Authors: Charlotte Swanpol
Chapter 3
“Where are we even going?” Fern asked, from the back row of the taxi-van.
“It’s a new place Josh told me about,” Kristen murmured from the front seat. “You have to be on the list to get in, but he said he could hook us up.”
“I thought his name was Jake,” Fern stressed to Trish, the row ahead of her.
“No, Jake was three guys ago,” Trish joked. “There’s been a Colin and a Justin in between, and now, I guess, a Josh.”
“Hey, that’s enough!” Kristen laughed as the van pulled up. “We’re here!”
Amidst the derelict warehouse district, their destination looked as though it were about to collapse. Clusters of people huddled below clouds of smoke, waiting for someone to pull some strings and get them in. The hefty, bald bouncer guarding the door looked bored out of his mind as Kristen marched right up to him.
“We’re all with Joshua Black, he’s a bartender - ” Kristen began.
“Yeah, I know who Josh is. Gimme a sec,” the burly man huffed. He whispered something into his headset and glared down at them while he waited for a response.
Before long, a scrawny guy in a worn-out band t-shirt opened the door, the plaid shirt tied around his thin hips accentuating his stature, and a ferocious
uhn-tiss, uhn-tiss, uhn-tiss
exploded through the crack behind him.
“Evening, ladies,” he slurred. “Come on in!”
Arm in arm, Kristen and Josh led the way into the club, and Fern traipsed in afterward, overwhelmed by music and atmosphere. She had never been in a place like this before – she’d sooner be anywhere else – but decided that tonight was the night to try new things. As she looked around for the bar, she noticed the D.J. on stage, and the bathrooms just beyond him; between her and the bar was a massive, pulsating crowd of people in various stages of undress. She felt simultaneously over-dressed and under-dressed. Once she fought through the wall of sweaty skin, she ordered a drink and sat down on a nearby ottoman.
Damn these shoes
, she thought.
Why did trying something new have to include high heels?
Without the pain in her feet as a distraction, she was able to take in the room in greater detail. It was a large, open-concept warehouse with a concrete floor and black walls. The hundreds of black-lights dotting the space highlighted the neon paint splatters, both those intentional and those from accidental glow-stick explosions. Nothing about the place said permanence, as though drifters set it up, illegally, one day and it could be shut down without warning the next. It was just a big, empty space to come and rave and forget, and despite the suffocating heat, and salty brine of sweat and what Fern concluded to be other fluids in the air, she felt remarkably free. Nobody knew her here, save for the seven girls she came with, and they had since disappeared. She could be whoever she wanted to be, tonight.
She smiled into her drink, and began surveying the people around her, thankful that the highest concentration of the crowd was in that melee of a dance floor. The sitting area seemed to be its own separate entity, where people were doing their best to hold conversations despite the pounding electronica. A couple of girls who had had one too many were passed out on a couch while a third yelled into a phone next to them. A guy with dreadlocks and black eyeliner rolled a joint on his thigh when the bouncer’s back was turned.
This is unreal!
Fern thought.
Who’s not adventurous, now?!
Just then, a man walked past her to the bar, clutching one hand in the other. His hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, and his black combat boots were scuffed and coated in a thin layer of white dust. Though his pants were torn and loose, she could tell he had strong, muscular legs underneath them – or she assumed he did, based on his firm, round bottom. She heard him ask for paper towel, and as he turned to make his way outside, she understood - the knuckles of his right hand were bleeding. She downed the rest of her drink, and got up to follow him.
What am I doing?
she thought.
This is so far beyond anything like me.
As the heavy warehouse door thudded behind her, the big, bald security guard nodded to her in recognition. She made her way toward the bleeding man, with no idea what she was going to say or do, as he leaned against the wall and took a long drag on a cigarette.
“What happened?” she inquired, her voice quivering with uncertainty.
He looked at her and then down at his bandaged hand, and flicked the ash from his smoke.
“I don’t know,” he answered simply.
“You don’t know?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re bleeding, and you don’t know why?”
He flung the cigarette into the night and rubbed his nose. “I don’t remember.”
“That’s so silly,” Fern laughed. “How could you not remember how or why you’re bleeding? Doesn’t it hurt? I mean, you must be in a lot of pain!”
“It’s no day at the hair salon,” he confirmed, studying her. “Do I know you, or something?”
“What? No. I just saw you when I was sitting on that bench inside, and wanted to come talk to you. Is that okay?” Fern hesitated.
You’re pissing him off, Fern. Just shut up!
“Yeah, I guess that’s fine,” he shrugged. “Nobody really ever wants to talk to me, that’s all.”
“Okay, cool. Well, I’m Fern. What’s your name?” she offered her right hand automatically, and then switched to the left so he could shake it. It was fast, but she thought she saw him smile.
As he reached out with his undamaged hand, the door to the club flew open, and a wild-eyed middle-aged man rushed out, screaming into the darkness.
“ROCKY, YOU SON OF A WHORE!” the man bellowed.
“Yeah, Rog, what’s up?” Fern’s new friend answered. He seemed unperturbed, but took a few hesitant steps toward this “Rog” fellow. Between her and this “Rog” fellow, she noted.
“You fucking smashed the men’s room mirror, you fucking degenerate!” Rog erupted, the vein on his forehead threatening to burst. “It looks like a goddamned murder scene in there!”
“Well, that explains a lot,” Rocky teased, looking again at his bandaged knuckles.
“That’s it?!” Rog thundered. “That’s it?! You better fucking believe you’re paying for that!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Rocky soothed. “You know I’m good for it.” He shot a quick wink at Fern which took her aback.
“You better fucking get off my property before Tiny here needs to assist you.”
The large, bald man named Tiny cracked his knuckles menacingly.
“Okay, okay, Roger, you just calm the fuck down, all right? I’m going,” he conceded, and with that began a deliberately slow march toward the street.
Fern paused, logging all of this in her mental diary, before calling out. “I hope your hand feels better!”
Without turning, he gave a one-bandaged-hand salute, and carried on, and Fern began an unsteady return in her stilts.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Rog growled. “If he has to leave, so do you!”
“What?! Why?” screamed Fern, indignant. She’d met the man not ten minutes prior. “My friends are inside, I don’t even know him!”
“That’s what they all say, and don’t I know they all wish it were true,” seethed the man. “Now get outta here, or Tiny will rough you up.” Again, the large Tiny cracked his knuckles.
“UGH!” she grumbled, and stalked off after Rocky. He had gotten quite the head start on her, especially since navigating through the pebbles in her heels made her even slower, but once she got in ear shot, she exploded.
“Hey!” she screeched, but her quarry did not slow his pace. “Hey, Rocky, if that is your real name! You got me kicked out! Aren’t you going to do something about it?”
“What do you want me to do?” he called back to her. “I’m kicked out, too. And I won’t put up much of a fight with these busted knuckles.”
“Okay,” she sighed, defeated. “So what do I do now?”
“Whatever you want,” he shrugged.
“Well, I want to go dance with my friends, but since that is clearly not going to happen… what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go grab a bite to eat and then find somewhere else to party.”
He turned to look at her, his deep blue gaze piercing her own hazel eyes. Beneath the glow of the streetlight, he looked more vulnerable than anyone she had ever seen.
“Can I come?” she held her breath, waiting for the rejection. She wasn’t sure why, but all she knew was she wanted to join him. She wanted to spend time with him.
“Why?”
“Well, you got me kicked out of the club and ruined my girls’ night, and you seem interesting.”
“Yeah, fine,” he muttered as he sat down on the motorcycle behind him. She hadn’t even noticed they’d approached one, and her eyes widened in surprise. She shifted her weight in her heels, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how tight her borrowed pants were.
I immediately regret this decision
.
“A motorcycle, hey? That’s cool…” she trailed off.
Don’t let him smell your fear
. She stepped toward him, taking one deep breath. “Do you have an extra helmet?”
“Nope, just this one,” he smacked the helmet in his lap, before tossing it to her. “But you’re wearing it, right now.”
A sigh of relief escaped her lips before she could check herself, and she swung a leg over the bike as he kicked out the passenger pegs. Once he sat down, she pressed up against his back, wrapping her arms around him, and hugged him close. He smelled of leather, sweat, and cigarettes, in which she found a strange sense of comfort. She took another deep breath and hoisted her legs up.
Rocky revved the bike, and turned to voice a question, “Are you ready?”
Chapter 4
As they sped through the night, Rocky’s mind was racing.
Why did she want to come with me?
he wondered.
She’s too good to be spending time with me.
He felt her squeeze tighter, and he fought the smile creeping to his lips. He could feel his descent from the high, his mental clarity flickering in and out. He needed to pull over before he killed someone. He parked a few blocks before his favorite diner, the only 50’s style diner left in the city. Its stylized furnishings and kitschy décor lent an element of escapism that was untainted by the ugliness of society. Plus, their all-day breakfast was phenomenal.
Rocky and Fern walked into the place, and took his regular booth. He knew their ancient waitress, Gwen, from his many previous visits, and he knew the look of astonished delight on her face could be from anything; the fact that he was sitting there with somebody else, or the fact that he was sitting there with a beautiful woman, so obviously different from him.
Yeah, Gwen, I’m banging my way up in the world.
“So, do you come here often?” Fern began. “This is a cute place. I’ve never been here before. What’s good to eat?” She really did talk a lot – to, what, fill the silence?
“Yeah, I come here quite a bit. The pancakes are unreal,” he confessed. He jerked his head and blinked his eyes in an attempt to focus. “I’ve gotta run to the bathroom. I’m not hungry, you go ahead and order.”
He could have navigated his way to the bathroom blindfolded; he’d made this trip so many times. Once he got there, he took his place in the stall farthest from the door, and removed the tiny glass vial; it looked so big in his veiny palm. He uncorked the lid and dug out his key, ready to escape once more, when a face popped into his head – a smiling face with blonde curls, and big, hazel eyes.
Confused, he shook his head and bent closer to the key. Halfway down, he stopped, replacing the milky powder in its bottle. He was sitting down in the booth and ordering a cup of coffee before he realized what a monumental event had just occurred.
Who is this girl, and what is she doing to me?
he pondered. Urged on by the silence, Fern spoke.
“You were right, the pancakes are delicious,” she grinned. “Thank you for letting me tag along. I’m having a nice time.”
“Really?” Rocky blurted, and her grin grew wider.
“Yes, why wouldn’t I be? It’s not often I get to ride on a motorcycle and eat all-day breakfast with a total stranger.”
“How often is not often?”
“Oh, I don’t know… never?” Fern admitted. “I’ve actually been told that I’m boring, so it feels great to step out of my comfort zone, and be someone else for a change.”
She peered wistfully at her breakfast when Rocky chimed in, “How could anyone be bored looking into those beautiful hazel eyes of yours?”
Stunned, Fern dropped her fork. “Thank you. Most people think they’re brown.”
“Most people don’t pay close enough attention.”
She blushed and looked down at her plate. He could tell that, this time, the silence was because she was speechless.
“Who told you that you were boring?” Rocky inquired.
Fern’s soft, kind features hardened, then, and she took a breath.
“My ex-fiancé.”
“You made a good choice, making him an ex,” Rocky offered. He didn’t know this guy from Jack, but he wanted to punch him in the face, even with his damaged fist.
“Thank you for saying that, I really appreciate it. It’s been an emotional three weeks,” Fern sighed, playing with her food.
“Wait, you broke up three weeks ago?” Rocky breathed, shocked, and Fern nodded. He was by no means a genius, and by all means a fuck-up, but whatever kind of idiot this ex-fiancé of hers was, Rocky was certain that he was a new breed.
A few moments passed in silence, and for the first time since they had met an hour before, he had no idea what was going on her mind. And he was confused by what was going on in his.
What is going on, tonight? Is it a full moon, or something? How did she get into my head? How did she get me to come back out here without doing a bump? Who is this girl?
“I’m not sure why,” Rocky began. “But I feel very comfortable around you.”
Fern looked up at him, smiling, her eyes crinkling in the corners as a tear sped down her cheek.
“If it wouldn’t upset you,” he continued. “I’d like to hear the story. That is, if you’ll tell a complete stranger.”
Then, out it came. She told him all about her time with this douchebag who, Rocky could tell, didn’t appreciate her from the get-go. She told him about how he had been there for her when her grandpa died, and how he helped her work through it. Told him about the trips they’d taken together, and the way he proposed to her. She told him about how she’d noticed his behavior changing in the months after they got engaged, and how foolish she felt about his disloyalty; it seemed so obvious, now.
The whole time, he nodded and scoffed when the anecdote called for it, and murmured empathetically during the remainder. When she finished her story, and looked at him, both were surprised that there were no tears. This time, he allowed the smile to spread across his face.
As she sat across from him, eating her breakfast, he studied her. How anyone could find this passionate, intelligent, beautiful woman boring was beyond him. He cleared his throat, and she looked up at him, a contented smile resting on her lips.
“Do you want to come back to my place for a cup of coffee?” he asked.
She glanced down at the full cups in front of them, and back, tongue in cheek. After a moment, she nodded. “I’d like that.”