by Liz K. Lorde
I narrowed my eyes, eyebrows knitting together in a simmering fury at his brashness. Still, I couldn’t deny a weird, foreign enthrallment that I had with the guy. “33rd street, last house on the left,” I grumbled through taut lips. “You make any funny turns I’m getting off this thing,” I told him.
He chuckled darkly and sat his ass down in front of me, adjusting his person and moving back the kickstand. “Wouldn’t recommend doing that. Easiest way to ruin that beautiful fuckin’ face.”
My inner self bashfully turned itself away, and I was thankful that he wasn’t looking at me then. Knew for a fact my cheeks would be turning pink.
How lame.
***
We cruised for a good ten minutes, and honestly I felt relieved at not having to walk all the way home. I’d treated the guy like a real bitch, and deep down I knew that I didn’t want to be that way. Sadness wrapped itself around my bones and I tried to focus on the feel of the road as we flew through the night.
It helped some.
Further, feeling the crackling energy of the righteous man was starting to thaw the coldness that had so long bloomed in my chest. For a moment, I was this close to convincing myself that everything was about to change – that my life was going to get back on track and that it could all be like it once was. Internal me scoffed, and I tightened my squeeze against the man’s midsection; focusing on the hardness of his no doubt chiseled abs.
We turned onto my street and I called out for him to stop. Thankfully, he did as I requested and pulled up to the curb, a good six or seven neighbors away from where Mom and Dad were hopefully sleeping.
The biker killed his engine and look back at me, “What’s up?” He asked.
“Just want to get off here is all,” I told him before slipping off of the bike, still delighting in the vibrations that the beast had given me between my legs. Crap. I was going to have to shimmy out of those panties before sleeping tonight.
“You want to get off, huh?” Something about his bassy voice, it just did something to my stomach. There was a mischievousness to his tone.
“Yeah,” I repeated, giving him a look as if to say ‘that is what I just told you, dude.’
He smirked and kicked up the stand on his bike, and then pushed himself off of it, moving over to my side. “I’ll walk you home,” he insisted.
Knowing that he was probably going to do this regardless as to what I said, I went along with it. “Alright,” I sighed, “but if it looks like my Dad is awake, you need to disappear, got it?”
The man nodded his head, and we walked down the street together, quietly for half of a minute. There was only the sound of our shoes and the music of crickets, and the nervous tick of my heart, to keep us company.
It was a strange, but comforting kind of silence.
The gruff man cleared his throat, and when I looked over to him – it still astounded me how tall and broad shouldered he was. “Name’s Gabriel, but I guess a budding ice queen such as yourself doesn’t do names.”
I smirked and gave him a playful glare, “I was a bitch, I admit it,” I bit my lip. Why did apologizing have to be so damn hard? And why did he have to be so…deliciously distracting. “I’m sorry,” I said it like I was going to have to pull my teeth after the words left my lips. “Thank you for saving me, back there. Don’t know how that would have gone without you,” I finally admitted, trying to push back the replaying scene from my head and heart.
“It’s all good,” he said in a warm, comforting voice.
Thankfully all the lights inside of my parent’s place were off. “You can call me MJ,” I added, “not like you’ll see me any time soon, I guess,” I brushed back a stray of black hair.
Gabriel hummed, “So like Mary Jane?”
“Madeline,” I corrected, giving him a lazy half smile. We stood just outside the small picket fence of my parent’s front lawn, and if the NSA was watching us right now – I was certain that we’d make quite the bizarre scene. Part of me wanted to shake his hand, or even better, hug him. But that part of me was small and something that I kept buried; something that I had to keep in check.
From where I was standing, with the way his chocolate eyes looked down and searched mine, I could tell that he was thinking something similar. Like the heat between us was so frightening, that neither of us dared to get close enough – lest we end up with our lips crashing together.
We were two animals passing in the night, and just as quick as we came into each other’s lives: we were gone.
4
Madeline
“Wait!” I cried out, running up to the side of the silver bus, my black messenger bag pressing down against my back and shoulder with every stride. When I reached the door of the bus, and I tapped on the glass, the driver inside sighed and slid the door open for me. Stepping up into the vehicle, I managed to catch my breath for a brief moment and mouth ‘thank you’ to the driver. Some small part of me wondered, as the first skittering fingers of paranoia brushed against my skin: Did he know what I did? Could he see that my pupils were surely dilated? Doesn’t matter, nobody gives a damn anyway.
After a hurried moment, I pulled out my bus card and slid it through the scanner – a satisfied beep filling my ears and a green light popping up for half of a second.
I settled into one of the backmost seats and set down my messenger bag, pulling out my phone and earbuds. I’d overslept last night, had too much trouble calming down after everything that happened. I was torn between the humiliation that Christopher made me endure; the harshness that Damien continuously exhibited, the near rape from that sick bastard, and the delightful tightness that I painfully felt throughout the hours over the rugged Gabriel.
Tilting my head to look out the window as the bus joined traffic, I cursed beneath my breath at remembering his name. The smell of him came back to me, and when I flicked over to my favorite song on Spotify, Van Nuys – Sixx AM, I closed my eyes and the image of him swam through my mind.
Was it normal to feel so helpless? To surrender to such fine sights and simple pleasures? There was a finger of warmth that pressed against my heart, and as the chorus grew it felt like all my pain was being soaked up by that moment I’d never get back. That fleeting, wondrous connection with a stranger in the strange, darkly fucked up world that was me and my life.
Nothing had been the same since those years. Since that day. Hated myself for letting it all come to this.
***
Age Sixteen – Three Years Earlier
We were sitting courtside, on our own private island of the bench, as the other girls continued to play a round of volleyball at school. Josie pointed at one of the girls, Bethany Lyles, and commented about how she had the meanest serve in school. If there was one thing that I loved back then, about Josie, it was that she always had something to say – always some way to fill up the boring doldrums of life. Where I still had long platinum hair (no streaks) she sported a brown, pixie style crown of hair.
She had just gotten done telling me about how Darcy Mae was found in the bathroom crying; how her on again, off again boyfriend, Lyle Atkins, had poked their condoms full of holes to get her pregnant. How could anyone be so criminally disgusting, was almost beyond me.
Almost.
Josie covered her tiny mouth with her equally small hand, and giggled before leaning closer to me. “We would so be boned without her, I’m telling you. Beth probably gets a lot of practice with that hand,” Josie elbowed me and her lips curled into a smile.
“You get plenty of hand practice,” I japed.
Josie rolled her eyes, “Not for long, my JJ.”
“Oh?” Just what did that mean.
“Yeah,” Josie teased. “You see with you all being cold and rude—“
“I wouldn’t be if people weren’t such tools.”
She shoved at my shoulder, “Hey! Let me finish, see? Proving my point. Look, being nice and flirty gets you places, why can’t you get that through your thick…” Josie qu
ickly veered into her silly mode and gave me this entranced look, her fingers moving close to my hair. “Beautiful – so gorgeous I totally don’t plan on cutting it all off in the middle of the night – hair covered skull.”
Laughter rolled from my chest and I scooted away from her, telling her to stay far, far away.
Naturally, she slid her butt closer to me and I sighed. Josie said: “But uh, yeah,” I could see that she was starting to grow pink in the cheeks, and this was very much unlike my best friend.
If there was ever a moment in time that I wish I could have gone back and placed myself anywhere but where I was…
It was this innocuous moment.
Our eyes met briefly, and Josie confessed, “I got Damien to invite me to his house party this Friday. I really think he likes me, MJ.”
Maybe it was some darkness from years ago, when Brandon committed suicide. I shuddered at the thought. But for some reason, I felt the true, crushing weight of loneliness.
The lines on Josie’s face softened, and concern was clear in her golden eyes, “Are you okay?”
Answering that felt like the hardest question I’d ever been asked. “Yeah,” I told her, “yeah I’m okay, it’s just. I mean. Isn’t he kind of an asshole?”
Josie shrugged as the girls went back and forth on the court, their athletic sneakers making a squeaking symphony of noise. “Who isn’t an asshole around here?” She countered. The sound of that volleyball being punted up high filled my ears. “Besides, MJ, he’s freaking hot as sin! Please tell me you wouldn’t jump him in a heartbeat, go ahead. Lie to me girl.”
I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest, looking between Josie and the court. “Okay, he is hot, I guess,” I tried to play it off, the attraction that I’d felt to him. But I knew he was nothing but trouble, nothing but a prick. Concern worked away at my heart for Josie, I couldn’t just let her make this mistake. “But really, I’m sure you’ve heard.”
“Heard what?” She asked.
“That he sells. You know, that he sells—“ I brought my voice to a whisper and gestured with little head bobs, “drugs?”
“Yeah but I’m tired of being some dude’s meal ticket,” she admitted. “Bethanny does K,” she pointed out. K being Ketamine. “Hannah does Percs and Jessica chain smokes, like let’s be real here our friends are always into something. If it’s not drugs it’s alcohol, if it’s not alcohol it’s tobacco. It’s always something.”
“That doesn’t just make it okay,” I argued, rivulets of fire burning up my chest. I narrowed my eyes at her, “this is serious, you think he’s all sunshine and rainbows? It’s no secret he hurts people.”
Guess it was my tone of voice, but she didn’t like hearing what I was saying now. Josie straightened out aggressively in her place on the bench, the sound of sneakers punctuating the growing tension between us. “Excuse me? Where the hell do you get off?”
“Relax,” I turned to face her now and brought my hands to my knees, “I’m trying to save you heartbreak here—“
“We’re the same age,” her nose flared, “so don’t go and pretend that you’re my senior here. And while you’re on your high horse, it’s not like,” she shook her head. “It’s not like I’m going around blowing dudes in the bathroom stall.”
The thorns of anger pricked away at me, and intoxicating heat brushed up against the back of my neck. “Fuck you,” I said in a quiet, seething anger, offended that she’d throw such a thing in my face. “I told you those were rumors. Would you just chill for two seconds and listen to me?” I pleaded with my eyes as much as my mouth, the hurt worming its way through my chest. We’d argued plenty, but this was new levels of shit. “Damien sells drugs, you’ve got the hots for him. You don’t do drugs, neither of us do – why the fuck would you get mixed up with him?”
Josie shot up from the bench, “Because I’m tired of being alone!” She whisper-shouted, her body trembling almost imperceptibly. When a couple of girls stopped paying attention to the game and looked over towards us, Josie slinked away to the bathrooms.
***
I was mentally exhausted after finishing up my three classes – one of which, being Philosophy, I had managed to nap through without being called out on by professor Gerald. After grabbing a cannoli from one of the local hole-in-the-wall shops, I called Damien several times only to get his answering machine. Frustrated, I hopped back on the bus and pulled out my phone; scrolling through my contacts list. My eyes caught sight of that doctor who’d stabilized me. It’d been a few months, and I’d told myself that I would call her – take her up on the offer she’d extended to me. But I always seemed to put it off.
Flicking my finger against the screen, I tapped my father’s portrait and rang his number – already coming up with the lie that I was going to spin. Could feel it in my bones again, that cool-burning need to smoke it. Every nerve in my body urged me to curl up into a ball and cry; I’d been using way too much lately, and it was starting to affect every action of my life. This wasn’t the plan, originally. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I pushed out a long, shuddering, pissed-off breath as my phone continued to ring. I needed to get away from Damien, needed to get away from everything. I’d only went to college to try and please my parents, any ambition I had going into it was just…not there anymore. Shuffling around in my seat, my eyes crawled over the passengers of the musty smelling bus. Smelled like old and piss and God knows what else. Felt like everyone was watching me, burning cigarette like holes into my skin.
The last thought that I had before Dad picked up was when I was ten and Mom was still bartending, how she was showing me how to mix drinks and I’d rambled onto her about how I wanted to be a ballerina. This was before I’d gotten into shades of black and blue; before I started listening to Gojira and a bunch of black metal. If she ever knew I still thought back on those early years, she’d probably howl with laughter in my face.
Dad, in his grizzled voice said, “Maddie, where are you?”
“Hey Dad,” it was the strangest thing, to recognize that I was using my ‘I have to lie now’ voice. Still, couldn’t do a thing to mask it. “I’m on the bus right now, but uh, I’m not coming home ‘till later.”
Silence. Total silence. That was when you knew he was at the height of his patience wearing thin, when you could tell he was grinding his teeth just trying to formulate the best way to unleash his anger. “That is not what we agreed on, Madeline.”
My face fell downwards and it gutted me to hear him talk in that patronizing tone. “I know.”
“Then why,” he growled.
“It’s okay,” I tried to assuage his building rage, “really, it is. I’m going to Elizabeth’s.”
“Really,” he was incredulous.
I shifted in my seat on the bus as the vehicle made a slow, massive turn. “Yes, Dad.” Pins and needles pricked away at my guts.
“If I call Lizzie’s mother later tonight, am I going to like what I hear?”
Shit. “I mean we’ll be out most of the night, you really don’t have to do that.”
“Out where?” He growled.
“Just, out? I don’t know? We’ll probably get picked up by one of her friends, maybe go to the bar.”
“You promised me you’d get your act together,” the worst part about all of this, was that I could hear that subtle hurt in Dad’s voice. “If you hurt your mother again,” I pictured him shaking his head, heard the tight ball that formed in his throat, “don’t make me regret trusting you, MJ. Just, please.”
I sank back further into my seat, and my body felt like it weighed twice as much as it normally did. The weight of my deception was killing me, and in my head I told myself all the things I needed to do – to get on that right path.
But my heart kept steering me to the wrong place, to the wrong people. To the wrong person.
5
Madeline
After spending most of my bus ride lost in my own though
ts, dreading the idea of working my shift at Alicia’s Diner tomorrow night, I’d made it to Damien’s brownstone apartment. The battered lobby contained a small stairway, which housed three levels of medium sized living quarters. There was a large red rug that sat below the first old door; it was dusted and frayed at its ends. I placed my hand on the railing of the staircase and began my ascent, glancing up at some sloppy haired man in his thirties – he was wearing a blue crewneck, had black hair and a weeks-worth of scruff.
We greeted one another non-verbally and moved right past each other, and I turned my head briefly to get one more quick look at him. Continuing onward, I moved to the second floor where Damien’s door was waiting for me.
Neon lights swam through my head, blinking: Turn back now, you idiot. Guess I’d always been hard wired to self-destruct, or maybe the urges to get myself in over my head came from all the pain I’d soaked up.
So, I ignored those warning lights in my mind. Just like I always seemed to do.
I didn’t bother knocking. Turned the handle and found it wouldn’t budge, so I pounded on the face of the door and called out to Damien.
The lock on the handle itself came first, and then I heard the sound of the chain rattling off of its place. Damien swung the door open with a pissed off look on the lines of his face, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. His hard, dilated eyes scanned me up and down, “Thought you were still pissed at me,” he huffed, his cigarette bobbing with his lips.
“Still am,” I purred in a sass, tilting my head and shoving my way passed him. In my head, I told myself that I was just here for what Damien had hooked me on.
In my heart, the knife twisted an inch into me at the thought of being alone.
Damien took a drag of his cigarette and slammed the door much harder than needed, locking up in an agitated manner. “Get me a fucking glass of ice water since you got me up, princess bitch.”
I rounded the corner into his simple, if not disorganized and cluttered, living room. Elizabeth Portnoy and Jake Flynn were sitting there on the sliced up red couch; something that Damien had gotten off of one of his clients, one that had refused to cough up the money that he’d owed him. Basically it was his sick fucking medal of a day’s hard work. Craning my head back, I responded: “Get it yourself and stop being such a prick,” it wasn’t playful, the way that we spoke.
