty decent kids one day.
Chelsea, with those sweet stormy eyes, looked me over once. “You turning in?”
“Yeah, fuckin’ exhausted Chel. In fact, think I’ll do for another beer,” the words came out too hard, but the stress of scoping out a few confirmed meets of the Los Demonios was getting to me. I’d never tell a fucking soul, but ever since that day in the coffee shop; I just hadn’t been the same. Messed me up inside dwelling on it.
“You deserve it,” her eyes crinkled and like she knew just what I needed, she stepped up to me and wrapped her arms around me – giving me a hug. She could barely fit herself around all of my muscle and build, but I gave her ample mental props for trying.
“Alright, alright,” I said, “this ain’t a free show, lady. Hands come off now,” I put my hands on her hips and tried to push her away, but she just kept clinging to me like a damn cat.
“No!” She laughed and then made some exaggerated sniffing noises, “you smell good. Like you’d been rolling like a dog in pine needles, I think.”
I grunted, picking her up – she squeaked at that – and setting her back on her feet a bit away from me. “I’m not a dog,” I replied, brushing past her with an arrogant smirk, “and it’s something called cologne. You know, the stuff they sell to make you girls cream your panties,” I reached for another beer and promptly opened it, letting the cap fall to the floor.
She smiled, a sweet smile like most of the girls did; honestly, it just made me think about Madeline – and the way that she flipped me off. I liked my girls sweet. Liked ‘em even more with some spice, though. “It takes more than that,” she purred, looking at me with eyes I was familiar with. It wasn’t arrogance on my part, just fact: I could bed her right now. Take her to one of the guest rooms, rip off her tight jeans and fit my lusting cock inside those no doubt, tight, pink little lips. Chelsea stepped forward, and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t an inkling of heat that I felt in return. She placed a finger on my chest and looked up at me, time seeming to come to a standstill.
I tilted my head, and just as I saw her going on the offensive – I brought the beer to my lips and sipped, bringing a hand up to her soft face. “I gotta get my beauty sleep, keep these rowdy sons-ah-bitches in check for me?”
Chelsea’s eyes glinted with disappointment, and I felt a small twinge of guilt – a tiny finger of regret. Had I acted so wrong? “I will,” she said, she batted her lashes a couple of times and smoothed out her black tanktop.
Nodding in understanding, I sauntered on by and turned my head one last time to look at her. “And Chels?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re a keeper,” I said it quieter than I should have, but didn’t want the guys to see me acting soft. They thought I was too much of a puppy as is. “One day, you’ll find the guy for you – and everyone before that one? They are going to be signs in the rear view. Trust on that.”
Chels gave me that smile again, communicating enough with the film of water in her eyes.
I drank that beer before I could even get to my designated guest room, my mind replaying that night with Madeline every time I blinked – and when my head finally hit the cool of the pillow; found myself only able to toss and turn, muttering low: Fuck.
7
Madeline
Feeling the knife in my pocket, I tried to convince myself that I’d be okay. It was tempting to consider taking an Uber home, but at the end of the day, money was money. And I’d never had very much. I felt my phone vibrate in my jeans and a wave of sickness washed over me.
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That sickness turned to anger. Flashes of Damien taking my body burned through my mind, and I felt my nails dig into my skin, as I balled my hands into fists. It kept pulsing, and I kept getting angrier and angrier. Sitting there in the back of my mind, was the horrible seed of doubt that had taken root the times in the past, that I’d tried to end things.
This time, I was going to stick with it. I’ll get into rehab again, and I’ll ask Mom and Dad to help me – ask them for forgiveness.
Finally, after several minutes, I checked my phone just to be sure. When I saw that bastards name, I turned the stupid phone off.
Sadness crept through me as I climbed up an incline of grass and dirt, making my way through a thin thicket of Evergreen Trees. It wasn’t like me to look down on myself, but I couldn’t help but wonder.
Was I worth forgiveness?
Sweat dampened my hoodie by the time that I’d managed to get home, the moon full and fat in the blackened sky – a plethora of crickets chirping away unseen. My gut dropped when I approached the front of the house. The living room lights were on, and though it wasn’t fully in my line of sight – I swore that I could see Dad sitting there in his maroon recliner.
Nothing got past Dad. Like, ever. He’ll know where I was, and even worse, I’m positive he’ll easily figure out I’m up in space right now.
I drew in a breath and looked around the front yard, trying to decide what to do. I could try sneaking in the back, but even if he didn’t hear me, the stairs will be in sight enough for him to catch me. Damn. There just wasn’t any way around it, unless I stayed out all night. Though, that could be worse…maybe. I sighed, resigning myself to the bed that I’d made, and stepped up to the white front door – slipping my hand in the pocket of my hoodie and taking out a golden key.
When I got inside and to the living room, Dad was looking at me with an untamed fury.