by Ashley Logan
Smiling, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. “Consider it done. And thanks for not busting my balls about Scarlett.”
“No problem, I think you guys would make a cute couple when you’re ready. I’m just waiting on the sidelines like everyone else to see when it happens,” she says with a laugh.
“What happened to ‘don’t screw the crew’?”
“Pfft. That’s just the standard warning for new house-mates so we don’t mess up the atmosphere. It doesn’t have to affect friends who realize they love each other after living together for ages.”
“Scarlett doesn’t love me, Prez.”
“Well she sure as shit doesn’t hate ya, big guy. Go sort yourself out and let her sort herself. It’ll work out in the end. You’ll see.”
“Thank you, oh wise and powerful Prez. I’ll see you later, after I find my courage, or my brain.”
Nina laughs. “Good luck on your quest and have a great day.”
“You too, Prez.”
Slipping my phone into my back pocket, I take a deep breath and let go some of the stress I was holding as Benji rocks up in Doris, his black ‘68 Shelby Mustang. That car is sex on wheels. Benji’s brother Caleb pulls in next to it in his navy ‘69 Pontiac Firebird and I wish I had the cash to drop on such a luxury.
“The fuck you up so early for?” Benji says to me, shutting his door and flipping his brother the bird. “You look like shit. Even showered?”
I shake my head. “Rough night,” I reply, smiling at Caleb as he approaches. He grins back, taking Benji in a headlock and mussing up his hair.
“It took me twenty minutes to get that right, asshole!” Benji cries, pushing his brother off and tidying his hair back into the style that was messy to begin with.
“Whatever, pretty boy. Get the doors open and look busy before Dad gets here, or you’ll be the disappointing child for yet another week.”
“Hate to ruin my perfect record,” Benji mutters under his breath, but he goes to open up.
“How is your dad?” I ask, holding out my arms for the box of parts Caleb’s retrieved from his trunk.
“Okay, I guess. Can’t sit still for anything and grumbles like a motherfucker about his diet, but he’s slowed down enough that the nurse on his case has stopped yelling at him.”
I laugh. “That’s something, I guess.”
“So what’s up with you and Scarlett?” Benji says, coming up behind me.
“What have you heard?” I say, spinning around to face him, almost spilling the parts I’m holding.
“Nothing,” he says, laughing as he takes the box of parts to the workbench to unload. “So what gives? You bang her?”
I stare at him, incredulous. “No!”
“Why not? She was dancing for you last night, right?”
“Not how you think. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Which one’s Scarlett?” Caleb asks, reaching for a rag to wipe his already greasy hands. “She the little one that hangs from the ceiling on those scarves?”
“Silks,” Benji corrects him. “And no. That’s Teeny. Scar’s the one with scars that can ride a pole better than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“That one? Hot. Her names Scar? That’s... fitting.”
“It’s not like she was born with them,” I growl, making Caleb straighten. “Her name is Scarlett and to help her embrace the scars, she decided to continue with the nickname she had growing up, despite the terrible events she survived.”
Benji rests a hand on my shoulder, pulling back slightly. “She’s also Bruno’s favorite girl in the world,” he advises his brother in a warning tone.
“Got it,” Caleb says, clearly apologetically. “I did say she was hot, too,” he says in his defense.
Benji glares at him. “If Bruno thumps you, you’ve already been warned.”
“Okay. So it’s serious then?” Caleb asks, wiping grease from a part that I recognize from my lessons, but can’t recall the name of.
“Seriously frustrating. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?” Benji pushes, his eyes narrowing. My phone starts ringing and I hold up a finger. “Saved by the bell,” Benji mutters as I answer the call from Father Franco.
“Is everything okay Father? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you about the exhibition until next week.”
“Ah, Bruno. I’m calling about something more pressing actually. I had a visit from Bradley this morning.”
I look at the wrench-shaped hands of the garage clock. “Already? Did his mom drop him off?”
“No. He came alone and I’m afraid he’d been waiting there some time before I found him. His mother has just picked him up, but I thought I’d ring both you and Damon, because I know you are close with Brad and I think he could really use his friends this week.”
A low groan escapes my lips. “The wedding. It’s on Friday, yes?”
“That’s right. I just thought he and his mother might benefit from some extra support over this difficult time, and both of them would be too proud to ask for the help.”
“Alright, Father. We’ll be there. Thanks for calling.”
Caleb is looking at me strangely.
“What?”
“You call your dad Father?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “I call my dad Sperm-donor, because that’s all he ever was to me and my Mom. That was my art teacher, Father Franco. He’s a priest.”
“Ah! Gotcha. I thought it was weird.”
“Art teacher?” Benji says, stepping into the conversation. “Since when do you... Art? Did you say something about an exhibition?”
Sighing, I wave him off. “Just a charity thing. Nothing special. I always liked art, I just never had much time for it between dancing and football and war; you know how it is. I started when I was in hospital and I still attend a group on Sundays. I like to keep my private life private, okay?”
“Hey, I like my life to be private too,” Benji says with his hands raised, which makes both Caleb and I laugh, because Benji never shuts up about what, or who he’s doing. My phone rings again.
“Popular this morning,” Benji jokes as I look at the screen.
“Oh fuck.” Steeling myself, I answer. “Mrs. Jenkins? Everything alright?”
I can tell immediately that it’s not. I can hear Brad yelling in the background and things breaking as Mrs. Jenkins tries to speak. From the look on Benji’s and Caleb’s faces, they can hear too.
“Get yourself somewhere safe, Bev. Upstairs or outside. And call Damon. He’s better at the talking than me. Just stay out of his way, but try to keep an eye on him. If he does anything too dangerous, call 911. I’m on my way.”
Hanging up, I look at Benji. He’s already holding up his keys. “Want me to come?”
Shaking my head, I grab his keys, already running to the car. “Thanks, man. I’ll take care of her!”
“You better!” he calls after me. “The car and the lady on the phone!”
I REACH THE JENKINS’ in record time, knowing Damon won’t be far behind me. Mrs. Jenkins is in the front yard, looking like a spy, crouched and peering through her own windows. The look of relief on her face when she sees me pull up tells me enough, but once out of the car, I can hear for myself the noise from within. Cursing the person who loves him the most, Brad damns his mother for forcing him to live.
Gritting my teeth, I charge up the ramp that has been built over their porch steps, and into the house. The place is trashed. Broken glass and frames litter the floor and I can see a photo of Brad standing proudly in his uniform, grinning up at me through the shards. I follow the sound of his pain.
“Jenkins!”
He hasn’t heard me over the harsh lash of his furious words.
“Shut your fucking mouth, or I’ll shut it for you, asshole!” I yell, arriving at the living room as he topples the large bookshelf and all of its contents. Its fall is broken by the small coffee table, which collapses under the weight of it. “You’re trashing y
our mom’s house and all she ever did was love you, you fucking piece of shit! You say one more foul word about her and I’ll break your fucking arms.”
That shuts him up quick. His arms are his pride and joy and are the source of any freedom he has left. He doesn’t stay quiet for long though, zeroing in on me, he fires every hurtful word he can.
“I know you’re hurting, Jenkins. Your sweetheart left you in your darkest hour and is marrying someone else. This is not the end of the world!”
“What would you know, you impotent, twinkle-toed, pussy! She’s fucking pregnant too!” he yells, reversing his chair out of the living room, swiping a lamp off the sideboard on his way. “That bitch stole my life and gave it to some cunt with legs that work!”
Following, I make my way around the obstacles he creates in my path, stopping in the kitchen, where he’s turned on me. Dodging the fruit he throws at my head, I step closer, angling him toward a corner. An apple is propelled with such force that it explodes on impact with the cupboard beside me. Wiping the sting of apple chunk and juice from my eye, I don’t see the next one and it scones my head, actually giving me whiplash as it strikes and explodes.
“Motherfucker! That is it!”
Launching myself over the kitchen island, I ignore the banana that slaps me in the face. When I land in his space, Brad immediately lashes out, deadening my right leg. Swearing, I deliver a fist to his upper arm, trying to achieve the same effect for him.
Wasting no time, Brad swings at my other leg, causing me to stumble and catch myself on his chair for support.
“No legs for you either, Jackson!” he yells, starting to wail on me with his fists, abusing me with his mouth the whole time.
Dodging the main impact of his blows, I let him vent a little, but then he starts in on my mom.
Anger surges up and I start not just defending myself, but really laying into him, yelling between each punch. “Shut... your... fucking... face... bitch!”
A massive blow to my shoulder sends me sprawling and I look up to find Damon standing over me. I start to rise, but he kicks me again, setting me back on my ass. Pointing a stump at me, he says nothing, just shakes his head.
Turning to address Jenkins, Damon’s too late, as Brad’s wrath finds his legs too.
Hit from behind, Damon’s left knee crumples forward and he staggers to reclaim his balance. Back in control, I leap up, rip a struggling Brad from his chair, pulling him to the floor and wrapping myself around him, containing his deadly arms from doing any further damage.
Lying on the kitchen floor, we all try to catch our breath. Brad begins to shudder in my arms and my restraint turns into a hug as he sobs against my chest.
I rest my cheek on his head and just hold him as he lets it out. “It’s going to be okay, man. Don’t let it kill you. We’re here.”
Damon, rights himself and goes to the high cupboard above the refrigerator. Taking out a bottle of pills, he pops the lid with his teeth and shakes one onto the counter, before fetching a glass of water.
“There’s a chill-out tab on the bench when you guys are done making out down there. Jenkins, I think it’d be best if you had a lie down while me and Jackson set your house to rights.”
Groaning into my chest, Jenkins shrinks even more and sniffs. “I’m sorry I said that shit about your mom.”
“I know, man. Fuck. I can’t believe you made me hit a cripple.”
We both laugh a little and Jenkins sighs.
“You can stop hugging me now. You smell like fruit salad. And pussy. Why do you smell like pussy?” he says, struggling to free himself.
Releasing him, I push him away. “Just because I can’t stick my dick in it, doesn’t mean I can’t get it, fuckface.”
Getting up, I make sure his chair is ready for him. When I turn around, he and Damon are both staring at me. Sighing, I run a dishcloth under the faucet and press it to Brad’s split eyebrow to staunch the bleed. “I don’t want to talk about it. You need help to get back in your chair, or what?”
“Fuck off,” he says, waving me out of his way as he drags himself into position.
“Holy shit,” Damon says, making us both turn to him. “It was Blondie?”
Jenkins eyes me closely. “It fucking was!”
“I said, I don’t want to talk about it.” My tone is low and warning. Taking the glass of water from the counter, I hand it to Jenkins with his tablet.
“Take your fucking rage medicine and go to bed, Brad. But not before apologizing to your mom for busting up her house and telling the whole neighborhood she’s a fucking whoring cunt. She’s probably still hiding out on the porch.”
Cringing, a defeated Jenkins swallows his pill and wheels his chair slowly over the devastation to find his mother.
Damon looks around, a long whistle describing his thoughts.
“We’ll start in here,” I sigh, throwing a squashed banana into the sink. “Then Mrs. Jenkins can make herself a hot drink while we do the rest.”
“He should be doing it.”
“Man, I’m just glad it was fruit and that the knives are already out of reach. Mandy’s not only getting married on Friday, but he’s found out the bitch is pregnant.”
“Oh fuck. Really?” Damon snakes one arm around a mixing bowl and swipes a cloth off the bench so it veils his stump. Wiping the cupboard, he catches the falling chunks of apple in the bowl. “So she not only rips his heart out, but throws it in the dirt and dances on it?” Shaking his head, he looks at me over his shoulder. “This is going to get worse before it gets better.”
“I know,” I reply, taking out the broom and sweeping broken crockery into a pile. “I don’t think Bev can handle it on her own.”
Setting his bowl on the counter, Damon collects the large chunks of fruit from the floor and dumps them in. “I’m thinking we step in for a while, get him over the hump and back off again once the worst is over.”
“I was thinking the same thing. It’s either that or hospital, and you know he’ll find a way to off himself before he goes back there.”
Damon sighs as he looks around. “I’m worried he’ll find a way anyway. The guy’s not coping.”
“So we’re agreed? Operation Bradley-sitter?”
“Agreed,” Damon says, upending his bowl of mashed fruit over the garbage disposal. “Did you know you’re bleeding?” he says casually. I check myself over, but don’t find anything.
“On your leg at the back,” he says. “Looks like you’ve got you period. And you have Brad’s blood all over your chest. It’s giving me all kinds of gross thoughts, considering Jenkins said your chest smells like pussy. You get into some crime-scene action?”
“Ew! Shut the fuck up.” I grab some paper towels from the cupboard, wadding them up before lowering my pants and holding it to my leg where I think the blood is coming from. “I can’t feel anything in this section, and I can’t see properly. Is there anything in it? Glass or something?”
“You want me to inspect your ass?”
“Yeah, I do. If it’s got something in it, it’ll get infected and won’t heal. I’m pretty sure if I’m oozing pus, it’ll be a turn off for the ladies I strip for. I’m not dancing this week, but I can’t afford to be out of action for long.”
“You’re controlling the bleed. Get Blondie to look. Seems you guys have gotten pretty close.”
“Shermansky!” I warn. “I’ll keep my shorts on, just do me a solid, would you?”
“Fine. But only because you seem scared shitless about facing Blondie after whatever had her naked on your chest. She find out?”
I sigh. “Yup.”
“And?”
“And what? I ran away.”
Damon shakes his head as he reaches for the first aid kit in the same cupboard he got the pills from. “So you don’t even know how she took it?”
“I know.” I say quietly. “I saw the look on her face.” Lowering the paper towels, I hold them back in place as a trickle of blood tries to run down m
y leg. “She didn’t want me to love her before she knew about it, so why would she want me after? I can’t offer her anything, and a demented, dependent mother is just the icing on the cake. Three strikes and I’m out. Just leave it alone.”
“Do I have to worry about Jenkins and you?”
“Who would pay for Mom’s care then, asswipe?”
“Good. Makes me glad your mom’s fucked up. Bend over,” he says, lowering himself for a closer look. “If you fart in my face, you won’t have to worry about your dick working, because you won’t have one, you understand?”
“Yeah yeah. Just check it would you? It’s still bleeding.”
I move the paper towels away and Damon inhales through his teeth.
“Does it need stitches?”
“Dunno. There’s a sliver of plate wedged in it. You really can’t feel that?”
“If I could, we wouldn’t be having this delightfully intimate moment. Grab some more paper towels before you pull it out. Once you unplug the hole it’ll bleed like a bitch.”
“What you want me to pull it out with? My teeth?”
“I’d pay to see that,” Brad laughs, wheeling himself back in. “Shit Jackson. Never thought you and Shermansky were this much in love. No wonder things didn’t work out with Blondie.”
“Aw, shit.”
Damon steps back to allow Jenkins in closer. Brad makes the same ‘eesh’ noise that Damon did.
“Grab me some more of those napkin things, Shermansky. Jackson, did you know there’s half a plate stuck in your leg?”
“Yeah, thanks for the update Jenkins. How about getting it out before I thump your skull for putting it there.”
“Easy there tiger. Hold still.”
Jenkins sets the long, bloodied shard of dinner plate next to me on the counter as he bundles another wad of paper towels to my upper thigh and puts my hand over it to apply the pressure. “Probably for the best you couldn’t feel that one, my friend. It might leave a mark. Sorry.”
He starts wheeling away again. “I’m going to tidy up the living room until my drugs kick in... Thanks for coming,” he says softly, before disappearing out the door.