Chapter 29
November 2007
Zach
“Whoa, bro, what did that bag ever do to you?” Tuck teases. I ignore him and continue to pummel the shit out of the heavy bag. Sweat drips down every surface of my body. Beading at my hairline and marking slick paths down my skin. Skin that never seems clean enough, no matter how hard I scrub.
BANG.
Screams.
Blood.
Charlotte.
Protect. Protect. Protect.
Right jab, left jab, right jab, left jab, left jab, left jab. Twist at the hips. Kick right. Jab. Kick left. Jab. Kick right. Jab.
Harder. Faster. Better.
My muscles scream for the relief I refuse to give. At this point, I know damn well my knuckles will be swollen and bruised at the very least. Coach Reynolds is gonna tear me a new one. But that’s nothing new at this point. He’s always on my case about something.
“Morris! Why the hell are you late to practice again?”
“Morris! Why do you look like a bag of smashed assholes?”
“Morris! If this game ain’t important enough for you to pay the fuck attention, then maybe you should take your ass to the bench. ”
“Morris! You smell like a gotdamn brewery. You know my rules. No parties before game night. Don’t let it happen again.”
Blah. Blah. Fuckin’ blah.
The ding of my text alert pulls me back to now. I reach out and steady the swaying heavy bag, catching my breath. My body aches for coolness. Grabbing my water bottle off the floor, I tip it back and take a large swig before lifting it above me and pouring a bit on my heated forehead.
I shake off the excess water and dab the rest with the hand towel on the bench beside my phone.
Plopping down on the lightly matted surface, I flip my phone open.
Morgs : Yo Zee! I got somewhere for us to be tonight. You down?
I roll my neck from side to side. I can already feel the tension ebb out of my shoulders as I envision a smooth glass of whiskey gliding down my throat.
Me : Don’t act like you ain’t got the sense God gave a goose. You know I’m down.
Morgs : So touchy lately. Ain’t been gettin’ any? Thought that little girlfriend of yours was a freak in the sheets? At least, that’s what you slurred out when we were at Gino’s last week. laughing emoji
Me : Hardy fuckin’ har. When and where should I meet you?
Morgs : Yeah fucking right bro, you ain’t meeting me nowhere. We ain’t having a repeat of last month at that kegger when you drove us home after telling me you were “totally cool to drive”. We almost fucking died. I’ll be there in twenty.
Fucking hell, Morgs. She never has consideration for anyone else’s time but hers. It’s Morgan’s world, and we’re all just sad little puppets attached by the short and curlies under her marionette’s control. I roll my eyes but grab my shit, nod my goodbye to Tuck, and head back to our room to shower.
When we pull up to a small standalone brick building with the words CRIMSON PAGE splayed across the facade, I look over at Morgs, confounded. “What in the hell? Why are we at a damn library on a Sunday night, Morgs? If you needed to study, you coulda just left me the hell out of it.”
She ignores me, like usual, and climbs out of her car. Leaving me behind, staring after her like a lost pup. For fuck’s sake. I get out of the car and storm behind her. The windows are all dark. “Is this place even fuckin’ open?” I ask, annoyed that she still ain’t payin’ me no mind.
As the heavy wooden door swings open, crimson velvet fills my view. Morgan presses right through the thick curtain. The door opens to a small library. Four bookshelves rest against the two side walls, with one large round table in the middle of the room.
She bypasses the table and stops in front of the lone shelf against the back wall. A brass Camellia statue is the only object on its surface. Morgan reaches her hand out and twists the top of the metallic flower.
“Are we pullin’ some kinda floral heist here, Morgs?” I snicker.
“Turn around, dumbass.” She instructs. As I turn, the bookshelf that was once right next to its mate against the left wall has now moved, and there is a darkened doorway in its place.
“Oh, a mystery! Call Scoobs and the gang!” I exclaim and rub my hands together like Mr. Burns does when he takes more of the residents of Springfields’ money.
Morgan rolls her eyes at me and saunters off towards the mysterious door. Soft jazz fills the air around us as we enter the dimmed space. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust. When they do, I take in the crushed velvet-lined walls leading to a spiral staircase that goes one direction—down.
I follow her lead down the stairs. She has clearly been here before. At the bottom of the staircase lies yet another door, a thick wall of metal. She lifts her hand and raps on the door five times. Was that Shave and a Haircut ? Two loud thumps echo back at us before the door swings open.
We are immediately engulfed in a thick fog. The soft jazz of the hallway is replaced with a pulsating fusion of electronic sounds. A small hand clasps into mine as Morgan drags us through the fog to a makeshift bar. “The usual?” she asks. I nod my answer and leave her to procure our beverages while I take in the spacious nightclub in the basement of a dainty library.
Laser lights bounce off of every surface in the room, immediately overloading my senses. The swaying bodies moving in perfect synchrony cast shadows that dance along the fog in time with the music.
A small, cool glass is thrust into my chest. I happily grab onto it and take a healthy pull. The smooth, rich liquid glides down my throat. The sweetness of caramel and vanilla tempers the burn of alcohol. A sense of contentment begins to slide over my aching limbs.
Squeals fill the space around us as a tall, dirty blonde flies in front of me and envelopes Morgan in a bone-crushing hug. I stumble back a bit, my left hand instinctively covering the top of my glass, protecting the precious elixir that lies beneath.
“Mo!” The blonde shouts at the same time that Morgs yells, “Mellie!”
When the two women finally break apart, they turn to me with wide smiles. The blonde eyes me up and down, taking inventory of my features and burning them into her twat swat pot for later.
“Zee, this is my best friend, Mellie. I can’t believe my two besties finally get to meet. This night is going to be the literal fucking best!”
I tilt my drink in hello to Mellie. She eye fucks me a little harder before stepping right into my personal bubble and sticking her hand between us, looking up at me expectantly.
I scoff and take her hand limply in mine, “Nice to meet you, Mellie.” I offer, trying to be friendly for Morg’s sake.
Her soft hand squeezes against mine as she shakes, “Very nice to meet you, Zachary, is it? I prefer full names. Feels more intimate, doesn’t it?”
“Zach is fine.” I grit out. That’s not my fucking name, and no one calls me by full name but my mama and my girl.
Mellie steps in closer, forcing our hands to turn forty-five degrees and settle against her chest and my stomach.
“Well, Zach , you can call me Melanie.”
Morgan must sense the tension oozing from my body because she interjects herself and pulls Melanie aside, waving me off while they head to the ladies’ room.
The scent of vanilla and sugar floods my senses. My cock instantly twitches at the familiar aroma. Little Bit.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” A soft voice asks from my left. I turn, and my breath hitches for a moment. It is uncanny how much this girl looks like my girlfriend. Her blonde hair falls in waves down to her midsection.
She’s dressed casually. Same as Charlie would be. A black band tee that is just slightly tattered at the edges. Light blue tight-to-ankle pants with small holes slit in both thighs. Showing just a peek-a-boo of flesh. Down to spotless white Chuck Ts.
This girl is a pretty replica, a shadowy reflection. But my girl is light-embodied, a masterpiece that could never be duplicated.
I find solace and my sense of home in her. She reminds me that even in a world full of chaos and uncertainty, beauty exists in the fleeting moments, just as there is in the serene splendor of a snowflake. My snowflake. My one-of-a-kind girl. My Little Bit.
With this twisted creation, everything is artificial. Whereas this girl has cut her own holes in her clothes to be trendy, my girl came by hers the honest way of misuse and overwear. The clothes wear this cheap echo. Charlie wears the clothes.
I clear my throat and offer my hand toward the empty stool next to me. She slides into it and leans against the bar to order herself a drink.
Her order surprises me. Whiskey, neat. Same as me. Girls don’t usually go for the hard stuff without a chaser to follow it up.
I eye her suspiciously when she puts the glass to her lips. Her lips are the very same shade of light pink as my girlfriend’s. But like everything else, her pout is lacking. She hums in approval as she takes a tiny sip of the whiskey.
The slight pinch of her lips tells me everything I need to know. This knockoff is punching above her weight class. But why? Why order something you don’t like? Seems like a fuckin’ waste to me.
She takes another small sip and manages no reaction this time. Her eyes wander casually around the club, her back straightening to lift her ass slightly off the chair as she peers towards the hallway with the restrooms.
“Lookin’ for someone?” I ask.
“My friend. I was uber late getting here, and she came in without me.” She responds distractedly while still searching for her friend.
I nod my head and sip my drink again. Happy to stand in silence and not engage in any further conversation.
“You here all by yourself?”
I open my mouth to answer her when Morgan and Melanie part the crowd and approach us.
“Bex! You made it!” Melanie squeals while thrusting herself at the small blonde—apparently Bex.
“Mo, you remember Bex, right?”
“Oh yeah, we ran into you at that coffee shop downtown. Good to see ya again, girl.”
Bex tucks a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. The contrast between the two women is vast. Melanie seems to be a loud, in-your-face type, while Bex seems to be more reserved and introspective.
She nods back at Morgs. “Yeah, good to see you, too.”
“Another?” Morgs asks me, pointing to my nearly empty glass. I tip it back, letting the remainder of the booze slide down my gullet. “Yes, ma’am.”
Melanie looks like she’s about to cream her panties as she rubs her thighs together. “Oh, what a sweet, southern gentleman you are. They don’t make em’ like you in Jersey, honey.”
“Make it a double, would ya Morgs?” I holler at Morgan. I think this night is going to require a copious amount of alcohol to get through.