by Monica James
So it goes without saying, he can’t see me.
The cheerleader is still in her uniform, talking to a group of girls. Finding my balls, I walk toward her. Gary stays behind me, being my lookout. Damian is across the field, so I think I’m safe for now.
I don’t know how this is done, but I decide to take a page out of my brother’s book and use one of his lines. When I stop feet away from them, she turns and looks at me with big blue eyes.
“Hello, gorgeous,” I say with confidence, smirking.
Her friends grin, muffling their laughter behind their hands.
“Hi,” she finally replies, sipping her drink from a blue cup.
“I saw you cheerleading tonight. At the game,” I stupidly add, because where else would she be cheering?
But I keep my cool.
“Oh, awesome.” I need to take the hint, but I can’t. I want to be the one this time; the one who shines.
“So, can I have your number?”
Her friends all cackle loudly while Gary groans, hinting this is going down as the worst pickup attempt in history.
I should abort, but I can’t. “My name is Cody. Cody Bishop.”
They suddenly stop giggling, their mouths dropping open for another reason this time. “Is your brother Damian Bishop?” one of the girls asks.
Goddammit.
This is not what I wanted. I wanted to do this on my own merit and not because of who my brother is. But I nod, nonetheless.
The cheerleader, whose name I don’t even know, smirks, looking over my shoulder. “Give me your phone.”
“Sonya!” one of her friend’s scolds with a giggle. “He’s too young.”
A name. Finally. Sonya, my queen.
I hunt through my jeans for my cell and hand it over to her. She accepts with a lopsided smirk. When she punches in her number, I can’t believe my luck. Her friend’s stare on with wide eyes while I fucking feel like Hercules.
That is, until Sonya gives me back my phone and says, “Can you give my number to your brother?”
Gasping like a fish out of water, I suddenly feel like she’s kicked me in the nuts. I don’t know what to say, so I nod like a pussy. “Sure.”
“Thanks, Cody.” Sonya bends forward and kisses my cheek. The kiss is chaste, as it’s evident she feels sorry for me because living in Damian Bishop’s shadow is like being eclipsed by the sun.
She quickly shrinks back, yelping, and I have no idea why that is until someone yanks my bicep and spins me around. He towers over me and lifts me with ease, so we’re eye to eye.
“Let me go, motherfucker!” I curse, attempting to break free.
He snickers in response. “Whatcha doing out here, kid? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“Fuck you.” I spit in his face, which has the desired effect when he drops me to my feet. Instantly, I knee him in the balls. When he wheezes and folds in half, I punch him in the face. I am suddenly so angry.
I may be scrawny, but I’m scrappy and know how to fight. Damian would talk it through, but I’m not fucking Damian—I’m not perfect like him.
The guy’s deadbeat friends come running over, fists raised and ready to battle. Gary is no help as he runs and hides behind the girls. I’m outnumbered, four to one, but I suddenly feel alive. This is my fight, mine, not Damian’s.
And that fact spurs me forward as I clothesline one meathead. He drops to the ground with a thud. Before I know it, it’s a flurry of fists, and I attack anything that stands in my way. I’m working on pure adrenaline and ignore the screams around me. It’s sheer mayhem.
Just as I knee some asshole in the face, I hear a bottle smash, then see its serrated edge come toward me. I jump back, arms raised. The guy who I kneed in the balls is out for revenge. I never take my eyes off him as he circles me.
“Punching above your weight, don’t you think? Going for the prettiest girl here.” This dickhead is definitely the ringleader. He has soulless black eyes, eyes I will never forget. He also has a small blue shark tattoo on the side of his neck.
“Leave him alone!” someone who I’m guessing is Sonya screams.
These assholes don’t go to our school. I would recognize them if they did. I realize I’ve gotten myself in some serious shit, and now that the adrenaline has worn off, I’m suddenly afraid. Just as the bastard lunges for me, he is thrown to the side with brutal force.
I turn my chin to see Damian hulked out, ready to take anyone on. “Pick on someone your own size, you white trash assholes!” he roars, arms spread out wide like a fucking superhero.
The guys rush forward, getting in a few punches, before Damian flings them aside like ants. Watching on with wide eyes, I can’t believe my brother is taking them on and winning. I did help, but he makes my attempt laughable.
“Eat shit, asshole!” I scream from the sidelines, cheering my brother on.
When the four chumps realize they’ve lost, they scamper away with their tails between their legs like the cowards that they are. I won my first fight. Well, sort of.
Damian turns to me with that big brother look in his eyes. “Home, now.”
“Aww, c’mon, bro. Let’s celebrate your ass whooping with a beer.”
Sonya giggles, which makes me think I might have half a shot. But when Damian wipes the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, struggling to stand, I realize I better get both our asses home. “Fine. But you’re coming with me.”
I’m expecting him to argue, but he nods, cringing. He’s definitely going to have a shiner in the morning.
Lyndsay offers to come with us, but Damian shakes his head. “You stay, babe. All your friends are here. Call me when you get home.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, chewing on her bottom lip.
This is so Damian. Thinking of others.
“Yes. Besides, I need to get Squirt home.” He looks at me pointedly while I give him wide eyes. He’s just ruined my chances with Sonya. No one wants to hook up with a “Squirt.”
Damian and Lyndsay kiss while I pretend to gag.
Sonya smiles at me before mouthing, “Call me.” Well, maybe I was wrong. Looks like this night just turned into the best one of my life.
Damian messes up my hair before we commence a slow climb up the hill to where he parked his truck. He’s unsteady on his feet, revealing he’s hurting, but he doesn’t say a word.
“Want me to drive?” I offer. It’s the least I can do, seeing as he saved my ass from being cut into Swiss cheese.
Damian digs into his varsity jacket pocket, producing his keys. “Don’t tell Mom,” he teases, while I grin.
The terrain is thick with trees, and although this is the shortcut, it would probably have been easier if we took the path. We walk slow as Damian tries to catch his breath.
“So, sweet on Sonya Teller, hey?”
When I don’t reply, he nudges me in the ribs playfully. “I told ya, cheerleaders—”
But I’ll never know what he was going to say because one second he is standing beside me and the next, I’m suspended in midair.
Instantly, I kick out, but it’s useless. Some asshole has his arms around my middle, holding me prisoner as three of his friends emerge from the darkness and attack Damian.
“No!” I scream, attempting to break free, but it’s pointless. The guy has a strong hold on me. I smell beer and weed on his rank breath. “Let me go.”
“Sorry, no can do. It’s time you became a man.”
I soon recognize these bastards as the four who attacked us earlier. But unlike before, they’ve caught an injured Damian unaware. They pounce on him, kicking him in the ribs, the face, the stomach—wherever they can. He tries to fight them off, but they knee him so hard in the nose that it shatters under the force.
He falls onto his back, gasping for air. He’s hurt really bad.
I watch helplessly, unable to do anything, as they beat my brother senselessly, unable to do anything but squirm with all my might.
The ringlead
er laughs when Damian reaches for him, trying in vain to fight him off. “Not so tough now, are you, quarterback?”
“Leave him alone!” I yell, flailing wildly against the man who is holding me to his chest. He is one big ass, strong motherfucker who has about a hundred pounds on me.
Damian groans, clawing at the dirt as he commences a slow crawl away from his three attackers. The sight kills me because he looks so weak. But they won’t show him the same mercy he showed them. The ringleader stands in front of him, unzips his black jeans, and begins pissing on Damian’s head.
“You fucking asshole! Stop it!” I thrash about, intent on murder.
One of them plants his boot in the small of Damian’s back to stop him from moving while another drops to his knees, bends Damian’s wrist back with a crack, and yanks his championship ring from his finger. It isn’t enough that they’re degrading and breaking him; they have to steal from him too.
They laugh hysterically at my brother’s expense. Three against one is hardly fair, but there is no fair in this situation.
“Thanks for my ring,” the guy who took it from Damian mocks, slipping the ring onto his middle finger. “I like your jacket. I always wanted to be quarterback. But they said I was too small. Not so small now, am I, asshole?”
“Hold him up,” the leader orders the guy who is holding him down. He does as he’s told. He yanks on Damian’s hair, forcing him back at a sickening angle. Damian groans, covered in blood and piss.
Once his zipper is done back up, the ringleader comes up behind him and rips the jacket off him. He then throws it to the asshole who took Damian’s ring.
Now that they’ve stolen from him and beaten him, surely, they’ll leave us alone. But they don’t. The ringleader punches Damian so hard in the jaw, I see one of his teeth soar through the air and land in the dirt.
“No!” I scream over and over, frantically trying to break free. The asshole holding me just clutches me tighter, laughing as he watches his friends viciously beat my brother.
The thief and the leader of the pack take turns punching him until his chin sags to his chest. A trickle of blood seeps from his mouth, staining the dirt red. The moonlight catches something shiny—Damian’s St. Christopher medallion.
He never takes it off. He calls it his good luck charm. But now it’s nothing but something else they can steal. The ringleader yanks it off his limp neck, breaking the chain. He nods to his friend holding him, who shoves Damian back into the dirt.
He collapses into a heap, wheezing.
The sight is my undoing. Damian is being hurt because of me…and I refuse to accept that reality.
Something so fierce overwhelms me, and I strike my head backward, connecting with the meathead’s face. A pained oof leaves him, and I drop to the dirt. I scramble to stand, my useless legs turning to Jell-O, but I finally find my footing and run toward Damian.
“No…Squirt, don’t,” he breathlessly warns, thrusting out his broken hand, but I don’t listen. It’s time I saved him. I’m so engrossed in getting to him that I don’t see it happening before it’s too late.
Out of nowhere, someone comes charging toward me, a rock in hand, ready to end my miserable existence once and for all. I don’t have time to move. I’m cornered, trapped. I brace for death, but I don’t feel anything. Maybe I’m already dead.
When nothing happens, I slowly peel open my eyes and find myself in the same position I was in, but I don’t understand what I’m witnessing. The leader stands motionless before me, rock in hand, blood dripping from his fingers. A sinister smirk twists his lips as he stares down at the ground.
I follow his line of sight and see…no, please God no.
There is a calm before the storm, a calm that allows me to observe a sight my brain refuses to process because there is no fucking way. Laying before me is my brother, but something is very wrong. A bloodcurdling scream rips from my chest and is the wake-up call I needed. It kick-starts the beginning of the end.
“Damian?” I say, unsure if what I’m seeing is true. But when bright red stains the earth beneath him, I know that this is really happening.
“Oh my god.” The soil kicks up as I run over to him, shoving the four assholes out of the way. Dropping to my knees, I cradle him against my chest, and my stomach drops when his body is limp. “Damian, can you hear me?”
He blinks his eyes rapidly, but he doesn’t speak. He looks to be in shock.
“Someone call 911!” I yell so loudly it tears at my vocal cords. “Please!” I’ve lost my cell in the ruckus.
I brush the blond hair from his brow, and my hand comes away a bright red. I don’t understand why. I embrace him close to me, but my white T-shirt is suddenly tainted a bright crimson. Lifting him gently, I feel vomit rising when I see a gaping hole in the back of his head—a hole which was made by the motherfucker who still holds the weapon in his hand.
I meet his dead eyes and make a promise, here and now, that I will find him and deliver him the same fate. “Still think you’re better than me, pretty boy?” he snarls, spitting on me and my brother. The final insult before he hurls the rock at one of his friends.
The motherfucker who held my brother down like a dog holds the rock, eyes wide. He seems to be caught in a fog. “Please,” I beg. “Call an ambulance. My brother is dying. Please help him.”
Now that the severity of what they’ve done has sunk in, he seems to be in shock. “Jaws?” he finally says.
But Jaws, the ringleader, shakes his head. His tattoo now makes perfect sense. “You want to go to prison? Is that it? Be my guest and call the fucking police. Tell them what you did.” Jaws digs into his pocket and offers him his cell. “Your life will be over…just like his.” There is nothing but hatred as he glares down at Damian.
I look back and forth between them, pleading for them to show mercy, but in the end, fear will always win.
Like the coward he is, he takes off into the night, leaving the scene of an accident, leaving my brother to die. They soon all follow suit with Jaws the last to leave.
His parting words will change me forever because he’s right. “This is on you, kid.” He slips into the darkness free, even though he’s guilty of murder.
I can’t chase him. I’m helpless or, rather, useless because this is my fault.
“Come back here! I will find you, you motherfuckers! I will kill you! I promise you! You’re all fucking dead!” Spittle coats my chin as I rock my brother, cradling him to my chest. “Damian, I’m so s-sorry. Please don’t die.”
My tears trickle onto Damian’s cheeks as I hug him tight. Looking into the starless sky, I shout at the universe, begging for someone to show mercy to my brother because he doesn’t deserve to die. If anyone deserves to die, it’s me.
If only I didn’t follow him. If only I stayed at Gary’s, none of this would have happened.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat over and over, rocking my gasping brother. I’m covered in his blood: it’s sticky and hot and makes me want to puke.
I attempt to stop the bleeding from the back of his head by placing my hand over the gaping wound, but all I feel is mush. I realize that mush is his brain. That bastard cracked open his skull.
“I promise you I’ll be good. Just please, don’t die,” I plead with Damian, looking into his eyes. “I love you, bro. Don’t leave me. Please, please don’t leave m-me.”
His silver chain sits a few feet away, dropped in the dirt as the cowards fled into the night. With one arm, I stretch and reach for it, needing all the good luck I can find.
My brother isn’t going to die. He’s strong. A fucking superhero. Look at what he did. Somehow, beaten and broken, he found the strength to rise to protect me. If it wasn’t for him intervening, standing in front of me and taking the blow meant for me, I would be the one lying on this cold ground, bleeding out. Someone like Damian doesn’t die, not at seventeen, not with his whole life ahead of him. Life isn’t that cruel. Is it?
However, when I hear Lyndsa
y bellow a hysterical wail, I realize that yes, life is that fucking cruel. It took away my brother. It took away the one person who didn’t deserve to die.
Peering down slowly, I look into the lifeless eyes of my brother because he’s fucking dead…dead… because of me.
Bull
I jolt upright, covered in sweat.
Frantically reaching for the bedside lamp, I flick it on, breathing a sigh of relief when I realize where I am. It was just a dream or, more accurately, the nightmare that has plagued me for the past fourteen years.
Running a hand over the short bristles of my hair, I kick off the blankets and sit on the edge of the bed. Cradling my face, I lower my head and inhale deeply, feeling Damian’s medallion burn against my skin.
Damian’s death kick-started the demise of my family.
Once the paramedics arrived, they confirmed what I knew to be true. Damian’s cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head—aka a fucking rock split his skull open like a melon. The police came soon after, taking everyone’s statements, but no one would help as they didn’t see the actual murder. And besides, they were running scared.
The guys who gatecrashed the party were known to some, but no one was willing to point the finger. The murder weapon could have been any of the hundred rocks lying around. So, with no evidence or reliable eyewitness accounts, and a crime like my brothers happening almost every day in Detroit, the case remained unsolved.
No one was charged, meaning no one was punished for killing my brother. Where was the justice in that? I told the police over and over what they looked like, but without a name—as the nickname Jaws wasn’t enough—and no solid leads, Damian was just another statistic.
The cops saw me as just another punk ass kid.
My mom had a mental breakdown while my dad closed himself off to any emotion. They told me it was okay and that it wasn’t my fault, but when they lowered my brother into his grave, his white casket holding his broken body, it was clear that they’d wished it was my corpse they were burying and not my brother’s.
