By the time we hit the glass doors, I'm ready for a cold one myself. What I don't expect to see is that girl, the one in the red dress, standing near the register. As soon as we move inside and she sees us, I get a little weird. My stomach clenches and my throat goes dry. Guess I'm still just pissed at being called a whore.
“Hey Never,” Lacey says as I step away and move down the chip aisle. I really don't want any fucking chips, but I need something to do to distract myself. “I thought you'd gone home. What are you doing here?”
I force my gaze to remain on a bag of Doritos when all I really want to do is look up and study the curves under that red dress, let my eyes linger on that face, taste that pain that so closely mimics my own.
“I'm picking up my three favorite therapists: sugar, alcohol, and nicotine.”
I feel my lips threaten to twitch up into a smile, but nobody else finds the joke funny, so I choke it back. Damn, damn, and damn. I really do like this girl. We could've had a lot of fun together. Looks like we share the same sense of humor.
“Come hang with us, Never. We're going dancing.” I watch Lacey and Korina split up as the group separates and disperses into the store. Lacey stays where she is and looks at her friend expectantly.
“Never doesn't like to dance,” I say, even though I know I should just keep my fucking mouth shut. “She told me herself.” Have no freaking clue why I'm so into provoking this girl, or why I'm so disappointed. That feeling hangs over me like a pall, but only because I'm in a weird mood tonight, looking at possibilities and maybes and thinking far too much about feelings and instincts. See, I look at things like this: nothing I've ever done in my life before has been right, so when I have an idea about something, I always second guess it. Challenge it. Even ignore it. But right now, I can't seem to stop myself from acting like an asshole.
I can tell Never's glaring at me from the corner of her eye, but she doesn't say anything. Her friend, Lacey, takes care of that for her.
“Are you kidding?” she exclaims, like she couldn't be more excited about it. Never switches her death glare from me to her bubbly blonde friend as the girl pokes her in the arm. Dangerous move, that. Never doesn't retaliate though, just starts moving towards the door, a package of donuts clutched under her arm. “Never's mom was a belly dancer. She's great at it. Never, I mean, not just her mom.”
Huh.
I try not to let my brows raise with this new bit of information. Belly dancer. I've never slept with a belly dancer before. I bet that'd be fun. I look at Never again, and I try to keep my thoughts light. I try not to think about how a girl that does indeed dance just didn't want to dance with me. I examine her and don't try to hide it, searching her face for some hint of how she picked up all of that pain. It's not as common on people as young as us. Life usually takes a few more years to completely and utterly bend you over the table. I'm thinking though that if I was a teenage prostitute, a kid with nothing to lose, and a home life that would make a stray dog praise Jesus for his fleas, then what happened to this Never chick?
“I'm going to take the bus home,” Never says with a shake of her head. She moves to the side briefly as the glass doors open and let in a trio of raunchy lookin' kids, the kind that beat your face in just to grab ten bucks from your wallet. I look back at Never and hope Lacey can talk her out of that. If she can't, I might have to do the gentlemanly thing and walk her to the bus stop. My head's already started spinning tales about these punks following Never down the block and doing God only knows what to her. I might be paranoid, but only because I've seen shit that would cause the average Joe to puke up the turkey sandwich he had for lunch. Shit that doesn't even exist in movies because it's too fucking cruel. Never might've turned me down for a dance, but that doesn't mean she deserves the evils that the world holds hidden in plain sight.
“No, no,” Lacey tells her, reaching out to grab Never's arm. “Come hang out with us.” She leans in close to Never and nods her head in my general direction. I think Lacey's trying to be subtle, but I can hear her loud and clear. I have to fight back a smile. “He's single and cute, don't you think?”
“You're a lesbian,” Never whispers back defensively. “How do you know if he's cute or not?” I notice that she doesn't deny it though. Lookie there, Miss Never thinks I'm the cat's meow. I do my best not to grin. It wouldn't be appropriate, and anyway, I'm still irritated at her for calling me a whore. Just because I used to be one doesn't make it right. “Look, I just want to go home, okay? Is that hard to understand?”
I'm about to make another comment that I'll probably regret later, just to get her to stay inside the store, when I hear the gunshot. At first I think I'm imagining things or that I'm royally confused. Is that thunder? A metal garbage can getting knocked over?
“Get down on your fucking knees.” My eyes flicker over to the refrigerated wall of drinks at the end of the store. The trashy chick that came in with her two buddies is pointing a fucking gun at Never, the girl who doesn't dance. Fuck. Fuck. And fucker fuck. I can't die here. I have nothing to show for my life. Nothing. And I can't let anyone else die either. One good thing about living through the worst the world has to offer is that you realize how precious the good moments really are. Korina, Lacey, even Never, they're all young. Korina's other friends, like Darwin the flamboyantly gay biology major, they're all young, too.
I catch a glimpse of the clerk, slumped over the counter. Dead as a fucking doornail, he is. And there is just blood all the fuck over everything. It sends chills down my spine and causes my fingers to curl at my sides with adrenaline. No way I'm going to give into a couple of punks like this.
I drop to my knees like everybody else, casting one last glance at Never and her friend. No worries, ladies. I might not be a knight on a white horse, but I'm still going to try like hell to get you out of this. I've got the advantage, crouching where I am. The three fucking Stooges, stupid enough to commit armed robbery and murder on camera in a shitty convenience store with poor cash flow, can't see me from where they are.
I turn away from the front doors and start crawling down the aisle. I have to move slowly because my bracelets are doing their damnedest to jingle around on my wrist and draw attention. If I thought I had time to remove them quietly, I would.
“What do I do now?” I hear the female shooter's voice echo around the store as I bypass the Employees Only door and continue down the back of the aisles, pausing at each one to make sure nobody's looking this way. Not even Korina notices me skulking around back here. At this point, I have a loose plan working itself together in the back of my head, but mostly, I'm runnin' on instinct. That pesky, little voice I usually ignore. Goddamn, Ty McCabe, if you get yourself shot here today. At least my life would be worth something. Even if I died protecting a bunch of people I don't really know, that'd make me happy. That'd mean my body, my spirit, my fucking soul were worth more than a few hundred bucks and a night in a motel. It'd freaking mean something.
“Son of a bitch,” I whisper when I hear a crash from the direction of the register. I don't have time to see what it is though, and I am not fucking risking my neck to look.
“Just shut the fuck up,” one of the men says, voice echoing strangely in the sudden silence. “You've already fucked this up enough, so shut your fucking mouth. Mel, search the others, take whatever they've got.”
Another pause, a rustle of clothing, footsteps. I hate that I can't fucking see shit from back here. Too late to turn back now though. I set my ringed hand on the edge of a shelf, next to some dented cans of green beans and stewed tomatoes. The next thing I hear does not put me at ease.
“Hey there, baby. What's your name?”
Fuck.
Laughter finds its way to me, clogging up my ears, making me sick to my stomach. I want to stand up and charge down the aisle, take some of these bitches out with a right hook to the face, but that crap only works in movies. Slow down, Ty, take it easy. Slow and steady wins the race, right, tortoise? With a comato
se turtle in my head for inspiration, I manage to scoot through another aisle. Just in time, too. The second I slide out of sight, I hear movement at the end. Hopefully the only thing that's happening down there is that someone's getting robbed.
“I think I hear sirens,” the girl says and her words are followed shortly thereafter by a moan. Have no clue who or why that was, but it scares me. I don't like when bad things happen to good people. Or even average people. Fuck, even those of us with sin laden bloods on our hands deserve a break every now and again.
“Come on, I bet you'd like to play, wouldn't you, little bunny?” I bet you'd like to get your face smashed in, wouldn't you, you sick son of a bitch? The sound of boots squeaking across the floor is followed by a crack of flesh on flesh. Goddamn it! I scoot forward and make it to the end of the room, just one aisle away from the refrigerated wall. A quick peek around the corner shows me that the girl with the gun is still standing there, eyes darting every which way, hands shaking.
When people experience pain in their lives, they react to it one of two ways: internally or externally. Those of us who take it internally channel those feelings into our hearts, we bleed, we break, we spiral down, down, down until we find something to make it stop. For some people, it's the love of family or the desperate desire for self-preservation. For others it's booze or drugs. But for me, it's sex. That's my outlet. I can't say it doesn't hurt anyone – not even me – but it doesn't generally cause that bone splitting agony that breaks others. This girl, the one with the gun, she's taking her pain and laying it out there for all to see. To feel. To suffer from. So I get it. I feel sorry for her, I do, but this shit ain't gonna fly. No way, no how.
“Don't,” the girl says, but it doesn't appear that either of her friends gives a crap about what she has to say. “Just leave her alone and let's get out of here.”
“You said take whatever they've got, am I right?”
I close my eyes, squeeze them tight. I keep picturing Never in her red dress, thinking about that hurt in her eyes, hearing the quiver of rage in her voice when I said she wasn't worth it. That was a pretty fucked up thing to say, even for me. I can't let her die with that sour note in her chest.
“We don't have time for that, asshole,” the other guy replies, and I almost breathe a sigh of relief. “There's plenty of good ass in Memphis. Just grab some stuff, and let's get the fuck out of here.”
“Let's take her with us.” Oh, fuck that. I start to edge around the corner, slowly, oh so slowly. “Stand up.”
“You're pathetic.” That voice, like velvet and lace. That's Never. I like the strength I hear in those two simple words. She's a fighter, that one. I start to grin, but only for a second before it falls away. This shit is serious. I just appreciate seeing someone who still has fight left in them. It's refreshing.
“Take off your coat.”
“You must feel pretty fucking powerful. So in control of your life. Does hurting people make you feel good? Do you get off on it?” Keep 'em distracted, Never, I think as I wait for an opportunity to move. The girl with the gun seems pretty focused on the exchange now. Might be my chance to go for it. I start to ease out from behind a display of candy bars, worried that my reflection in the glass doors will give me away. This is like that movie, Jurassic Park, or some shit. Imagining these three douche bags as velociraptors actually makes me feel better believe it or not.
“Mm, mm, mm. What a hot, little piece of ass. Do you think she'd wake up if I started fucking her?” Crap. Crap. Crap. I don't like the sound of that. I keep crawling forward, slowly. So so slowly. I feel like if I make a run for it, I'll draw that girl's attention and end up with a bullet to the face.
“Mel, we don't have all Goddamn day. Get their wallets and let's go.”
“Come on, Mel,” Never teases, and I get the impression she's trying to draw attention towards her. Bless her fucking heart. “The master calls.”
“It'll only take me a minute,” the man replies, seemingly unfazed.
“Don't hurt me,” a soft voice whimpers. Definitely not Never that time. Must be her friend, Lacey. “I'll give you whatever you want, just please … don't.”
“They're coming for us,” the girl shouts suddenly, and I freeze, thinking she's spotted me. But nope. She's just fucking paranoid. Her hands are shaking and her eyes are darting between the scene in front of her and the bloody body of the clerk. “I don't want to go to jail. Let's just get out of here.”
I stand up, keeping my head ducked low, and start to move.
“Roll over,” one of the men commands and even though I don't know exactly what's going on, I can take a guess. I stand up completely straight and sprint those last few feet to the panicky girl with the gun. She notices me a second too late as I slam into her chest, knocking her arm off course. She doesn't manage to fire the gun, not even when I snatch her wrist in my right hand and use my left to pull back and hit her square in the face. I don't make a habit of hitting women, but in this situation, I feel like the force is justified.
Blood sprays from her nose and splatters my chest, but I can't take the time to worry about what I've done to her. I take another swing, hit her again. Her lip splits and even more blood leaks out, staining my T-shirt.
The girl staggers back and I manage to wrestle the gun from her fingers, using the butt of it to smack her upside the head again. When she slumps to the floor, I spin, cringing as a gun goes off near the front and shatters the glass windows. I take aim at the man who's fighting with Never, biting my tongue so hard it bleeds when I catch him mimicking the trick I used on the gun girl. He hits Never in the head with his pistol and she falls back, hitting the ground with her shoulder and rolling away. Now I've got a perfect shot.
“Goddamn bitch,” the man snarls as he lifts the barrel and aims at Never's face. To her credit, she doesn't look scared. Just … regretful. I'm going to remember that look for the rest of my life. As the man struggles to his feet, I pull the trigger. The shot goes wide, breaking a second window, but it doesn't matter. I've managed to pull his attention away from Never. My eyes dart quickly to the left, looking for the first guy, but he's already gone. I have no idea when he left or how he managed to get out without my noticing, but good riddance to that son of a bitch. My friends follow in his footsteps, popping up like daisies in the aisles and making a break for it. Can't say I blame them.
I'm panting now, letting the adrenaline take hold of my body. Fight or flight, baby, and Never and me, we've chosen to fucking fight. I hope that says something good about us.
The man I'm shooting at turns, gun still clutched firmly in hand, and I wonder if we're about to have an old fashioned fire fight. Never surprises me though, kicking out hard and getting the man in the shin. He stumbles but still manages to fire off another shot. Lucky for me, it hits the glass windows to my left. Unlucky for Never, the barrel swings straight back towards her. I see her throw her body against him, connect her shoulder with his stomach, but he doesn't go down, and they start to struggle for control of the gun. If I thought I could hit him without shooting her, I'd try.
At the same time, I can't just stand here and do nothing.
Never throws herself into the struggle with all she's got, thrashing like a wild animal, smashing the man in the junk, pulling at his hair. It's not going to be enough though, and I know that.
I sprint towards her as fast as I can and smash the gun against the man's head, giving Never just enough of an opening that she's able to separate him from his own weapon. The pistol skids across the floor and disappears into the disarray around us. When he shoves Never back and sends her crashing into the sea of broken glass, I freak the fuck out. Don't you fucking touch her, you Goddamn piece of shit.
A protective urge that I can't even begin to understand surges through me. Some primal instinct to protect this woman that I don't even know, that I didn't even really like.
I drop my own gun, spin the man around and pull back my right arm, well aware that I have fucking rings
for days. They're not just for looks, folks. I can promise you that it hurts a fuck of a lot more to get punched with these babies than with a bare fist.
I hit the man as hard as I can, barely aware of the resounding pain ricocheting up my arm. I don't even care anymore. I'm all instinct and basic nightmare right now. My fingers tangle in his shirt and I grab a second hit, feeling warm flesh and hot blood, the firm resistance of bone and the subsequent crumble of cartilage in the asshole's nose.
When he collapses to the floor, I let him go, and shake out my hand, loosening my knuckles and forcing my fingers to uncurl. My gaze goes straight to Never as she gasps and winces, her fingers splayed out against the broken glass. That can't be good.
“Are you alright?” I ask, even though it's a stupid question. I can't stop myself from moving towards her, from reaching underneath her, wrapping my arms around that red dress and lifting her from the floor. Inside my chest, my heart pounds a strange rhythm. Even though I'm shaking with adrenaline, weary with relief, I can't stop my skin from heating up at her touch. Even my cock threatens to mutiny on me and attempts to voice his excitement at having this gorgeous girl pressed up close against my chest.
“Thanks,” Never says, and I smile, glancing around for somewhere to put her down. First thing's first, we've got to get that glass out of her skin. I end up deciding that there's nowhere practical or safe inside the store and head outside, the distinct sound of sirens blaring in the distance. About time, motherfuckers.
I notice Never checking my shirt surreptitiously, examining the blood and searching for injuries. I almost laugh, but I'm afraid I'll freak her out and decide to hold it back. When she sighs in relief, my smile ratchets up a notch and makes my face hurt. Who the hell is this chick? And what is she doing to me?
I decide to set Never down on the hood of the nearest car and take a step back.
Tasting, Finding, Keeping: The Story of Never Page 43
