I washed my hair twice before finally getting out, brushing my teeth, and then getting dressed for school. I skipped breakfast so I could avoid the kitchen and waited on the front porch for my ride. I had a car, but he bought it for me. I’d rather walk to school than go near the gray, four-door Toyota. Instead, I pretended I was afraid to drive and hitched a ride with my best friend, Megan.
Her white Honda Civic jerked as she pulled into my driveway. Why her parents bought her a stick shift, I’d never know.
“Hey, rock star! Nice goal yesterday,” she said as I hopped into the warmth of her car.
“Thanks. We’re going to kick ass this weekend,” I said proudly.
I set my book bag on the floorboard between my feet and pushed my snowy hair from my face. Megan looked over at me with big, brown, puppy dog eyes and I knew she was going to ask me for something I didn’t want to give up. She picked at her short, black pixie hair, and then popped her gum.
“Okay, so I know you don’t usually do the party scene, but there’s a bangin’ party going down this weekend at The Pit. I can get us in since my sister used to sleep with the guy that watches the door. He’s like forty or something and Melanie was our age when it happened. We have to go, Pay. Please say you’ll go. Blow Hole’s playing and you know I got a thing for Chet.” She applied lip gloss, and then rubbed her lips together.
A car honked at us when she went into the other lane. She paid attention to everything but the road. I dug my fingers into the dash.
“No, you have a thing for drummers. Why can’t we just watch movies at your house this weekend like we planned?” I whined.
“I promise you’ll have fun. Just do me a solid and go. I’ll owe you big.” Her car jerked into the school parking lot, then skidded to an abrupt stop in the closest empty space.
No way was I getting out of going to The Pit with Megan, no matter how hard I tried. I’d never been, but I’d heard horror stories about wild girls with their faces pierced shut who were half naked. In a place like that, I’d be the one to stick out. My white-blond hair would fit in, except mine was natural, while most girls with my hair color got it done at a salon. At least if I went I wouldn’t have to see my dad if I stayed out too late. Anything that kept me away from him was a good thing.
I stayed late at practice and joined everything possible at school. I had the schedule of four girls and most nights I fell into bed and passed out. It was my survival plan, the way I made it through life. Outsiders would never know that behind closed doors my life was hell. I was well liked and a soccer star, but I was a broken porcelain doll, cracked beyond repair and tossed in the back of a closet.
All eyes turned to Megan when we walked into Pinewood Prep. She stuck out like a sore thumb with her jacked-up plaid skirt and the addition of a really cute hot pink tie to replace the boring navy blue. In a sea of boring grays and navy, her tiny pops of color were welcomed by my eyes.
I remember when she came to school with her new nose piercing. I thought it was adorable and I envied her freedom, but everyone practically hissed at her as we walked down the hallway. Megan couldn’t care less. She walked that hallway like she owned it, with her head held high and a secretive grin on her face. She loved the attention, while I was perfectly fine with blending in. The only place I didn’t blend in was on the soccer field. It was my kingdom. Even though I was usually the tiniest girl on the field, I dominated.
I spent the rest of the week tutoring after school and then I followed that up with soccer practice. On the days I didn’t practice, I’d hit the gym and work out until I thought my body would collapse. I’d stumble into the house around nine at night, shower, and stay in the bathroom until eleven, and then when I thought the coast was clear, I’d go to my room.
On Friday, I went straight to Megan’s after school and told my parents I was staying the night there. I was sure to pack an overnight bag complete with something to wear to The Pit. I somehow thought that wearing my school uniform wouldn’t fly. Although, some sick people get off on the schoolgirl look… I would know.
“Damn, Pay, check you out with your cute little body. Girl, what you been doin’?” Megan said as we got dressed to go out.
“Just soccer and the gym.” I shrugged.
“Who knew you had all that hiding under that God-awful uniform?” She motioned at my half-naked body. “If I were you, I’d go naked all day.” She laughed.
“You’d go naked all day if you weren’t me.” I snickered.
Megan’s low-cut jeans showed her deep, pelvic bones and her top was well above her belly button. Her cute belly button piercing housed a cherry charm that dangled low. Her cropped hairstyle was spiked and picked at wildly and she went the extra step of putting black eyeliner on top of her eyelids. She looked hot and I felt under dressed.
I settled on a pair of semi-tight khaki pants and a white button-up shirt. I left two of the buttons undone so I could at least pretend to not be a tight ass. Megan tried to talk me into some of her wild clothes, but the thought of showing more skin than I already was made me feel nauseated. Men looking at me in general made me nauseated. I was a sick girl mentally and no one knew it.
While Megan had her hair and makeup done, I let my pale hair hang and ran a quick brush through it. I used some lip gloss and that was the extent of my makeup.
“You don’t need makeup anyway,” Megan said as I slid the gloss on.
We said a quick good-bye to her mom, who was quite possibly the coolest parent alive, and then we made our way to the other side of town. Soon, the large, white houses were behind us and we were surrounded by broken-down buildings and trailer parks. I reached up and locked my door, which earned me an eye roll from Megan.
We pulled into a full parking lot that had no buildings around it.
“We’re here,” she said as she pulled up her emergency brake.
Looking around in confusion, I lifted a brow at her.
“Um, there’s nothing here, just a bunch of abandoned cars.”
She laughed loudly. “Follow me, silly girl.”
I stayed close to her as I followed her to the edge of the parking lot. A set of concrete stairs went down into the darkness. The Pit was giving a whole new meaning to the words underground club.
As we went down the stairs, we slowly became surrounded by a concrete tunnel. The tunnel led us to a large opening where a man with his arms crossed sat on stool in front of the main entrance. The music coming from the other side of the bright red metal door vibrated the filthy floor beneath my feet and put waves in the bottle of soda sitting next to him.
“Hey, Gerald.” Megan gave him a toothy smile. “I assumed there’d be no problems getting me and my girl in?” She motioned to me.
She had him by the balls and he knew it. Either he could let us in or she’d squeal about his sleeping with a minor years before. Megan didn’t say those words, but he knew what she meant. He looked me over and then shook his head and sighed. He didn’t even bother checking our IDs as he waved us in.
“I should’ve never touched her,” he muttered. “Damn complicated women.”
Megan shot him a shit-eating grin as we passed him and went through the door.
The world on the other side of that blood-red door was unlike anything I’d ever seen in person. I’d seen crazy mosh pits and wild concerts on TV before, but up close it was a bit overwhelming. Megan pushed her way through the crowd and I followed close behind. Every now and again I’d get bumped into. It took all the strength I had to stay upright.
The loud rock music from the band pierced my eardrums. It was so loud I couldn’t even hear myself think. There were half-naked women dancing on the bar and colorful graffiti covered every square inch of the concrete walls. Every person I passed had a tattoo or a piercing and everyone seemed to be showing either too much skin or they were covered in head-to-toe black.
Like when Megan walked into our school, all eyes were on me. I instantly regretted not wearing her clothes. Had I known
that wearing such boring clothing would have brought more attention to me, I’d be as half-naked as the women that surrounded me. I’d never felt more out of place in my life.
Once we got to the bar, I was able to speak to Megan.
“I don’t think I belong here,” I yelled over the music.
“You’ll be fine. You just need a drink.”
She yelled out a drink order to the guy behind the bar, then handed me a cup. I sipped it as we pushed our way back through the crowd toward the stage.
That was when I saw him. His head was down as he dug his fingers into his guitar. Perfect music flowed from him and it was as if all the other instruments in the band disappeared. I zoned in on his solo and watched as he moved his fingers up and down. He was amazing.
His loose-fitting jeans had rips and tears in them and the sleeves in his black T-shirt were rolled up. The tattoos on his elbows melted into the ones that disappeared into the sleeves of his shirt. There were letters placed on his fingers, but his hands were moving so fast I couldn’t see what they said. Once his solo was over, he looked back out at the crowd. His long, dark bangs still covered half his face. He shifted his head to the side, tossing them out of his eyes and giving me a peek of the little music note tattooed behind his ear.
He didn’t smile. He was as hard as the concrete that surrounded us, but in his eyes you could see he loved what he was doing. There was a natural look of joy in his sultry stare as he bathed the women in the front row with his inattentive gaze. He caught a break for a minute and reached over for his beer. I watched as he brought the bottle to his lips and his silver lip ring caught my full attention. He was covered in color and art; he was a standing statue for freedom, and I was drawn to his careless stature.
“Oh my God, Chet is so hot! Look at him, Pay. Isn’t he a rock god?” Megan screamed over the music.
I shook my head yes, but I wasn’t looking at Chet. Who the hell was Chet? And why would anyone want to look at him when they could feast their eyes on the tall, tatted god with the guitar?
We stood there “rocking out” for a few songs until our cups were empty. Megan was right. I was already feeling more relaxed with just the one drink down my throat.
Once we were at the bar, Megan handed me some money and told me to get more while she went and said hello to some girl I’d never seen. I spent a few minutes being knocked around while screaming to the bartender, who apparently didn’t see nor hear me. I was about to give up and walk away when an older guy stopped me.
He wasn’t much taller than me, but was thick in the shoulders, which made him feel consuming. He had a bright, friendly smile and that was welcomed in a room full of blacked out, moody rockers.
“I saw you standing there trying so hard to get a drink, so I thought I’d help you out,” he called over the music as he handed me two more of the drinks Megan and I were drinking before.
“Oh my God, thank you so much. Here, let me pay you back.” I tried to stuff the money into his hands.
“What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you pay me back? Drink. Enjoy yourself, on me.” He smiled politely before disappearing into the crowd.
Apparently, looks were deceiving. He looked like a hood rat from the wrong side of tracks, but he was such a pleasant guy.
After being tossed around some more, I made it back to Megan’s side and handed her one of the drinks.
“Yay! Thanks, Pay!” She flashed me a big smile, “See? I told you we’d have a blast.”
“Yep, you called it.” I pasted a big, fake smile on my lips and stood beside her as she socialized with ease.
I spent the next hour listening to the band play and watching the guitarist as he peered out at the crowd with his steely gaze. It disturbed me that I found him attractive. I never looked at boys; males were disgusting as far as I was concerned. So, while I watched him, I played mental tug-of-war over what it was about him that attracted me.
The conclusion was he was attractive because he was untouchable. At least to a girl like me he was. And if couldn’t touch him, then that meant he couldn’t touch me. A guy who could never touch me would be attractive.
I stood that way for a while before I realized Megan was no longer beside me. I turned quickly to see if she was behind me and the room spun. The concrete floor shifted under my feet and the music turned into a loud buzz in my ears. I was drunk… I think. I’d never been drunk before. I looked down at my empty cup and was amazed at how quickly I’d gotten myself drunk.
Suddenly, everything started to spin, and I realized my limbs seemed to be stuck. My arms felt like there were hundred-pound weights hanging from them. I turned and pushed myself back through the crowd. I looked around for Megan as I felt my panic rising. It was then that I saw the black door to my right and the green neon lights that blinked the word “Bathroom.”
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.
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