Halloween, Six Years Earlier
HALLOWEEN, SIX YEARS EARLIER
BONNIE
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
The following chapter contains graphic depictions of the sexual assault of a person under the influence of the date rape drug otherwise known as rohypnol.
Please consider this your extra warning.
Proceed with caution.
Your mental health comes first.
I can feel the rumbling thunder outside as it shakes the building.
A shot of tequila and the rest of the bottle waits for me on the dressing room counter after our show. Profuse sweat drips down my forehead and mingles in my hair as I practically lunge at the counter and kick one of them back.
Blood from my open calluses stains the bottle when I pour another.
The few shots of vodka our tour manager, Lonnie, fed me onstage was enough to keep me from losing my shit, but I can’t wait to get out of here. I had to stay sober enough to play the gig, sober enough not to fall off the fucking stool and have the band looking for a second drummer replacement.
That would be so embarrassing.
My phone screen is lit up with texts from acquaintances already asking when we’re getting to the Halloween party we’re going to.
“Hey—nice. Tequila!” Reed launches himself to my side and shoots back a shot with me, wincing when he does. “Ah, fuck. That’s good. Hey. Where are we going again?”
I take another shot and savor the cold liquid coating my mouth. “Desireé’s,” I answer.
My eyes shut tight as I lean my palms against the counter lip. The rest of my body is numb not just from the drinks and the gummy Zeb fed me mid-set, but the ache of my arms from drumming. It’s getting worse. My arms are feeling heavier and heavier after every gig.
Push through.
Another shot will help.
Reed is going on about something. I smile and nod along, though his voice is a distant echo. My phone lights up again, and this time, when I pull it into my hands to read the message, I throw it away for another drink.
“—get her out of here—charge to two-hundred—”
“Bonnie, step out—”
The noise of a hospital machine flatlining rings in my ears.
God, that’s annoying.
DAD
Bon, please come home.
I know you couldn’t handle the funeral. I get that.
She wanted her ashes scattered at the ocean.
I’d like you to be there with me.
Please call me. Let me know you’re okay.
“Ten minutes!” Reed announces. “Ten minutes, then let’s get this fucking party going!”
It takes me all of the ten minutes to slap pink and black glitter on my eyelids, touch up my black lipstick, and change clothes. Zeb joins me halfway through, offering the joint he’s rolled, and I take a few hits before slipping on the fairy wings.
The drive from the venue to the club is all excited shouts and singing between Reed and I. Friends meet us out front. One of them scoops me into their arms and carries me inside, and once we enter, life becomes a blur.
The music is an extension of the heartbeat I can hear in my ears. Each time that beat turns into the high-pitched screech of a heart monitor, I close my eyes.
I want to drown.
I wonder if there’s a point I could reach, a combination of things that might allow my hearing to feel as it does underwater. I wonder if there’s an end that feels like the weight of water pressing in on me. The compression and hug, the struggle for air.
I wish I was there now.
Yet until I can sink myself beneath the water in my tub later, I’ll settle for another trip to the bar.
Blue hair snags my attention when I turn. My stomach bottoms out.
God, why is she here? Can’t she just leave me alone?
Maybe it isn’t her. Lots of people have blue hair. It doesn’t mean she’s here.
I repeat the thought as I pivot toward the bar again. Mads is a few feet away, turned in the same direction as me, and when we see each other, I walk faster, racing him to get there first. His darkly lined eyes squint—the only part of him I can see as he’s wearing a steampunk half-mask. Still, I know he’s grinning.
We slam into the bar at the same time, shoulders colliding, and I hear his laugh meet mine. I stagger off balance in hysterics, and Mads catches me before I trip backward into the stool.
“Whoa—You good?” he asks.
“Maddie, Mads, Madness!” I laugh and throw my arms up, swaying on my feet. “You worry too much. I’m good! It’s Halloween. Isn’t this like your favorite holiday?”
“Yeah, something like that,” he says, chuckling.
I slap the bar twice. “Hey, Des, babe! Can you get us two more of those spider drinks?” I call to the bartender.
Mads holds his hand up and waves her off. “Water, Des,” he says when she comes down to make the drinks.
“With vodka,” I add.
Mads shakes his head. “I think a little water will do some good, Bon,” he says. “Did you eat after the show?”
I balk. “What are you, my mom?” I laugh at myself for saying it. “Oh wait, you’re alive. She isn’t. Big, big difference there,” I say sarcastically.
“Wait, what?” Mads’ brows narrow my way, and I shake my head.
“It’s nothing—”
“It isn’t nothing. Is that why you went home?” he asks.
Because I didn’t tell any of them what was going on.
“I said it’s nothing, and I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap. “Jesus fuck, Mads. Mind your own fucking business.”
He’s your family. He’s just concerned about you.
“Bon—”
“Just leave me alone, Mads,” I say as Des pushes a drink in front of me. I gulp it back, and when I go to take the other, Mads slams his hand on top of it.
“What is your problem?” I sneer.
“I think you’ve had enough for today,” he says.
“And I think you’re being an ass.” I shove his hand off the drink, spilling it in the process, and that’s when I throw my hands in the air. “Good fucking job, dude. Hey, Des, can I get—”
“No, you’re all done here, Bonnie.”
Mads goes to take my hand, and I shove him as hard as I can, staggering into the person behind me. “Fuck off, man!”
“Hey, you heard the girl,” the guy behind me says. “Get lost.”
I settle against the guy and smirk at the glare on Mads’ face.
“Fine. Drink yourself into a coma, Bon,” Mads seethes. “Do whatever the fuck you want. I’m done.”
“Buh-bye,” I say, wiggling my fingers as he fades into the crowd.
As he disappears, tears prick my eyes, and I clench my jaw to keep myself from falling apart.
Good job.
Run him off, too.
Alienate your favorite people. That’s your true talent, isn’t it?
“What is that guy’s problem?” the man behind me says, laughing. “Big brother?”
I push off him and down the shot Mads left behind. “Something like that,” I mutter, glancing his way. He’s dressed in a flannel shirt, a fake mustache, and a beanie on his head, a fake axe in his belt. I snort at the costume.
“Who are you supposed to be?” I ask, putting my hand on the stool as I start to sway.
“Lumberjack,” he says, smiling beneath the beard.
His buddy in the blue gamer mask nods along with the music, turning his head toward me, and I peer between the creeps.
“Right… Well, thanks for the backup,” I say, ready to get out of there.
The hand he grabs my arm with almost makes me fall. It’s abrupt, an unexpected twist, and I whirl back around with all of my defenses up.
“That’s all I get?” he asks. “I helped you out. I think you at least owe me a drink.”
“Oh, is that what you think?” I roll my eyes. “I don’t owe you anything. You don’t get a reward for two seconds of chivalry that you only did because you thought I’d suck your dick and thank you for it. That was my friend . He walked away because he respects me. Not because of any role you think you played.”
His smile widens. “One drink,” he pushes.
I scoff. “Sorry, dude. Not interested,” I say.
Despite my protest, he pushes the second drink from in front of him toward me—a drink I just saw the bartender place there a minute earlier. “One drink,” he insists. “It’ll just sit here if you don’t take it. You wouldn’t want to waste perfectly good vodka, would you?”
I raise my chin and take the drink from his hand, glaring at him when I suck some of it down.
“There. I’ve taken your one drink. Goodbye,” I say, and I pivot before he can say anything else.
Where is Zeb?
The music beckons me onto the dance floor. I note a few familiar faces, and I force a smile at them as I unsteadily make my way over. Every second that the music strums through me, every touch from a stranger, and laugh that reverberates in my ears… I sink beneath all of it. Down and down and down, becoming dizzier, my breathing seeming to slow so much that the world appears to be in slow motion.
I lose track of time. It could be minutes that I’m dancing or hours. I feel the trickle of sweat rolling down my face, the mop of my wet hair sticking to my bare shoulders. Eventually, images that I shouldn’t be able to see invade my mind. When I close my eyes, I see the bronchi branches in my lungs—which is fucking weird because the last time I saw them, I was on a very high dose of mushrooms.
There’s a red light coming through my eyelids each time I tilt my head back. In the back of my mind, I see my anatomical heart, my blood pumping through it in steady beats.
I wonder if my mother saw this when she died?
Am I dying?
A body holds me steady at my back. Someone’s breath skirts along the top of my head, and I wonder if it’s their hands squeezing my hips. The smell of sulfur and burning acid fills my nostrils.
I blink as I process the room, my exaggerated surroundings. The voice to my left catches me so off guard that I shove them and the person I was just leaning against. I think I speak, though my tongue feels stuck to the roof of my mouth.
Dammit. Maybe I should have stopped when Mads told me to.
I groan when someone slides their arm around my waist, my unsteady feet shuffling on the floor.
Are they taking me somewhere?
I pull away—or try to. My eyes feel permanently shut—the lids so heavy that glimpses of the room swirl when I manage to get them open.
“—get you cleaned up, fairy,” I hear a distant voice.
No.
I’m fine.
I need to find my friends.
I think I say it.
I know I say it.
However, every time my mouth opens, vomit burns the back of my throat.
Is that vomit in my hair?
Warm dingy lights infiltrate my vision.
I grab for anything—the wall, the door, maybe a sink… I don’t know who has me. It doesn’t sound like one of my friends. It doesn’t sound like anyone I know.
I hold my hand up to block the light from my eyes, yet as I do, I hear the water turn on, hear the door open, and new voices join the spinning room.
Help me.
I think he wants to hurt me.
I don’t know who I’m with.
Weight compresses around my wrists. Cold air hits my waist and chest.
“Stop,” I say, beginning to panic. My voice sounds like I have marbles in my mouth.
The only response is snickering laughter and mocking pleas.
“Don’t worry, drummer girl,” someone says in my ear. “We’re going to make you feel good.”
I swing, spinning on my feet as I only hit the air. Eyes barely open, I keep fighting, though I think they’re just pushing me around, one by one, each taking a piece of me as they do.
“I call first,” someone says.
First what?
Darkness slides over my eyes, and the next time they open, I’m staring up at the same lights. I jerk my head, squinting, shoving, pushing at the person on top of me, and I know they’re there because I can feel them moving. I can feel their heavy weight on my thighs, a prodding between—
“—get her ready for you—”
What is happening?
When did I get on the floor?
“Stop.”
Why can’t I move?
Why can’t I see?
There’s a weight on my collar holding me down. The first one moves off my legs, and an even heavier someone sinks onto my thighs. My mouth opens. I try to scream. I try to punch. The grimy floor is fucking freezing on my back. There’s a painful pinch, a pressure…
“Oh, yeah—”
Help .
Darkness swims in my vision, my head so cloudy that I think I know what’s happening, but god-fucking-dammit , this has to be a nightmare.
This can’t be real.
This can’t be happening right now.
My eyes are on fire, breaths both short and long all at once.
Is someone…
“Stop. No—”
Please stop.
Get off of me.
I can’t feel the floor anymore.
Can’t feel the air.
I keep waiting to see my mother’s face, to see her and Kelsey standing there waiting on me at the edge because this has to be how I die. This can’t be something I’ll eventually remember. This isn’t an event I’ll live after—
Someone is yelling.
It’s nothing more than an echo. The weight on my legs alleviates. I groan and attempt to kick, punch, or shove, though my limbs are glued to the floor. I open my mouth to scream again. Something wet stains my face, and I realize there’s something equally wet on my neck, my stomach. What is this? I want to get up. I need to run.
My eyes flicker and squint at the amber lights. A person moves, their shadow coming between my face and the light. Still, I can’t make out their features. They’re a blur.
And as I feel arms scoop me up, vomit pools in my mouth.
Blue hair flashes in my sightline.
Blue hair.
“—got you, Bonnie,” I hear them whisper.
Air evacuates my lungs, and the world goes dark.