In Times of Violence

by Karina Kantas

  Unfortunately, I woke up to a tremendous pain in my throat and stomach. What was happening? What are you doing to me? I wanted to scream, let me go; get off me, only I couldn’t. A tube was stuck down my throat, and all I could do was gag and choke. I tried to pull the tube out, but there were too many nurses around. Pinning my arms, they held me down and injected me. I instantly felt calm, but weary. One of the nurses took the tube out of my throat, and once I’d relaxed, they let me go. I turned away from them and sobbed loudly. I’d never cried so much in my life.

  My emotions were in turmoil. I was angry at being alive. What happened? What was I doing here? Why wasn’t I dead? I was also angry for trying to do such a stupid thing. Why was life so rotten? Why couldn’t I be happy and satisfied like all the other girls my age?

  It was then I sensed someone sitting on my bed, and I felt an arm go around my shoulder. It surprised me, but suddenly, I needed a hug. I ached for comfort. I didn’t know who the person was, female, male, what age. I didn’t care. I held on to the unknown Samaritan.

  “That’s it, you let it out,” she told me.

  I certainly did. I don’t know how long I cried in the arms of a stranger. By the time I’d cried out, I felt exhausted. I lay my head on the pillow and fell asleep. To this day, I don’t know who she was, only that she came at the right time and smelt of violets.

  The next few weeks were a blur.

  My dad: “Why did you do it? Where did we go wrong?”

  My mum: “What will the neighbours say?” And “Why didn’t you talk to us if you had a problem?”

  Yeah, like she would have listened.

  She was usually so drunk, that if I told her the roof was caving in, she wouldn’t have batted an eyelid, and screw the neighbours. Who gave a shit about what they thought?

  Then there were the shrinks; one after another.

  “She was trying to get your attention,” one told my parents. “If she genuinely wanted to take her own life, she would have done it properly, like slicing her wrists.”

  I thought about that, except I didn’t want any pain. I’d wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

  “It originates from her childhood. We need to dig into her past.” That shrink acted more like a marriage counsellor to my parents, who funnily enough, had been divorced for over ten years. He even told them my problem stemmed from being an only child and that I was screaming for attention. They’d made the mistake of not having any more children, so it was their fault. That was a first.

  Basically, I was a depressant. As if I didn't already know that. I understood my condition better than anyone else did. It took a lot to make me happy, and even more work to keep me that way. I didn’t care what the docs said. I only went to shut my parents up. For a while, they treated me like a fragile egg, afraid if they pushed too hard, the shell would crack.

  ***

  Luckily, God heard my prayers and gave me a second chance. I woke with a start, on a couch, in a room I didn’t recognise. It was dark, yet I knew I wasn’t home. I shivered from the coldness, causing my head to throb harder. It felt like someone was hammering on my skull. I had pain everywhere. It took a few moments to recall the fight. Dazed and confused, I didn’t register how messed up I was. I wanted the pain to go away. I had difficulty breathing, my stomach felt tight and sore, and my back hurt like the devil. I tried to move into a more comfortable position, thinking it would ease the hurt. Instead, an excruciating pain shot through my body like a rocket.

  “Oh, fuck,” I muttered through gritted teeth.

  I lay back down and wished the pain would become bearable.

  A noise came from a corner of the room, then a light came on, but it was so bright I had to close my eyes.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I opened my eyes, my vision unfocused. It took a few seconds to make out Marcus’s face staring down at me.

  Even while immobilised with pain, the concern and love coming from his wonderful face was enough to make all my hurts disappear. He tugged at the blanket, covering me and tucked it under my chin. The room spun, and again I closed my eyes. Not that I wanted to. I wanted to watch him as long as I could. Okay, it wasn’t exactly the way I pictured it. Nevertheless, there I was, lying on the couch with my hero looking after me. He pushed a strand of hair from my face and gently caressed my cheek. His touch was warm and soft, and even in my weary state, I wanted to talk to him. I needed to talk to him. I didn’t want to waste time sleeping, only I was too tired. I tried to ask him where I was, but it came out as a grunt. He spoke soothingly, and told me everything would be okay, that I was safe and should sleep for a while. The feeling of contentment and happiness engulfed me, and I felt safe for the first time in my life. It was a peculiar feeling. I let the awaiting darkness wash over me and slept.

  When I awoke, Marcus was still sitting beside me. His head rested on the couch, only this time he had fallen asleep, giving me a chance to study him more closely. He had a bruise under his left eye, and his bottom lip was cut and swollen. On his right hand were three rings; one with the head of a lion, one a classic skull design, and the third a silver signet ring with a black stone. Engraved on the stone was a silver peace sign. Was I mistaken? Why would the leader of a tough gang like the Tyrants wear a peace symbol? Maybe it represented something else.

  He wore a black shoestring necklace, which held a silver lightning bolt. He’d been wearing it the first time I’d seen him. I doubted he ever took it off. I noticed a deep gash along his left knuckle, yet the wounds didn’t look fresh, they were part-healed. So how long had I been there?

  He was young and innocent looking, but his face showed lines of a tough life. It occurred to me I didn’t know his age, though it didn’t matter, I was in love. I stroked his face, and he stirred from his sleep.

  “Hey, how you doing?” he asked, and then yawned.

  I opened my mouth to speak. My words came out faintly, no longer a grunt. “All right.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened. I didn’t know she’d do that. I’ve dealt with Amanda and Linda. No one’s seen Monica but when I get my hands on her I’ll…”

  I stopped him. “It’s okay. I’m alive, aren’t I? You weren’t to know.”

  He smiled. “I didn’t know if I’d done the right thing bringing you here. I nearly took you to the hospital. I don’t know what I would have done with a stiff.” He laughed. “We try to look after one another in the group, and I’m trying to avoid the authorities if you know what I mean.”

  I laughed but then winced with pain, which worsened when I began coughing.

  With a worried expression sketched across his face, Marcus held up my head and helped me to take a sip of water. The coughing bout stopped, but I was in pure agony.

  “Oh, fuck,” I cried as tears rolled down my face.

  He handed me two pills. I swallowed them, not questioning what they were. I shifted, hoping the pain would alleviate.

  He waited until I was comfortable, before speaking to me again.

  “What’s your name? You seem to know who I am, but who are you?”

  I realised he’d been looking after me for God knows how long, yet knew nothing about me.

  “I’m Jade,” I replied.

  “That’s a beautiful name, it suits you, Rapunzel.”

  I smiled back at him. I had been called that before, but it never sounded as good as it did coming from his lips.

  He talked vaguely about the fight, deliberately leaving out the details. He asked me questions and seemed eager to know everything about me. I hung on to every word he said, answering as best as I could. I learnt it was his house, and he had inherited it after his parents died, I thought it impolite to ask him how it had happened. We chatted for a while about movies and music, the usual chitchat. He liked rock music of course, but then so did I, and I wasn’t even in a gang. I listened to rock when chilling out after a joint. Surely that was a start, something to build a relationship on.

  During our conversation
, I found out he was twenty-one and worked on a building site with his brother, who also lived at the house. It dawned on me that his brother was probably in the gang. I tried to picture which one he was, when there was a sudden noise outside, a slamming of doors, and the stamping of feet heading to the living room door.

  “That’ll be the boys,” Marcus said.

  Two men, who I guessed to be in their mid-twenties, entered the room. One of them was my mysterious biker.

  “Grubs up,” one called out.

  “Chinese all around. Well, hello, sleeping beauty. I’m Dylan, Marcus’s older brother, and this is Clay, second in command.” (Short for Clayton as I later found out, and warned never to call him that.)

  “Sick way to meet people, hey,” Clay said.

  “Hi, guys, I’m Jade.”

  Dylan cupped my chin in his hand and studied my face. “Nice.” He was of medium height and possessed a fantastic body. His hair was longer than what I would call short hair; dark brown, with a slight blonde streak running through it. He didn’t have a fringe, it was styled as a flick instead. He ran his hand through his greasy looking hair. A wisp fell onto his forehead, and I had the sudden urge to push it back in place. He sported a thinly grown goatee beard and matching moustache. He oozed sex appeal and looked even better than I remembered.

  The times I’d seen him, he always looked tasty and well groomed, even though it was obvious he hadn’t put any effort into his appearance. With fashionably ripped jeans, and his usual, medium length leather jacket, he was what I would call a classic biker. Dylan possessed the same sexy blue eyes as his brother. Boyish looks, but he looked masculine at the same time. He had the appearance of a movie star, yet despite his attractiveness, I only had eyes for one man. Marcus.

  “How long have I been here?” I asked.

  “You’ve been out of it nearly twenty-four hours, darling,” Clay said. “Marcus hasn’t been to work, or slept, the club have missed him,” he joked.

  Marcus turned round and gave Clay a mocking stare. I laughed, and a pain stabbed my chest. I took several deep breaths and cursed aloud before I could move.

  “You okay?” Dylan asked.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t act hard even if I’d wanted to. Tears streamed down my face. I hurriedly brushed them away.

  “Sorry, guys. Just give me a moment,” I pleaded.

  The embarrassment of crying in front of these tough bikers soon put a stop to my tears. I took a few quivering breaths, and with Clay’s help, sat up.

  Clay wore a black baggy jumper and ripped blue jeans. He possessed brown, medium length hair, which he covered with a red bandanna. With a stud in his nose, and a small silver cross in his left ear lobe, he was also gorgeous, but in a cute way.

  Dylan passed the food around. The delicious aroma woke my appetite.

  “Hungry?” Dylan smiled.

  I felt something stir. “Starving,” I replied meekly.

  “Well, it’s sweetcorn soup for you, honey,” he said, handing me a cup of warm, watery soup.

  I sipped the soup through swollen lips that stung with every mouthful.

  “Hey, someone fetch me a mirror so I can see what a mess they’ve made of me,” I begged.

  I imagined it would be bad, what with the pain, and the tenderness of my lips. Even so, I gasped at my reflection. I couldn’t believe the damage to my face.

  It seemed deformed, twice the size it should have been. My eyelids were black and swollen, my cheeks too. At least I still possessed all my teeth.

  “Jesus Christ! I look like a pumpkin.”

  “I like the taste of pumpkins.” Marcus licked his lips.

  I blew him a kiss.

  “What must you guys think? I do look better than this.”

  “Oh, I know,” Dylan said. “We’ve seen how good you can look.”

  A moment of awkward silence passed, until Clay spoke. “If it makes any difference, Amanda said you put up a good fight.”

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t a fair fight, was it?” I argued. “Three against one. If it had just been Monica, I could have dealt with it. I could have taken care of her, no problem.”

  “I’m sure you could.” Dylan smiled coolly at me. It was a sexy, yet dangerous smile, with some kind of hidden meaning to it.

  “Yeah, well, there shouldn’t have been a fight in the first place,” Marcus said.

  “That bitch is gonna pay,” I threatened. “I’m gonna find her and kick the shit out of her. I’m gonna make her feel pain.”

  “I think you should try to get better first.” Dylan laughed. “You’re not going anywhere for a while.”

  “So, you want to hang out with us when you’re feeling better?” Clay asked.

  “Oh course. That’s the reason I’m in this mess.”

  “Brave girl,” Dylan said sarcastically.

  He stared at me. I felt uneasy. Once again, Clay broke the silence. “We’ve got to get going. Got things to do, people to see. Catch you later, Jade.”

  The door banged shut, and I was once again alone with Marcus. It was just how I imagined. Well, not quite, I hadn’t bargained on getting beat up.

  Marcus spoke first. “I meant what I said.”

  “About what?”

  “You and me. You got a guy back home? You’re gonna have to stay here until you can get around again. Maybe we can get to know each other a little better. You can’t go home looking like that, can you?”

  Suddenly, I remembered Caroline. I hadn’t thought about home, until then. I needed to call her before she worried and phoned Mum. I knew I wouldn’t get any sleep if I didn’t.

  I phoned Caroline and told her I’d decided to go away for a few days to clear my head. I asked her not to worry and promised I’d call again. She thanked me for letting her know I was okay and then told me to take care of myself.

  Marcus watched intently while I suckered my way out of the situation.

  “Well, that’s that,” I said. “Marcus… it wasn’t a coincidence I was in the subway. I’ve wanted to join you guys since I first saw you. I want to become part of your family, and have friends that actually give a shit. I want to live the kind of life you have, being free and not worrying about what other people think about you.”

  Marcus shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ve never seen you. I’m sure I would have with hair that colour, you stand out.”

  OMG, just that slight touch made my whole body respond, and I’m sure my reaction didn’t go unnoticed. I bit my lip. “Yeah, I do, but I kept it tied back. I wanted the time to be right before you noticed me. But I’ve been watching you, and I liked what I saw.”

  Marcus smiled, and I swear he blushed. Can you imagine, the president of a vicious gang, blushing? Perhaps they weren’t so hard after all.

  “You’re not afraid to speak your mind, are you?”

  “No, especially if it gets me what I want.”

  He leant over and kissed me gently on the lips. But it ended as soon as it started.

  Cupping my chin, he gazed at me. His eyes betrayed the lust he held back. “Sleep well, Jade.” Then he left.

  I felt frustrated but at the same time, content and happy. If I hadn’t been so broken, would he have taken it further? I closed my eyes and pictured us together, making out. I slept well that night.

  I spent the next three days on the couch, which had seen better days. I lived on painkillers and take-outs, until finally, the pain subsided to a dull ache.

  During those days of recuperation, I didn’t venture any further than the toilet in the utility room, which wasn’t my choice of a toilet. There was no way I could make the stairs, and luckily for me (not) they had an outside toilet. Well, it wasn’t really outside, but it might as well have been. Not being too keen on spiders, I would hold it as long as I could, and then make a mad dash. I’d pull down my knickers, pee as fast as I could, and then run back into the house, not literally you understan
d. The small cubicle wasn’t just infested with spiders, it was freezing, and by the time I had done my business, my body was shaking, and my bum would be numb. I was desperate to get my mobility back.

  There wasn’t much to do through the day except watch TV and admire the rich decor. What a joke. I hoped Marcus and Dylan hadn’t decorated the house because it was how I’d imagine a grandparent’s home would look. The most awful wallpaper covered the living room walls. I suppose it was in fashion once, even then, I still couldn’t imagine anyone having chosen it. The furniture was old-fashioned, possibly second-hand. The couch was old and threadbare, and the cushions were as flat as pancakes and displayed more than one cigarette burn. The curtains were a horrible shade of mustard, (how could anyone exhibit such bad tastes?) again showing signs of age and use. Although the living room contained old and worn furniture, the kitchen and lounge were spotlessly clean and smelt of furniture polish and lavender air fresher. Not the musty odour I believed it would. Of course, I didn’t imagine Marcus would live in squalor, in spite of that, they were two bachelors, and it didn’t seem natural for the house to be so clean.

  Before I went to sleep that evening, I told Marcus I was going to attempt to get off the couch and walk around the next day. I felt helpless lying down, doing nothing, while he and Dylan waited on me. It didn’t seem right.

  I woke up the next morning feeling a little sore, only by then, the pain had subsided to a bearable ache. The clock on the wall showed ten. I felt ready to face the day ahead, eager to get up and about. I noticed a scrap of paper on the coffee table beside me and on picking it up, saw it was from Marcus.

  He wrote; ‘Gone to work, be back at twelve. Change of clothes in the bedroom. Hope they fit. Love Marcus.’

  I read the letter a second time before I tried to get up.

  A sudden head rush caused me to feel sick. Thinking I might collapse, I gripped the wooden mantelpiece until the room stopped spinning. After a few moments, everything came back into focus. I straightened up, took a deep breath, and composed myself.