by Liz K. Lorde
To me, it was just another Friday night amidst the glorious lights.
Somewhere out there in the bleachers sat Lysandra. Back in those angry days, she was the grace that got me by. We’d known each other since we were thirteen, and started hooking up at fifteen. She was the love of my life, the spark that kept me together through the storm of shit that was me and my life.
I looked for her, as everyone got into position on the field. When I spotted her among the crowded seats, a hand squeezed at my heart and my cocky smirk widened into a smile. Her black hair was done in a French braid that comes down to her shoulders, a red ribbon cinched along her hair. She had luscious cheekbones, a beauty spot and full, gorgeous red lips. Except, none of those things mattered to me – not really. It was her enthralling green eyes that truly trapped me.
Those eyes were my everything.
Lysandra cheered for me and called out my name, loudly and proudly I might add. Before that night, before all of this, I knew her to be the plucky, give-em-hell girl next door. She always knew how to make me feel right.
Every bone in my body was aching, every muscle protesting that the night wasn’t over. The games were intense, but the greatest stress came to the head and the heart. On our great field of luscious green, I remember the way we lined up like Gods fending off the demons. Our white jerseys versus their crimson. Wolves against dragons, and the bad blood couldn’t be any thicker.
The lightest falling of rain wept overhead, and the ground beneath my feet became slick and muddy; precarious to traverse, but nothing that the team and me couldn’t handle. It seemed to entice the onlookers even more, and the energy of our team even seemed to grow. Every hair on my body was standing stiff; the great game was afoot – little did I know that it was going to be my last.
I missed the smell of that night. It was all so good before.
In those tumultuous times, I stood at the back as QB – my heart pounding in my chest, even if I never let anyone see it in my face. The role of quarterback hadn’t come to me naturally; in fact I started off as an offensive and defensive tackle. Helped to channel some of my anger positively. But I got sick of not getting my slice of glory, tired of settling for busting heads.
When A-Rod boomed out a word, and snapped the ball to me – it was like I was living just outside of my body. Even the air became more clear, almost electrified. In front of me, a war of muscle and grunts broke out, but even with all the chaos inside, I remained calm. Steady. All of my anger and training kept me ready. With a quick look to the right, I saw Bret Cannes clear and in sight.
Tonight was our night. No way in hell I was going to let us lose in the last play of the game; not while the high school fanatics were going wild – like chariots from Zeus were rolling on either side of me.
I stepped back and kept my gaze steady on Bret.
He was my best friend. The anchor that kept me grounded in those dark days. Bret flew through the field like a demon, and quickly moved into position for what coach Saracen referred to as a GHM. Grand Hail Mary. The kind of crazy that looked insane to even the mavericks of the world.
My kind of crazy.
With arm cocked, I was ready to unleash. You couldn’t see it through my helmet, with the lights pouring down on me beneath the blackened sky – giving me an otherworldly appearance in my silvery clothes. But I was smiling. Joy was running through me like a high I’d never known; just behind? Excitement, fear, anticipation. The game was everything to me. The moment was something that couldn’t be taken from me by Mr. Death. Something that couldn’t be pushed on me, like the guys from the Knights trying to move me into the life – for better or for worse.
Something. Someone, was coming into the view – just out of the corner of my eye. I knew that he was a jogging tank of a man; knew that he had barreled on through Jace and Freddie like they were fucking children.
But I blocked him out and gripped the ball so tight, my knuckles paled to white.
One smooth motion, and I shot the football hard through the air. It spiraled through the black. The white of the stars were its many guiding hands, and with it was my team’s hopes and dreams – all riding on just one brotherly connection. Two souls becoming one.
Brett soared through the air, catching the ball. Like a train had just slammed into me, I lurched backwards at an angle, grunting before hitting the ground.
For the team, it netted us a win that would make us local champions. For me, that was the moment where everything changed.
First came the terrible, crunching noise. The pain that screamed through me, that made me wail and gasp for any air I could manage; very little would match it in my later life. My lungs filled up with powdered glass, and fire shot up my leg – the pain flickering across my ankle where the bone jutted out – coated in a bright film of red.
Vision blurred, and blackness dimmed out everything. The last thing I heard that night was the boys and Coach Saracen screaming for medical – the man who hit me yelling oh Jesus as he ripped off his helmet. To this day, I swore that I saw Lysandra running toward me.
Maybe that’d just been wishful thinking on my imagination’s part. It all faded into darkness then.
But that was just the start of my journey into the club’s life.
12
Madeline – Three Years Ago
It was Friday morning and mom was frying some thick, applewood bacon in her cast iron skillet. The smell was intoxicating as it wafted over to me, punching my gut with a pang of hunger. Eyeing the eggs and buttered toast just off the side of the white, kitchen counter, I knew that I just had to have them inside of me.
While the food in the cast iron sizzled, Mom chirped out, “I’m so proud of you, Maddy. Keep up with your grades and I’m going to surprise you, come the end of the year.”
“I’ll do my best,” I breathed with an air of disinterest, my stomach rumbling with raw demand.
Dad, who was sitting across the table from me, was dressed in his work slacks and pristine white, button-up shirt. He held the newspaper, scanning it patiently – the steam rising still from his black coffee. If there was one thing that I could never drink, it would always be the black death that was plain coffee. Every now and again he would lick his finger and flip to another page, his cautious smirk only deepening on the rare occasion.
His gray eyes slid over to me, and then his lips curled into a warming smile. “It’s rude to stare, Maddy.”
“Oh,” I pushed out, taking my head from my hands and moving around in my chair, looking away. “I’m just so hungry,” a small set of laughter rolled from my chest.
“I know sweetheart, you get that from your old man.”
“Mm,” I looked between Mom frantically flipping the bacon and Dad’s coffee. Mom was clothed in a beautiful, royal blue sundress, her hair cut into a short, pixie style. “Wish I could have inherited your love for that,” I gestured with my chin towards his white mug.
He flicked a page over and snorted, “You’ll come to drink it one day, I’m sure.”
“No,” I objected, “I reall-l-l-y don’t think I will.”
He craned his head to look at me all of the way now, and folded his paper down. The sound of it crinkling filled my ears, and he sucked in a long breath through his nose. My old man’s gray eyes appraised me for a moment, and when he gave me that fatherly look – it felt like everything came to a standstill. Like if I made a sudden move he’d shoot me, as if I were a frightened deer on one of his hunting sessions. “When I was your age, I didn’t drink it either. Really. No, it took me a long, long time to start drinking it – hated the taste of it.”
Mom looked over her shoulder as she turned off the stove top, “Food’s all ready,” she chirped with that soft voice, “and I was the one who got your father into drinking his morning medicine.”
Dad fiddled with his paper some, crinkling it a bit more. He was entering his trance of grumpiness. “Would you let me tell my story, woman? Do you have to take that from me too?”
<
br /> “No dear,” she breathed happily, “I’d never stoop to such levels. Never, never never.”
He looked back to me and shook his head, “You see what marriage does? Anywho,” he pushed out a breath and scooped up his mug, taking a hearty sip. “Hated it. But you know what? She did turn me on to it. When you find your perfect someone, you’ll do all kinds of things you never thought you’d do – it’s just the way of things.” In that moment, I’d never seen my old man happier. “Even if they do live to bug the crap out of you,” he japed.
Mom finished plating the bacon and brought us each a plate of sunny-side up eggs, that were touched with fresh, cracked black pepper and a dash of salt. The thick, gorgeously encrusted Applewood rasher of bacon sat on my plate, looking up at me – I could feel myself salivating at the thought of tasting the crunchy deliciousness. Last but not least, a slice of bread toasted nearly black, slathered in a golden coating of warm butter.
She shot Dad a look and sat down at the table with us, “Don’t let him fool you, honey,” she said without making eye contact with me, “if either of us do the bugging, it’s him.”
Dad sputtered out a laugh and resumed his morning read; I myself managed to just dig into the crispy pan-fried egg before Mom looked my way and questioned, “So, Maddy.”
I stuffed another chunk of egg into my mouth, mentally moaning. My stomach was rumbling in appreciation. “What?” I asked incredulous.
Giving a short, stifled chuckle, Dad flicked to the next page, “It’s a trap,” he crooned, “better to stay quiet…”
Mom just smiled, “Are you still…you know. Dating. With Bryan?”
“Uh, no,” I replied.
“He seemed like a sweet kid,” yeah too sweet. All these nice boys were really boring me.
“Bryan was just a fling, Mom. Plus, he was really clingy.”
She poked at her rasher of bacon, “Well, maybe clingy is what you need? Your father was clingy.”
“Gross,” I chuckled, and then nibbled on my buttered toast. “Definitely, definitely don’t want to think about Dad while I’m sticking my—“
Dad cleared his throat, “I’m trying to read here, you two.”
Mom’s eyes crinkled with happiness, “I just think, that maybe you wouldn’t be piercing your ears and painting your lips the way that you do…”
“I like my lipstick,” I argued with an almost childish, sad tone, “plus you said that it was okay. Both of you did, that I could get this,” I poked at the long earring that hung from my lobe. It was a long silver chain, and at the length’s end, dipped a thin, stylish rectangle of metal. Emblazoned on it, were three flowers of silver.
Mom didn’t seem convinced, so she munched further on her breakfast – the sound of Dad letting out a sigh escaped neither of us.
“Dad’s to blame too,” I said between bites, getting a quick look from the old man. “Yeah, if it wasn’t for him raising me on all that rock and metal. Never would have found my idol,” I openly mused on the subject; Lydia Lauren, now she was a goddess. I begged the moon and the stars above, just to be blessed with an ounce of her strength and talent, and of course, her style. She bounced from rock to pop to metal throughout her storied career, and she was finally settling into her middle years – nearing 35. But damn if she didn’t look 28. With her first album at 16, and a three year streak of new albums, I was never surprised to hear her being compared to Bowie: Bowie, but with tits.
***
Being the last day of the school week, I was breathing an internal sigh of relief. In math class, Jeremy Kristoff gives me eyes like he wants me; but I give him a cool look, and shake my head.
Lunch rolls around and I soldier on to my lonely table. Josie joins me a minute or two later and she sits down, her soil brown tray clattering against the table. I get this warm bump in my gut, and the memory of our argument earlier in the week floods back to me. Things have cooled down some, but in the back of my mind, I knew they were about to get much, much worse.
There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to let her go down such a dark road with that asshole Damien Duponte. Still, it worried me, the way his eyes cut through me and melted my body with need – if there was one thing about the local, glorified pusher, it was that he wasn’t like all the nice boys looking to get after me.
Josie and me talked like usual and finished our extra sloppy, sloppy Joes. Eventually, school did see fit to release us from our prison of quiz’s and gossips and other tedious doldrums. I was offered a ride home by Josie, seeing as how she was going to head back to her place to get ready for the night’s party – except I politely declined.
I had been biting my nails and fretting over this since she’d clued me in on her attraction.
But I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had to act.
So when Josie shrugged and took her leave, I spun on my heel and trekked my way to the back of the school in a shady spot. Resting up against the wall were a couple of goons that liked to hang around Damien. And of course, the man himself turned his head my way; giving me a glimpse of his charming green eyes. The three were sharing hits off of a small, glass pipe. The sickly sweet smell of weed permeating the air around me.
He spoke a word, “Sup?” His voice was like a deep purr, I hated that it sent pleasure jolts through me.
“Hey,” I saunter a bit closer, trying my best to sway my hips. From the looks the three men are giving me, I feel a rush of heat through my body. “Heard you were having a party tonight, pusher boy.”
The two goons paled at the mention of Damien’s occupation; but were as they were nervous, skittish little boys, Damien was a bastion of smoldering anger. He narrowed his eyes at me, giving me a pointed look. “Not for posers like yourself,” he whipped out, “do best to keep your pretty mouth—“he did a zipping motion over his mouth, “quiet.”
I folded my arms over my chest and straightened in my spot, a cloud rolling on by and blotting out the sun – causing shade to roll overhead. “You really think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Bet you have a pencil for a dick.”
Damien’s eyes widened somewhat, and he approached me. My eyes crawled over the short, dark upturned hair on his head. “See you’re just salivating to find out,” he harshly whispered, taking in all of my features – his eyes beginning to glass over with that basic, human lust. “Why don’t you drop to your fucking knees and get on with it already, bitch.”
There was only one way that a man like this could come to respect someone. The only way they knew how: Violence.
I gave him a short, sharp shove. Pushing Damien back a step and a half. “I don’t think so, asshole,” I gave a muted laugh, my shoulders jumping slightly as I did. The pleasure of getting to watch the shock roll over his face was priceless. “I’m coming to your stupid little circle jerk whether you like it or not, so let’s get something straight,” I closed the distance between us and sucked in a breath; his ‘friends’ were moving away from us now, chuckling amongst themselves. I grabbed Damien’s big hand and brought it to my crotch, letting him feel the warmth radiate from me. “If you ever want a piece of something you can’t have? You’re going to stay the hell away from Josie Beechum.”
“Tch,” Damien’s lips pursed and he averted his gaze, “like I’m going to listen to some bitch like you.” He brought his eyes back to me, drinking my figure in once more. I knew when I had my hooks in a man, and this fish was bleeding out. “Keep acting like a fool, and I’ll have you both fucked by my crew before I ever lay a finger on—“
“No,” I interrupted, grabbing the scruff of his black shirt and pulling on it as hard as I could. “You think you’re the only one with friends, asshole?”
There was the smallest, faintest glimmer of fear in his eye.
“You think you can do whatever the hell you want without consequence?” The anger was boiling inside of me. “Promise me, if you have any balls whatsoever, that you’ll leave her alone.”
“You do that, and I’ll give you a chance. But you break that part of our deal? That’s it. I’ll drop your sorry ass, so if you’re more than what people say you are, why don’t you go ahead and prove it.”
There was an uncomfortable silence between us, but also this disgustingly sexual energy. I hated how attracted I was to the resident bad boy, hated it whole heartedly. But I had to do this for Josie, had to do this to keep her safe.
When my eyes shot open to the real world, the last thought skittering along my mind was regret.
13
Madeline
I woke up to the sound of water rushing, and my body was already starting to ache all over. Like God had come down and struck my bones full of lead.
What was that sound? I lazily shambled out of bed, surprise washing over me when I noticed the thick, scratchy white blanket that covered me.
I hadn’t done that…
Totally unexpectedly, a smile spread on my face, and a finger of blissful warmth dug itself against my heart.
Gabriel must have done that in the night. Half of me wanted to be creeped out, and the other half wanted to do an internal happy dance – and if I was anything in this miserable world, it was a happy dancer. After letting myself smile like a foolish girl, I groaned and picked myself up to my feet, craning my head over my shoulder in the direction of the sound.
He must be in the shower. A deep, basic part of me may have hated the man for the way he just, I don’t even know, got to me I guess. The way his lips curled into that arrogant smirk. It didn’t remind me of Damien, no, it wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen. It was like he carried the weight of heaven and hell behind those eyes, as though he were sent on a higher mission to judge and help and mess with me.
That was when my mind went into lusting, utter fantasy mode. I stared there blankly as I daydreamed; his no doubt chiseled body striding out the door, as if he were a mythical beast that wasn’t supposed to be seen. Pictured the Adonis belt leading down to the gorgeous, full cock I surmised that he was carrying between his legs like a lethal weapon – I’m sure he’d tore up plenty of wide-eyed pussy in his days.
