2. Wall of Death and Drunk Dudes
TWO
wall of death and drunk dudes
Dahlia
Liberty Arena is flooded in a sea of fishnets and combat boots, plus a decent amount of concerned dads in khakis. “I hate to say it, but the parking lot hot dogs might have been a bad idea,” Daphne grumbles.
“Never. We need sustenance for all the screaming we’ll be doing tonight.” She might be right about the food safety of a dirty water dog, but I love them, so I have no regrets. We parade ourselves through the entrance, flashing our tickets at the door.
Once inside, we stop for the obligatory bad bitch photo shoot, striking several sexy poses.
Daphne’s in a black velvet tube top and leather mini skirt, looking like a tiny, hot vampire.
Even with her platform boots, she’s still short.
I move into a slutty squat, almost kneeling on the floor, and smile so big my eyes close.
My jean skirt rides up a little, my thick thighs on display as I stick out my tongue.
After we harass a fellow metal head to take a photo of the two of us, we move on, satisfied with our pictures.
Making our way through the throngs of concertgoers, we make it to the winding line at the merch booth.
“Fuck. This is gonna be a while. I’m gonna run to the bathroom while we’re waiting,” I say.
Daphne nods in agreement without looking up from her phone.
She’s been glued to the damn thing since we got here.
One lip gloss reapplication and a pee break later, I return to the slow moving line. She looks confused as she glances between her phone and the crowd.
“Who are you looking for? I’m right here, sugar tits!” I joke.
“No one. Just people watching. Like, I just watched that guy drop his pretzel on the floor then pick it up and eat it. He’s right in front of the garbage cans, man.
” She fake gags. The line hardly moves and we pass the time making up life stories for the people walking by like we did when we were younger.
With two tour exclusive T-shirts in tow, we finally head to the pit entrance in time for the opener.
The lights start to dim and the heavy bass line fills the arena.
We’re dancing, bobbing our heads, and shouting along without a care in the world.
Despite my general nervousness, I’ve always loved the feeling of being lost in a concert crowd, the shared experience of hearing your favorite band in a sea of fans.
Daphne keeps checking her phone and I’m curious what has her attention, but she locks it before I can be nosy.
As the opener nears their final song, Daphne tells me she’s grabbing us water bottles.
I notice the guy in front of us is getting increasingly drunker, arguing with his friends and throwing his hands around.
Wanting to give him space and avoid taking a rogue hand to the face, I back up only to be stopped by a hard surface.
I look down at the tattooed fingers steadying my hips, but they retreat quickly.
Turning, I meet the owner of the tattooed fingers—a mountain of a man with a beautiful head of chocolate-colored hair and a well-trimmed beard.
His dark brown eyes bore into me and I’m momentarily stunned.
“Are you alright?” Damn, that voice is like warm caramel. Even in the loudness of the crowd, his deep baritone tickles down my spine.
I shake my head. “What? Yes. Oh, yes, I’m good. Sorry for bumping you! Are you good?”
“I’m good,” he says, smiling. “I saw him getting pushy, so I was looking out for you and your friend.”
“I appreciate that. Obviously being in the pit, it’s guaranteed I’ll go home with a bruise or two. Hazard of the view and all, but so worth it.”
He nods before running a hand down his beard. “I’m Wesley, or just Wes.”
This man has my heart racing and I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline of the show or his godlike stature. “I’m Dahlia.”
“Like the flower. Dahlia.” He says it slowly like he’s tasting the words. “I like it.” I’m about to melt into a puddle. He nods down at my shirt. “That true?”
Puzzled, I look down only to remember my crop top says, “I PUT THE HOT IN PSYCHOTIC” in big red letters across my boobs.
I drop a hand to my chest and laugh. “Maybe, depends who you ask.” I’m being unusually flirty, considering I won’t touch a relationship with a ten-foot pole.
He’s cute though, and I deserve a little fun tonight.
I’ve momentarily forgotten Daphne until she appears behind him and starts air humping like a maniac while waggling her eyebrows. Wes turns around at my wide eyes and Daphne quickly pretends to be otherwise engaged.
“Hi! I’m Daphne. Dahlia’s best friend, ride or die, criminal counterpart, the works,” she says with an assessing glare, likely sizing up if she needs to scare Wes off or not.
“I knew this one was up to no good.” He nods in my direction with a grin. “It was real nice meeting the two of you. I’ll let you get back to it.” I shamelessly stare as he walks off to an equally tall, grumpier looking man nearby. The pair emanate big dick energy as they stand shoulder to shoulder.
“Was the air humping necessary, you menace?” I hiss at Daphne.
“Um, sorry, but I do have eyes, and he was a whole lot of man. Plus, he didn’t even seem like a creep. The bar is in hell.”
“Whatever. Where’s the water? I’m thirsty as hell.” She’s noticeably empty-handed.
“Weird! I didn’t get the water. Got distracted.” Daphne can be cagey sometimes and before I can ask what distracted her, she grabs my hand and pulls me to the water cart.
When we return to our spot, Drunk Guy is drunker, spewing some shit about not being too drunk along with some other hateful words. Fucking asshole. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Wes and his friend.
“Wes’ friend is staring you down, Daph. Do you know him?” I ask, assuming Daphne has potentially tortured this man at some point in his life. Given the death grip he’s got on his water bottle, it’s probably not too far off.
Daphne blows him a kiss and he flinches like she shot him. Her laugh pierces the air and Wes smiles back at us before they move further into the crowd.
“Nah. He was behind us in the merch line though. Bumped right into me and then speed-walked away like his ass was on fire. Dick.” She glances at her phone for what feels like the millionth time before pocketing it as the show starts.
The lights darken and the hum of a guitar plays.
Smoke curls around the heavy black curtain before it drops revealing Fata Morgana in all their glory as they launch into their first song.
I’m lost in the bliss of hardcore music.
Sure, metal isn’t for everyone, but the chaotic sound and deep lyrics have been the soundtrack of my life from the first time I saw a Bring Me the Horizon music video on MTV in sixth grade.
I’m singing along, screaming my lungs out to a song about feminine rage when Drunk Guy stumbles back into me.
As expected, the crowd is getting more intense as the night goes on, so I put my hands out to brace against him.
Daphne looks at me and rolls her eyes. He’s not even dancing or moshing, he’s belligerent.
Though the crowd is rowdy, it calms between songs, yet Drunk Guy continues smashing into us.
As the set goes on, we keep our distance from him.
Fata’s lead singer, Jade, calls for a “Wall of Death.” Motioning with her hands to part the crowd, she screams into the microphone to pick a side. It’s brutal and messy, but a rite of passage at these shows. I love it.
Drunk Guy turns to glare at me when I move behind him. “Bitch, do you fucking mind? Get off my ass.”
I put my hands up. “Hey, you backed into me. You’ve actually backed into me like fifteen times tonight, so move along.” Anxiety be damned, I’m not about to be yelled at by this greasy slime ball.
Apparently this was the wrong thing to say because he towers over me now, hate in his eyes.
He’s slurring his words with blown out pupils, something about me being a bitch who doesn’t know her place.
His breath reeks of alcohol and the sweat beading his upper lip is grossing me the fuck out.
I’m sure Daphne is gearing up to start swinging, when Drunk Guy looks over my shoulder with a smirk.
Behind me, Wes stands arms crossed.
“You make it a habit to treat women like this or is tonight a special occasion?”
Drunk Guy’s chuckle is throaty. “Sorry man, didn’t realize this whore was yours!” He bends down to get eye level with me. “She’s got a mouth on her, huh?”
“Motherfucker! Turn around before I break my boot off in your ass,” Daphne threatens. Though she can be terrifying, Drunk Guy has at least one-hundred-and-fifty pounds on us.
Wes beats her to it, grabbing the sweat-worn shirt of the guy. “How about you back off? I’d hate to fuck up your face worse than it is now. Turn around and enjoy the show.”
I face Wes, ready to leave the situation, there’s no arguing with a drunk person. Drunk Guy grabs my arm and yanks me towards him.
Daphne stands fuming ready to lunge, when Drunk Guy speaks, “Damn girl. You must really got a mouth on you if your man’s ready to fight a stranger for you.
How about I see for myself? You mind? Attention is attention, surely this bitch could use some more.
” His words hurt, but his bruising grip on my arm has me frozen in fear.
With an exhale, Wes throws a punch knocking Drunk Guy to the ground. Daphne is screaming about karma while reaching to pull me away from the fist fight happening in front of me. Security must have seen the commotion because their flashlights break through the crowd almost immediately.
Wes grabs the guy’s shirt, ready to swing again when his friend hauls him up.
The shorter of the two security guards shakes his head and the Terminator-looking one yanks the drunken asshole off the floor, leading them all away from the crowd.
Without a second thought, I take Daphne’s hand and follow them out.