24. Mimic
Twenty Four
Mimic
“ W hat the fuck?!” I sputter, shooting up from my place on the couch.
I whip my head around, launching the cool water droplets from my hair and face all around me before my eyes land on her. The look on her face strikes more fear in my heart than the night I spent in the ring with Prez.
“You were here to sober up. Get your shit together. FOR ONE NIGHT!” Mama Judy yells at me, causing my head to throb. “Yet here we are, god knows how many days later, and Gene has poured your ass into my house again to have you sleep it off here rather than confront your emotions and talk to your woman.”
Who the fuck is Gene? I think when I hear a loud slurp from someone. I look to the right and see Omen standing there, leaning on the doorway. He watches his Ol’ Lady give me a verbal ass-kicking to match my physical one.
“Sober up and get off my couch. You’re starting to make it smell like impure thoughts and desperation.” She huffs at me.
“Those smells are from someone else’s desperation and impure thoughts,” Omen says with a soft chuckle.
I jump off the couch so fast that I actually feel dizzy from the sudden movements. “You’re about to join his ass in the gutter because you can’t read the room, Eugene .” Mama spits at him before turning back to me. “You think you love her—”
“—I know I love her!”
“I call so much bullshit. It’s no wonder you smell like shit, that’s all you can spew these days. If you loved her, you would be there talking to her. Working out whatever trivial fucking fight this is. Talk to her. Work it out! And get off my couch!” Again, I look over to Omen for some help. He takes another loud sip of his coffee and puts his free hand up as if to say ‘ naw man, not my monkey, not my circus. ’
“What happened?” I ask, feeling my face to see that it’s not just water running down my face but also more blood.
“Ugh,” Mama Judy mumbles before spinning on her heels to look at Omen. “You brought the stray home. You take care of it. I’ve said my piece.” She gives Omen a soft slap on the face and then a hard kiss before leaving us alone in the room.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Omen asks once his Ol’ Lady shuts the door.
“I remember never knowing your real name is Eugene,” I rub my face, trying to get some bearing.
I hear movement, and the next thing I know, I’m getting a smack along the back of the head.
“Never call me that in public, or Prez and Roxie will be the last of your worries.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, seeing stars behind my eyes. “The last thing I remember is Prez punching out my lights in the clubhouse because I opened my drunk fucking mouth.”
“Then we dragged your ass to the ring, and you went a couple of rounds with the Demon. You opened your mouth again, decided that wasn’t enough, and got your clock cleaned again . You have been drinking to feel nothing and hiding from the pain of what I am sure is about three facial fractures, a few broken ribs, as well as all the emotional damage. Both actual and that of your own making.” He takes another loud slurp of his coffee, which is starting to get on my nerves. “Sit down, son.”
The softness of his tone catches me off guard, but I sit on the very edge of the wet couch. He called me son, and I haven’t been called that in so many years that it sticks something in me, I can’t quite explain. Something that feeds the knowledge that no matter what, this is my home. This is where I am meant to be.
“Roxie has a complicated past. It started with what she and her mother went through. She told me she explained that part to you. But after they came to Wyman, actually, more like they were sent to Wyman, their story got intertwined with more people. More young girls who had the same trauma, if not worse. She will always let you know what she is feeling. What she is personally going through, but once it crosses into someone else’s story, she is loyal enough to keep her mouth shut. For example, when you yelled out that you had bared your soul raw to her, Prez tried to get that information out of her. But she locked that down with the same logic you are faulting her for. She can’t tell you her truth without telling you others. She’s being a good friend. She was raised in this club.”
Omen’s explanation is helping me understand. It could also be the unknown number of days bender I’ve apparently been on that’s also helping, but it’s clear I’ve messed up. I got so mad at her for protecting people all because I wanted to know everything about her. I called her selfish when, really, it was all me who was. “I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I?” I ask, my voice still rough and broken as I feel in so many ways.
“Not completely. She has been here.” He stops for another drink of coffee. My god, man, how slow are you drinking this? “More than once. She has been nursing you back to health while you go out and drink your face off again.” He looked at his watch and said, “She’s due here again soon. So why don’t you go clean up? Talk to her and get off my couch and out of my house so I can bed that foul and pent-up woman of mine.”
“As easy as that?”
“For me to have sex with my wife? Yeah, once you fucking leave.”
“Not that, Jesus. I meant fixing it with Rox.”
“All you have to do is fucking talk to her. But I’m telling you now, get your shit straight because you can either help or not. In one week, we’re setting the plan in motion to catch this son of a bitch.”
“Wait. What? How?” Last I remember, we had only decided to do it. How long have I been fucking myself up?
“Well, while you were being a dumbass, Roxie figured out who the hell was following her. But we can’t just grab the guy off the street.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“We can’t find him. It’s like once she figured it out, he vanished. So, we’re setting the trap, hoping he’ll come back. We’re doing it at Stanford’s place. Be there, or don’t. I don’t care what you do. But Mimic, what you do is going to determine what Roxie does with you.”