As quickly as I could manage with weighty feet and arms, I pushed my way over to the bathroom, hoping I’d find Megan inside and she could take me home. Once inside, the music was muffled. With the loss of the loudness, I could really tell something was wrong. I once got a buzz at my aunt’s wedding and it never felt like this. I felt sleepy and weighed down. I bent to look under the stalls to see if Megan’s shoes were under there, but when I did, the floor suddenly seem too close and I collapsed into a heap on the nasty bathroom floor.
“Megan!” I screamed out. My voice sounded slurred and altered.
No one responded.
Everything around me started to go blurry and a wall of nausea slammed into me. I fell over and crushed my body into the fetal position. I needed help. I wanted to scream for help, but my mouth wouldn’t work anymore. The room started to blink in and out as I began to lose consciousness. My heartbeat felt too slow, even though I was in a full-blown panic. It was definitely too slow. I was afraid it would stop beating at any second.
I tried to call out, but I was so tired. Far away, the music got loud again as the bathroom door opened. It went away once the door closed. I popped my eyes open, praying Megan would be standing there, but all I saw was a pair of black boots and long legs in my vision.
He moved closer. I heard running water and then I saw him turn to leave. I needed whoever it was to stay. I needed help and he might be the last person to come in here before I died on the dirty bathroom floor.
I pushed words past my dry lips. “Please help me.”
The words slipped from my mouth like a soft prayer. I worried it wasn’t loud enough, but then I saw his legs stop. He turned and made his way over to me and I forced my head back to look up at him. It was the guitar god from the band. He stared down at me with angry brown eyes. He was blurry and every now and again he blinked in and out while I tried to keep my eyes focused. I was embarrassed and scared, but I knew I needed help and I would take that help from anyone at this point.
“Please.” I could only whisper. “Something’s wrong with me.”
With the last ounce of strength my legs had, I pressed my body against the wall and pushed myself up. I continued to use that wall to keep me up.
He took me in with an expressionless face, but then the anger in his eyes stabbed at me.
“Shit,” he growled. His voice echoed off of the bathroom walls around me.
Then he was coming closer and putting his hands out to touch me. I went into full alert. I wanted to scream for him not to touch me, but between whatever was happening to me and the absolute fear of his hands on me, I was at a loss for words. He used his fingers to open my eyes and I tried to keep them from bobbling around in my head.
“What did you take?” he asked rudely.
I wasn’t one of the slackers running around outside. I didn’t do drugs and I was offended that he thought I did, but how else would I feel this way? It had to be the alcohol because I don’t remember taking anything.
“I didn’t take anything, I swear,” I slurred.
“Did anybody give you anything, maybe a piece of candy or something powdery?”
He ran his finger down my face and touched my neck. It scared me at first, until I realized he was checking my pulse. I wasn’t freaking dead, but I felt like I was dying.
I could feel my panic increasing and I quickly ran the night’s events through my head, trying to remember if anyone gave me anything. No one did.
“No, no one gave me anything.” I was freaking out.
He rolled his eyes. “Then I don’t know what to tell you.” He turned away.
I couldn’t let him leave me. I didn’t want to die, and if I was dying, I didn’t want to die alone.
“Wait,” I said as I reached for his arm.
Realizing I’d touched a guy freaked me out even worse and I pulled my arm away like he was on fire.
It was obvious he was aggravated by me. He was shifting on his feet and rolling his eyes. To him, I was just another drugged-out chick at The Pit.
“What?” he asked.
Then suddenly I remembered the nice guy at the bar who’d given me the drinks. Had he put something in my drink like on one of those crazy cop shows?
“A guy at the bar gave me a drink,” I said in a rush. “I thought he just got it from the bartender. It was really sweet, but it tasted fine. I don’t think there was anything it in. I would have tasted it, right?”
“Great, just fucking great.” He sighed again. “You got spiked.”
Spiked? What the hell did that mean? Was I dying? That’s what I mainly wanted to know.
Without a thought to my severe psychological issues with touching men, I reached out and lightly laid my hand on his arm. If I was going to die, why did it matter who I was touching?
“Am I going to be okay?” I asked. “Should I go to a hospital? My friend, the one who brought me… I can’t find her. She wanted the drummer and now I can’t find her. Please don’t leave me.” No matter how much I was breathing, I couldn’t get a full breath. I began to breathe faster.
That made the room spin even more and I had the sudden urge to stick my head between my legs. I felt my hair slip around my shoulders and cover my face. Strands of blond were sticking to my sweaty cheeks so I roughly pushed it away.
He stared at me like I was from another planet for a bit, then looked away.
“I’ll go get you some help,” he said.
Then he was walking away again. All the air in my lungs left in a rush and black dots danced in my vision. I was officially dying. I reached out and grabbed him and the room went black.
Three
Zeke
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I said with my arms full of petite blonde.
Her mouth was cocked open and her head fell back over my arm as I carried her across the bathroom to the door. She weighed next to nothing, but she had the firm body of an athlete. I adjusted her in my arms as I pulled the bathroom door open and worked myself and her through the opening.
I was welcomed by a burst of loud music, smoke, and Finn.
“Damn, man, I see your killer cock strikes again.” Finn joked as he threw his arm around my shoulders.
“I found her in the bathroom. Someone spiked her with something. I couldn’t just leave her there,” I said as I started to work through the thick crowd.
“Damn, dude, that sucks.” He pushed at a couple blocking my path.
Finn stuck by my side and helped me shove through. Thankfully, the lights were turned down for the lasers and no one noticed us. The girls in the club love to hang all over the band and usually I’m cool with that, but not right now, not with what could possibly be a dying chick in my arms.
“Since when do you give a shit about some random chick in the bathroom?” Finn asked when I made it to the bar.
“Just shut up and help me, man.”
He pushed her hair from her face, then reached for the pulse in her neck.
“Um, dude, she needs to go the hospital now. She barely has a pulse. Get her out of here! I’ll cover the show and take care of your guitar.”
I looked down at her pale face. Her cracked lips looked as if they were about to bleed, and there were greenish circles forming under her eyes. She was definitely about to die.
Instead of answering, I nodded to Finn. I spun on my heels and headed for the front door. There was no need to try and ask for help or ask someone to call an ambulance. No one would hear me or care, and I would be hated for calling the police or any form of authorities to The Pit. Half the people there were underage and there were enough drugs floating around the place to put us all in prison.
So I just ran to my car holding the girl in my arms. I pulled open my rusted passenger-side door and set her onto the seat. She slumped in the seat. I ran around my car and jumped in. I’d been drinking so things were a little fuzzy, but fuck it, the chick was dying and for some stupid reason I was lucky enough to give a shit.
&n
bsp; I squealed out of the parking lot and made it to the nearest hospital in minutes. With the unconscious girl in my arms, I ran to the counter in the ER. The older lady behind the counter looked at me like I was a monster. I’m sure it didn’t look good for me, a tatted-up, pierced guy, to be holding a half-dead khaki queen.
“She needs help. I found her on the side of the road. She was conscious at first and said someone drugged her. She passed out so I brought her here.”
There was a flurry of nurses and doctors and then the girl was rushed away on a gurney. Having done my job, I turned to walk away.
“Excuse me, son. We need to you stick around to talk to the police,” the older lady behind the counter said.
I could see in her eyes she was disgusted by me.
“No offense, ma’am, but I don’t talk to cops. Sorry.”
I turned and walked away. I could hear her behind me calling out something and then I saw the cop cars parked outside the ER doors, blue lights shining.
“Great,” I muttered to myself as the sliding doors came open and I was met by three police officers.
Needless to say, I was questioned until my eyes were rolling back in my head.
“Why the hell would I drug a chick, then bring her to the hospital? What kind of sense does that make?” I said as I leaned back in the plastic hospital chair and spun my lip ring.
I didn’t go to the jail for drugging the girl, but the police couldn’t seem to look past the drugs in my car. You’d think they’d turn their heads since I was being all hero-like, but it wasn’t in the cards for me.
The springs in the dirty bunk dug into my back as I waited to get bailed out. I could already imagine the beating coming my way from my dad. I guess I was due for one; it had been a week since my last. At least this one was for a good cause. I’d heard before I was handcuffed and taken away that the girl was okay. I felt pretty good about the fact that I’d saved her. Finally, I’d done something decent in my life.
Three hours later they released me. I didn’t ask any questions. I grabbed my shit and headed for the door.
“Hold up a minute, Tattoo. Someone wants to speak with you before you leave.” A young cop caught me before I made my break.
I was ushered into a dim room furnished with nothing but a table and two chairs and left alone. I sat down and stared into the dark glass on the other side of the room, a two-way mirror, no doubt. I wasn’t there long when the door opened and a tall, finely dressed man came through the door. He unbuttoned the bottom button on his expensive suit, then sat across from me. His alert brown eyes took me in as he ran his long fingers through his graying hair. His receding hairline topped a wrinkled forehead, but other than that, he looked like a fit man in his early fifties.
“Zeke Mitchell. That’s an interesting name. It suits you.” He tapped his fingers against the tabletop.
“Thanks. Look, man, I didn’t do anything wrong.” I immediately went on the defensive. “I was just trying the help the girl out and now I’m going to get my ass handed to me by my dad, and the cops took my stash.”
He adjusted his suit once more, then chuckled to himself.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked. His brows puckered in confusion as if he were some famous star and I should be star struck.
“Can’t say I do.” I leaned my chair back on two legs and crossed my arms.
I matched his pointed stare until he looked away.
“My name’s Charles Phillips.” He waited for my reaction. When I didn’t react, he continued.” As in Governor Phillips.”
I’d never heard of him, but why the hell would the governor take the time to talk to me.
“I’m in deep shit, aren’t I?”
“No. I just wanted to shake the hand of the man who saved my daughter’s life.” His smile was the smile of a dirty politician, all big, white teeth and no warmth.
So I’d saved a governor’s daughter. I should’ve known she was a white-collar girl, all khaki and white linen. I’d known just by looking at her that she didn’t belong on my side of town and I was right. She was probably a silver-spoon baby slumming it to piss off her daddy. It happened. They were usually the best bangs. They tried extra hard to be bad girls and were more willing to experiment.
He reached his hand out to shake mine and for a brief minute I contemplated this was a joke. Here I was the epitome of white trash and the man across from me was wearing a suit that cost more than my trailer and car combined. I reached out and shook his clammy hand.
“It was nothing. Can I go now?”
“Sure. Listen, you seem like a man who’s quick and to the point so I’ll just put it out there. I’ll have all drug charges dropped against you if this doesn’t go any farther than this room. The last thing I need is for the papers to find out my daughter was drugged. She’s fine, everyone’s fine, and I’d prefer to keep it out of the media. Does that sounds like a deal?”
And finally the reason for his visit comes out. Whatever got my ass out of this room and home.
“Sure. I’ll keep this to myself, but you may want to keep your daughter on her side of town.” I stood and he followed me and shook my hand once more.
“Oh, I think she’s learned her lesson. Thanks again.” Then he turned and left the room.
I followed behind him and walked out of the police station, unscathed.
Thankfully, when I got home, Dad was asleep and none the wiser about my little spell in jail. Finn had texted my phone until it died, so I stuck it on the charger and texted him back to let him know all was well.
I stripped down, took a quick shower, and then passed out in my boxers.
The next day, I took a ride over to Finn’s to pick up my guitar. Everyone was there lounging around the garage, including two new chicks I’d never seen before. One of them passed me a joint and I hit it a few times. These days, my life was becoming one big high. I guess it was easy to not think about how fucked up everything was when I couldn’t feel anything.
“So what happened with blondie last night?” Finn asked.
My mind flashed back to platinum hair and blistering, blue eyes. It was weird that I could remember her eyes so easily. It made me uncomfortable.
“She lived. I dropped her off at the hospital and dipped out.” I shrugged.
For some reason I left out the part about going to jail and her being the governor’s daughter. I’m not sure why I cared, but it felt wrong to tell that part. She’d been through enough already and I was almost positive I’d never see her around this part of town again, so there was no need to disclose that bit of information.
Finn nudged me with his boot. “So, The Pit booked us again for next weekend. There’s supposed to be some agents coming around town then too, so we need to look sharp. I got a new song I want to bang out. Let’s meet up here tomorrow afternoon. You hear me, Tiny?” He tossed an empty beer can at Tiny, who was making out with some black-haired girl in the corner.
“Yeah, dude, I heard you. Practice. Tomorrow. New song. Got it.” He went back to kissing the chick.
Tiny was a big boy, but chicks dug bass players and he was one of the best.
I didn’t stay long, just long enough to get high and grab my strings. I stopped for gas on the way home and stuck my last twenty bucks in the tank. Being broke sucked donkey cock and at this point I was strongly considering selling some powder to make some dough. A dealer in my neighborhood had offered me a job, but I wasn’t quite that desperate. I’m getting there now, though, and I’d been debating dealing and making enough money to get out of my old man’s house.
When I pulled up in my driveway, there was a white car parked on the side of my yard. The passenger-side door opened as I shut my door and grabbed my guitar case out of the back of my car. I was close to turning away from the car and rudely walking into my trailer when the sun caught the sandy locks of the girl from the night before.
She shyly smiled over at me as she shut the door and walked toward me.
“Shi
t,” I said out loud to myself.
This was the last thing I needed. Helping some strange chick was out of character for me and all I wanted was to stick last night in the back of my head and forget about it completely. Parts of me wanted to turn and walk away. Maybe if I did she’d take the hint and just leave, but something held me in my spot.
Next door, my neighbor Carlos pulled up in his apple-red Impala. Loud Mexican music blared from his car speakers and the sounds of children laughing spilled outside when he opened the front door to his trailer and called to his girlfriend in Spanish. Across the street two guys started to argue and cuss each other over what I could assume were drugs. And of course, the never-ending sounds of the cars on the interstate filled any quick moments of silence.
The blonde’s eyes left my face for a brief moment and skirted the trailer park around her. Her face stayed neutral, though. I could only imagine how disgusted she was. I bet politicians and their families practiced the unbiased face so whenever they went to the shitty neighborhoods they could get the people’s votes without seeming like stuck-up assholes. Her impassiveness pissed me off. Parts of me wanted her natural reaction. I wanted to see her lips and nose curl up in repulsion. I hated her composed stance when I bet every nerve in her body screamed for her to run to safety.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“What are you doing here?” I asked rudely. I made the face of disgust that I’m sure she wanted to make.
She blinked away her shock at my non-welcome. Then her eyes met mine directly. Her eyes took me in and I felt as if she looked right through me. She nervously picked at her fingernails and bit the inside of her mouth. Finally, she dropped her hands and spoke.
“I just wanted to say thank you for last night. Most people would have left me there to die.” She fiddled with ends of her hair.
She had more nervous ticks than any other person I’d ever met in my life. She was like a little fawn on the edge of escape. She looked out of place. Her clean appearance stuck out among the dirty rock road and rusted trailers that surrounded her. Her name brand clothes and expensive purse were begging to be swiped by the nearest hood rat. She had to be smarter than this. Didn’t she know she’d walked through the gates of hell for that pitiful thank you? Didn’t she sense the danger that was all around her? She needed to leave. She was too fresh for such polluted air.
Playing Patience Page 3
