"I don't care what you thought you were gonna do," Eric told him firmly. "If she doesn't want it, you don't touch her."
"Don't be a fag, Eric."
"You're drunk, Mouse," Eric dismissed him. "Maybe you should walk it off before you get yourself in trouble. You just got off probation. Don't mess yourself up."
"Get out of my way, Eric. You're my homie, man, but I'll beat your ass. No hesitations about it."
"Do what you feel you got to do," Eric replied, shrugging. "I'm not moving."
"Let it go, Mouse," Stevens tried to pull him along. "There's other bitches around here. This one is Eric's."
"Get off of me, Stevens! You don't run things around here, Chandler!" Mouse growled in drunken rage. "I had this one marked first."
"Well unmark her," Eric told him. "I'm dead serious. I respect you and all, but if you touch her again, you'll regret it."
"Fuck you, Eric!"
"Calm your nerve, dude," Stevens said to Mouse. "We got all night to pull some tail. She ain't that fine anyway and you don't know where she's been. You can't just go jumping on the first thing you see around here. You'll thank us later."
Mouse mulled that over for a moment before looking at Chantel with new realization. The threat of a possible STD muscled his untamed libido into check.
"Ya, man. Let's get out of here," Mouse told Stevens, and they stumbled away back into the shadows toward the city bus stops.
Anti-Hero
Eric approached Chantel, but when he reached out to help her up, she pulled away from him. "Don't touch me," she sobbed, her tearful eyes burning with hate. "I'm done with this. I'm calling the police and the dean to have you thrown out of this school! I won't stop until they put you behind bars for everything you've done to me!"
She waited, ready to put up a fight if he came close again, but Eric willingly obeyed her. He took three steps back, giving her all the space she needed. She glared at him as he lit another cigarette. The lighter illuminated his green eyes as he watched her. Then the flame vanished, leaving them both in darkness again.
"Still want me to stop following you?" he finally asked.
"Shut up!" she ordered, tearing her purse apart to find her phone. "Don't you dare say another word to me."
He turned away to blow his cigarette smoke in the opposite direction, before facing her again with a look that she thought might be sympathy.
"I'm sorry," he told her gently. "Despite what you might think, I really didn't know this would happen."
"You knew they were breaking into my car! You knew it was mine, you asshole!"
"I didn't think he'd have the balls to actually break the window."
"There is nothing you can say to justify what he did," Chantel said, as more tears streamed down her cheek. She grew more desperate to find her phone, but her trembling hands could not grip it in the dark. She began to fear that she might have dropped it in the commotion of everything.
"You're right," Eric told her. "I can't justify it. Again, I'm sorry. It shouldn't have happened. If you need someone to back up your story to the cops, I'll tell them what I saw."
"That's not going to stop me from telling them how you just stood by and watched it happen," Chantel said bitterly.
"Well, it's your story. You're in charge," Eric replied. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own phone, offering it to her freely. "You have complete control over what happens to me next. You can tell them whatever you want and they'd believe you. You could make it so that I'm never allowed at this school again. That's what you want, right? Here's your chance."
Chantel thought it over, exchanging glances between him and the phone, reluctant to take it immediately out of fear of it being a trick. "I'm going to tell them everything," she warned him. "You know that, right?"
"Well if you do tell them it was me, fine, I'll have to deal with it," Eric answered. "You can tell them whatever version of the story you want, as long as you know deep down what really happened, and that I could've easily walked away and let Mouse do what he wanted with you."
Chantel stood trembling with rage, but she could not in good conscience take his phone. She wished she was somewhere else. She wanted to run and hide. She wanted a shower, but no amount of antibacterial soap would wash away the memory of Mouse's hands crawling on her skin. She wanted Mia, but all she had at the moment was the formidable. Every time he came near her, her life spun into disaster.
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" she cried. "What do you want from me?"
"I'm just trying to help you."
"I don't need your help!" Chantel declared, advancing on him and shoving him back. "Stay out of my life! Leave me alone! What part of that don't you understand?"
"You're gonna get enough of pushing me around, girl," he warned.
Chantel viciously ripped the cigarette out of his mouth and smashed it like an insect under her wedges. "What are you going to do, huh?" she challenged him. "Come on! If you're gonna do something to me, then do it already. Stop hiding behind corners and stalking me in parking lots. Be a man and confront me face to face. You want to put me in my place? You want to call me a nigger? You want to hit me? Do it! Come on!"
"You shouldn't have done that," he said, looking regretfully at his smashed cigarette on the pavement. "That was my last one."
Without another word or any further regard for her, he turned and walked back toward campus.
"Where are you going?" Chantel demanded, marching after him.
"To find a smoke."
"Like hell you are!" she declared. "What am I supposed to do about my car?"
"Get your window fixed," he suggested, shrugging. "Obviously."
"And you expect me to pay for it?" she cried. "I hope your thug of an asshole friend's got a good insurance policy."
Eric laughed. "Good luck finding him. He's stupid broke. Baby's mama sucks him dry every month. Pun intended. By the time you get him to fix anything, you might as well get a new car."
"Unbelievable,” Chantel cried irritably. "And you're just going to walk away?"
"I wasn't the one who broke it," Eric replied. "You have a good night."
Chantel stood in disbelief as she watched him march away into the far off shadows on campus. Feeling more alone than ever, she turned back to her broken window and surveyed the glass on the ground glittering in the light of the street lamps. She'd only owned the car a month as a gift from her parents. They had originally meant to give it to her as a graduation present, but were so proud of her making Dean's List that they surprised her with the keys during their last family dinner together.
It wasn't until then that Chantel remembered her parents and that she would have to tell them everything that happened. Her mom would freak out and demand that she catch the next flight back to Palo Alto. They never really understood her dream of living alone in the gang capital of California 400 miles away from home.
How would she explain the situation to them? They certainly wouldn't care that she was only a semester away from graduating, or that she had established a whole life without them since her Freshman year. They were always careful not be too overbearing with their daughter's aspirations, and rarely interfered if it was really important to her, but this would definitely push them to protest.
Since the day Chantel first met them at her favorite swing set, they had nothing but her best interests in mind, and went out of their way to make sure that the rest of her life was a happy one. However, just because the Paris weren't her birth parents, it didn't mean that they worried less. In fact, her mother was a nervous wreck when it came to Chantel going off on "adventures".
Katherine Pari, who had been told as a newlywed that she could never have children, saw Chantel as her greatest treasure. The pride and joy of her life. Despite the shade of her skin, Chantel shared a deep bond with Katherine, and often told everyone she was her real birth mother. They were so in tune with each other that when one was distressed, the other would often get premonitions about it
.
Chantel knew if she let her emotions get the best of her then her mother would come looking for her. She had to be strong. If she had failed to protect herself from the attack, then at least she could protect her mother from the agony of finding out about it. In that case, she couldn't go to the police yet, and neither could she ask her parents for money to repair her car. She would have to handle it all on her own. Some way, somehow.
"This is not happening to me," Chantel whispered, looking over her wounded vehicle. "Why is this happening to me?"
She tensed when heavy footsteps came up behind her, smashing the broken glass on the pavement. She smelt the smoke before she saw him.
Eric stood at the trunk of the car smoking another cigarette that he'd bumped off a stranger, and joined her in surveying the damage.
"You're still here," she remarked cynically.
"I know this guy that's good with cars," he said, ignoring the sarcasm. "He's usually reasonable about his prices. Maybe he's home."
"I said I didn't need your help," she replied. "And I really don't want nothing else to do with your hoodlum friends."
"He'd give you a good price," Eric went on.
"I don't have any money to fix it right now," she snapped at him. "Don't you get that? I didn't exactly work a broken window into my monthly budget."
"Well, you can't just leave it like this. You got no choice but to talk him into a deal. It's better than just standing here bitching about it."
Chantel glared at him, but could not refute the logic of his argument. She had to get the window fixed. That was inevitable. At length, she took the keys from her purse.
"I'd better drive," Eric said. "I know where we're going."
"You're drunk."
"I'm coherent."
"Coherent doesn't work for me. I'm driving," she said. Before he could walk around to the passenger seat, she stopped him. "I swear, if you try anything-”
"Relax," Eric said, opening the passenger door. "You're not my type. Just get in."
"Where are we going?"
"Ave 987, but take Bristol to highway 68."
"I know a faster way. I'm taking St. Louis."
"No, just go the way I tell you. It's easier."
"And how long have you lived here?"
"Long enough to know where the hell I'm going. Drive." Then he added quickly, "Please."
Chantel sighed and reluctantly dropped into the driver's seat next to him. She turned the car on and drove off in the direction of Bristol. "This isn't going to work. I already want to throw you out this car."
"Well, there's something we have in common," he answered. "You got a radio in here?'
"I don't use the radio at night. It interferes with my end of day meditation," Chantel informed him.
"Then don't listen," Eric answered, turning the knob up.
"And now for this evening's traffic report. St. Louis street is at a stand still tonight. Three car pile up on the shoulder side. Police have blocked off most of the area to traffic and do not expect the area to open up for another two hours..."
Eric grinned.
"Shut up," she snapped.
"I didn't say anything," he answered. "But when I'm right, I'm pretty much right."
"Just 'cause you're right about some things doesn't mean you're right about everything."
"No, I may be wrong about some things, but I'm mostly right about everything."
"You don’t make any sense."
"Don't worry. It'll come to you eventually. If not, just smile, nod, and look pretty. That's how most girls get by."
"Can you please stop talking? You're giving me a headache."
Eric firmly zipped his lips and took out his mp3 player. He pointed to it silently and raised his eyebrows in inquiry. Chantel rolled her eyes. "I don't care," she sighed reluctantly. "But no metal. I don't worship the devil."
"You mean like Waidmanns heil von Rammstein?"
"We speak English in this car."
Eric plugged his mp3 player into her stereo and searched for a song. "You like Linkin Park?"
"I've never been there," she replied.
"Obviously," he grinned.
It took Chantel a minute to realize that it wasn't actually a physical place but the name of a rock band. Once that was established, the experience of it wasn't as bad as she cared to admit to him.
Damages
"Turn here," Eric instructed. They pulled into a ma-and-pop car repair shop, with a sign blandly ordaining it, "Ma and Pop Auto Repair."
A hefty guy was bent under the hood of a truck, his two-foot high hot pink Mohawk visible from across the street. He clenched the wrench in his hand more tightly when the car pulled up in his lot. He hadn't expected any customers that late at night, and the stony expression on his face dared the intruder to bring any trouble to his business.
"He looks customer friendly," Chantel commented, noting the tattooed sleeve and septum piercing. From her distance, she could see the dark eye liner under his eyes three inches thick.
"Kill the headlights and wait here," Eric told her. He got out, calling, "Roswell. What's up? You don't know your homies anymore?"
"Not in that gay ass yellow bug. What you doing bringing that shit on this side of town? I can't be seen with that on my lot."
"That's business, man. If it pays, then it doesn't matter what color it is," Eric answered giving him some designated handshake. "How you been?"
"Fucking off. The usual. I been asking around for you. You never came through for me last week. I was hurt, dude. Real Hurt. I said, Eric never does shit like that to me. Where were you?"
"Something came up last weekend," Eric lowered his voice. "Politics and shit. I had to fly back to C.O. to handle some things, but I got what I promised you. I always come through."
"Is it in there?" Roswell asked, titling his head in Chantel's direction. "You brought me a girl?"
"No. She's nobody," Eric answered.
Roswell chuckled. "Oh, it's that kind of thing, huh?"
"No, not even that. I'm just helping her out. Mouse broke her window, and she needs it looked at quick."
"How quick?"
"Like yesterday."
"I'll see what I can do. Tell her to pull in right here."
~
Chantel sat in the waiting room tapping her foot impatiently as she watched Eric and Roswell assess the damage. She couldn't hear what they were saying beyond the glass door, but Eric seemed to be making all the decisions about what needed fixing, rejecting one offer and agreeing to another without even consulting her first. Roswell would suggest things, and Eric would take them into consideration as if he himself owned the car. Chantel may as well have been invisible. Maybe he assumed she was too dumb to know anything about cars and only his "superior" knowledge could account for her best interests. It made her all the more agitated, as this could only be the case when it came to Eric.
Never once did it occur to her that it was merely a matter of social alliance and not domination over her that drove Eric to take charge. Roswell's repair shop was a cover up for darker and more complex businesses that left him more financially secure than any cash he'd get off fixing cars. As such, Roswell only opened the hood of a car when the government came asking questions, and every stranger on his property was an undercover snitch in his eyes. He had a special way of dealing with those kinds of customers. If Chantel had ventured across the waiting room and peeked into the door she had assumed was a janitor's closet, she would have found inside the tools responsible for the nightmares of those unfortunate people before her.
Of course, Eric left out that little detail when referring Chantel to Roswell's services. If Eric hadn't immediately made his presence known to Roswell upon arriving, they might have been shot, but he never told Chantel that. Ignorance is bliss, and he was confident in his influence as Roswell's acquaintance. Besides, there was nobody in Los Angeles who could beat Roswell's prices, especially if he considered you to be an ally.
At lengt
h, Roswell finally acknowledged Chantel with a side glance. He was no longer scrutinizing her every move, but gazed at her with a kind of playful curiosity.
Assuming that Chantel wanted Eric's attention, Roswell nudged him and titled his head in her direction to remind Eric that she was still there. Eric looked up at her too and Chantel quickly broke eye contact. She didn't want either of them to know how intently she was analyzing them. After all, she was a female alone in a rough neighborhood at midnight, defenseless against two untrustworthy and less than gentlemanly thugs. It only made her more uneasy when Roswell grinned at Eric and asked, "So what's in it for you?"
Eric's response was inaudible to her. If he was good at anything, it was whispering.
He knew better than to assume she wasn't listening, and he made damn well sure she couldn't hear his reply. Whatever he said to Roswell, it was enough to elicit a laugh out of his friend. The response must have also eased Roswell's mind about them being spies for the feds, because he seemed more enthusiastic about fixing the car and making a deal with Eric. Only then did they reach a solid agreement. Roswell patted Eric on the shoulder and left to print out the paperwork.
Eric made his way to the waiting room, swung open the glass door, and with a heavy sigh, fell into a chair one seat away from Chantel.
Disgusted, she quickly scooted away from him, putting at least three seats of space between them. "You stink," she complained.
"Don't be a baby. It's just a little vodka."
"I doubt that's all it is."
Eric didn't reply, resting his head against the wall as he leaned back in the chair. "I'm tired," he said. "I just want to take a nap in absolute silence. Is that ok with you, Madam President?"
"I don't care what you do."
"Thank you, Madam President. Just making sure I still get to keep some of my rights."
"Stop calling me that."
Eric folded his arms and got comfortable, closing his eyes to the bright florescent lights above him.
Grey Page 8
