Chapter 23 #2
This is the only part I remember: us at each other’s throats, or me at his mostly. His apathy in the face of my screaming and tears.
Jordan’s let go of me. He’s gone back to the sink and I’m watching him painstakingly remake the second vodka soda. He’s got that fucking bag, the same one from that night, with the fine crystalline powder, and he adds just a little to each cup as I watch.
“Your friend’s having a bad night,” he says over his shoulder. “But that’s about to change.”
Which is when I lunge for him.
There’s very little thinking involved, just doing.
Just throwing myself at him, all a hundred and thirty-something pounds of me, knocking him against the edge of the counter.
He manages a fuck before all the wind’s knocked out of him and we both go down on the tile.
The drinks spill and we’re sticky with liquor and I’m screaming, maybe, I think, incoherently as he tries to slap me off him.
He manages to shove me to the side but I’m clinging on like a rabid spider monkey, trying to ferret through his pockets for the goddamn baggy so I can flush it down the toilet or throw it on the bonfire, something.
Jordan gets on top of me and pins my wrists with his knees.
He claps a hand over my mouth, cutting off my sharp cry.
“Listen to me,” he hisses, leaning down in my face.
“No one here gives a shit. I could drag you out of here fucked up the way you were at Anathema and no one would blink. None of these people would believe you if you said anything—half of them think you’re batshit, anyway. ”
My blood runs cold. All the people out there laughing and having a good time, some of them I’m familiar with and even friendly. People I have partied or gone out with at one point or another. Kris, who hates my guts even though I’ve done nothing to him. Is it true? Do they all think I’m insane?
“Do you want the truth?” he goes on, his voice a cruel and mocking whisper. “I couldn’t ever stand how sad and submissive you were when we were together. It was fucking repulsive. But you were easy as hell, and that made it good.”
Fuck it. It doesn’t matter in the moment. I don’t care what these people think of me. What does matter is getting that shit away from him, away from Jamil, away from anyone else he might fuck up.
I get my mouth between the skin of Jordan’s thumb and forefinger and bite as hard as I possibly can and he squeals, reeling back.
I hock one back and spit in his face, or at least I try.
I can’t tell if it actually lands. “Fuck you!” I yell at him.
“Go fuck yourself, you pathetic limp dick piece of shit. Or is drugging people the only way you can get anyone to get in bed with you anymore? God, you’re sad. ”
There’s a glob of saliva running down the side of his nose, where it’s all scrunched up and contorted with fury. Oh, good, I fucking nailed him. “You fucking slut—”
And then a bunch of things start happening at once. People are here and they’re yelling. Luca’s appeared and I don’t know when or how but he has, crying out my name, and I catch Jordan’s eyes flashing wildly as Luca grabs him by the scruff of his neck and yanks him off.
“Don’t you fucking dare touch him,” he snarls viciously in Jordan’s face.
“Fuck you, dickhead.” Jordan slaps at him. “He attacked me.”
Which isn’t good enough for Luca and I’ve got the best view of Jordan getting his shit absolutely fucking rocked. My boyfriend punches him upside the head so hard that I can feel it, can practically see the stars twirling around Jordan’s head.
“Don’t touch him,” Luca reiterates. “Don’t look at him, don’t think about him, don’t talk to him. Forget he exists. Do you understand?” Jordan makes a whimpering-gurgling sound and Luca drops him to the floor. “Piece of shit.”
“Oh shit.” I hear Kris’ reedy voice rising amidst the clamor. “This is gonna do numbers on TikTok.”
Jordan slumps, dazed, against the cabinets, his head in his hands as he groans pathetically.
There are more people filing into the kitchen to catch a glimpse of the commotion.
Danika’s here, somehow and she’s got an arm around Jamil’s waist, but before I can call out to either of them Luca’s kneeling before me.
“Are you okay?” he frets, touching my face. “Did he hurt you?”
“I didn’t do shit to him,” Jordan whines. I think his nose might be bleeding. His words come all thick and congealed.
“I’m okay,” I assure Luca.
We both note that I’m shaking when he helps me to my feet, but it’s nothing. It’s adrenaline. It’s relief, and the force of it flooding through my body leaves me almost week. I grab onto Luca and wedge my face beneath his like I can crawl into his skin, and he holds me tight as he possibly can.
“Got you,” he whispers. “You’re safe, baby.”
And Mackenzie’s arrived at last, the elusive host of this party now making his grand entrance and now I remember why we called him Mack Truck.
Dude fills the doorway nearly shoulder to shoulder.
He’s a hulking monster of a man, taller than even Luca, pink-skinned and hair shorn to the scalp.
He surveys the mess, Jordan sniveling bloodily on the floor, with an impassive stare.
“What the hell’s going on in here?” he demands. “Why’s this guy bleeding all over my floor?”
“Maaack.” Jordan’s on all fours, trying to get up. No one moves to help him. “Get these fucking assholes out of here. The old one punched me. And he’s like, twice the age of everyone here besides.”
Mackenzie raises his gaze to us, and he recognizes me immediately. “Hey, Noel,” he says amiably, his tone doing a complete 180. “Long time no see.”
I manage a smile. “Hi.”
“Oh, come on.” Jordan grabs the counter’s edge, pulling himself to his feet.
His face is a complete disaster, blood coating the lower half like a half-mask.
I think Luca might’ve really broken his nose.
He’s breathing heavily out of his mouth.
“If you aren’t gonna call the cops, I will,” he says snidely.
Mackenzie rounds on him. “You’re threatening to bust my party, jackass?”
“He busted my face! I’m pressing charges!”
“He’s spiking drinks,” I say quickly. “Jordan is. I caught him doing it. Check his pockets.”
There’s a brief hush amongst the onlookers before Jordan squeals with indignation. “That’s complete bullshit. Come on, Mack. You don’t believe him. Right?”
“I don’t even know you,” he returns coldly. “I don’t know who brought you here.”
“I’m—” Jordan splutters. “You know, I’m the friend of, uh—”
Doesn’t matter because ol’ Mack Truck is advancing on him, and no one’s about to stop him.
He shoves Jordan up against the nice granite and begins rifling in the pockets of his shorts, and I feel Luca’s hold on me slacken a little, I guess in anticipation of Jordan fighting him.
And Jordan does, a little, yelping and shoving at him and protesting feebly, but Mackenzie’s probably closer to three hundred pounds than two and Jord might as well be an insect by comparison.
“Well, well.” He extracts the little baggy of white powder, holding it up to the light, and my knees are all at once water. Someone inhales sharply—Danika, I think. I chance a glance at her and our eyes meet.
“It’s not—” Jordan gropes for an excuse. “Look, it’s my mom’s—she’s got narcolepsy, I was just—”
“I know exactly what this shit is, you dumb piece of shit,” Mack growls. “Drugging people at my party? Seriously?”
“No, I wasn’t.” Jordan’s sniffling, maybe even crying. “Dude. Please.”
And…and I don’t want to see anymore of this.
The vindication I felt moments before has gone as quickly as it’s come.
There’s even more people gravitating towards the drama now, even the music’s been turned down.
It’s like a public execution in a town square, it’s like Jordan’s about to be fucking drawn and quartered, and I don’t want to know what happens next, I just want to go home.
I feel Luca’s lips brush my ear. “Let’s get out of here,” he says.
I nod to him, grateful. I mouth thank you to Mackenzie as we walk out of the kitchen. I don’t think he notices, though. His attention is altogether elsewhere.
Out on the street it’s just us, and the faint sounds of the music from the house and the smell of the bonfire. Danika following behind with Jamil, who’s high as shit on something, leaning heavily against her. I take a deep breath and the smoke stings my nose, even from here.
“Noel,” Danika says, “I—”
“It’s okay,” I say to her. “We’ll talk about it another time.”
She nods. “I’m sorry.”
Not her fault, not like she knew. Nothing I hold against her.
I don’t have the energy, anyway. I am so tired now without all the stress chemicals pumping through my system; their sudden absence has left me feeling like my legs have been swept out from beneath me.
I just want to sleep—but I have to know.
“How did you get here? What happened to work?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “I told Ellie my grandma was dying and I had to go. Then I caught an Uber here.”
“Aren’t both of your grandmas dead?”
“Yep.”
Well. That’s one way to avoid karmic retribution, I guess. If one believes in that sort of thing. Which I don’t, so whatever.
Blearily Jamil says, “I have no idea what just happened.”
“Later.” Danika pats his shoulder.
“Do you need a ride, then?” Luca asks. “We can drop you off.”
“Oh—” She’s embarrassed suddenly, demure and averting her gaze. Probably because she’s spent so much time shit talking this man and now she might be suddenly beholden to him. I smile faintly. “I don’t want to, like, impose or anything. I can just get another ride.”
“It’s not a problem,” he assures her. “Expensive ride, otherwise.”
Of course she’s sort of forced to agree. It would be silly to get another Uber after all of that.