31. Noah
Noah
Five-o’clock hits, and it’s about time for me to lock up the store when the bell jingles above the door. A group of men wearing the Falcon jerseys pour in, fumigating the place with testosterone. They make snide remarks, hitting each other in the chest as they dip a chin in my direction.
“What’s with the faggot trash bag hair?” One of them cracks their knuckles. Another holds up their head to expose their thick giraffe neck. “I never knew a dude could be a lesbian.” Such bold words from someone I doubt ever gets laid.
“More like a butch feminist if she were overdosing on hormone pills.” Eyes infected with arrogance meet mine, and smirks form on their lips.
One of them looks oddly familiar, and he steps in with a hand in his jean pockets, the other stroking his chin as he licks his top teeth.
I chew on the dead skin of my bottom lip, not surprised.
The stocky bastard who cheated on Charlie would possess the ego to taunt me.
Looks like he needed to bring backup because he can’t handle a friendly conversation without ten guys guarding him.
All of them sneer, pushing each other in the chest as they horse around.
“Look at this.” One of them laughs. He has worse facial hair than I do, his mustache giving him a divorced-mall-security-guard appearance. He tosses a vinyl record at a teammate. “What is this shit?” He points at it with a flat palm.
“Fucking junk. That’s what it is,” another jackass mocks with a moppy haircut with his eyes covered in curly pubic hair. He picks up another vintage vinyl record. Elvis Presley, My Happiness. Fuck, and that one is in good condition too.
He smashes it across a knee and throws it to the ground.
My heart crashes in my eardrums as other guys flip through cases of CDs, kicking down cases.
Brody takes a steady step forward, flashing me a grin.
I keep my distance with the glass display case between us and fold my arms. Thank god I have my hair pulled back into a girly-ass bun.
“Why are you messing with my girlfriend? Hmm?” Brody asks, narrowing his brows, digging those frown lines deeper.
“Don’t stop. Please don’t...I want you to be my...
I want you to make me come. No one has made me come before.
” He mimics her. “I bet you liked that, didn’t you?
” He runs a hand through his blond hair and flexes his biceps as if he does it to intimidate me.
I hit the gym too. I’m just not injecting myself with steroids to cheat my own anatomy.
A crash as loud as a gunshot rockets through the store as his friends push and shove each other around, knocking over a display case of jewelry.
The other guy heads towards the wall displaying shirts with an array of different artists.
Brody finds the shelves by the glass display case stocked with shirts, sweaters and beanies my band personalized to sell here.
“I’ve seen her wear one of these beanies.
” Brody picks one out, then digs in his pocket, pulling out a lighter.
“But she looks better in my jersey.” His thumb clicks against the flint wheel, and each click hisses until a blue flame flickers.
“You know, she’s fucked my face plenty of times.
She’s a little slutty whore, isn’t she?” He holds the lighter under the beanie, setting it on fire.
Smoke floats into the air and instantly invades my senses. “I love how fucking loud she is.”
Time to put my emotions in check, leave my lips flat, and control the pulse racing in my veins. This isn’t Karate Kid, where I can pull a bunch of moves to take out this herd of maggots.
“What is that little symbol?” He fists one of my shirts with the band logo. Then tosses it to the floor with the burning beanie. “Some Jesus bullshit.” He throws several more on the carpet, rounding the glass case to where I stand. “I can’t stand how she fucking believes that fantasy bullshit!”
I take slow steps away from the glass display case, and eyeball the fire extinguisher.
“I saw your little music video posted today...” he chuckles, and his dark eyes zero in.
It’s easy to tell he has nothing on his mind other than making sure I’m either dead or bleeding by the time he walks out of here.
“Made yourself a little porno, huh?” He just doesn’t know when to shut up.
I’m inches away from the fire extinguisher, so I take a few more steps to get closer to it.
“You'd better save yourself a copy because you’re never going to touch her again.” I raise my eyebrow, lick my chapped lips and laugh.
“Don’t you have somethin’ to say?” he asks and storms right up to me.
His thick fingers grab the collar of my shirt, bunching the fabric in his fists.
I raise my hands in a defensive stance. He yanks me forward before slamming me against the wall.
Perfect. His hands are close enough together for me to break his grip, but I’d like to see where he’s taking this conversation.
Plus, the little fire he started is just a tiny fizzle of smoke, and I have a good sixty seconds to grab the fire extinguisher.
“You think you’re so cool with your fucking skinny jeans, and your tattoos and fucking my girlfriend in that little music video you made,” he sneers, his face inches from mine.
“I bet you liked that tight-ass cunt of hers. But you’re nothing.
You think she’s going to choose you over the greatest quarterback this state has ever seen? ”
For all he knows, I might tour with Oli Sykes one day, but his uncultured ass probably has no idea who he is.
“Sounds like you’re a little insecure.” It breaks off my tongue. His grip tightens, knuckles turning white before he slams the back of my skull into the thick bricks. The Rolling Stone posters on the wall blur in my vision. I’m down to thirty seconds as the smoke gets thicker.
“I’ve been with her a lot longer than you. She’s not getting over me anytime soon. She’ll come crawling back to me like she always does.”
“You think so?” I ask, my left hand moving under both of his arms. I have less than three seconds to make this work, or he’ll be able to keep his grip on me and I can kiss my front teeth goodbye.
I widen my legs enough to build my frame like I’ve practiced hundreds of times.
I step to the side to remove myself from the punch he throws.
I grab my wrist to reinforce my frame, elbow high, and drive my body forward, using my core while rotating my shoulders to break his grip.
His fists are broken off my shirt, and I’m able to step several feet away with my hands held out in defense.
Brody chuckles through his flaring nose. “Oh! What was that, some little fucking Asian moves? Don’t tell me. You’re from Chinatown?” he asks.
I throw open the fire extinguisher cabinet, yanking it out.
I pull the pin, aim, squeeze the handle, and a whoosh of white chemical powder saturates the clothes he set on fire.
“Well, aren’t you precious,” I say, gripping the extinguisher tightly and ready to bash it against his pretty Handsome Squidward face.
“I bet your dick doesn’t even fit in your hand,” Brody remarks.
“Such big words for someone who needs to bring in his bodyguards for a little man-to-man conversation.”
He scoffs and runs a thick hand down his face. Maybe it’s starting to click in that tiny brain of his. He can throw as many remarks at me as he wants. I don’t care what he thinks of me.
“A little birdie told me about your game tonight.” I place the fire extinguisher onto the glass case. “I’ll win her fair and square.”
“I’d like to see you try.” Brody stomps up to me, and I widen my feet and get back into a defensive stance. Brody halts, dips his head backwards, and chuckles. I swear I’m hearing the devil himself laughing at me, and my mouth goes dry.
“Fine, you wanna play Dirty Roulette, come play, but I always fucking win.” Brody places two fingers in his mouth and whistles.
His teammates go silent, a bunch of brainless sheep following a shepherd to their inevitable death.
“Bring drinks or you ain’t getting in.” He spits at my feet.
“Let’s go,” he commands, and they exit. I tread behind them as they all leave the store.
I wait for the car engines to rev to life.
Trucks and convertibles speed off, swerving as they pick up speed.
Wheels squeal as Brody’s Camaro races down the street.
Two of his friends hang outside the window.
One of them banged fists against the door screaming, “Woo! Woo!” Another flips me the bird as the car races down the street, “See you tonight, faggot!”