equinox [h.s]

seven

Forever Now - Cold Chisel
-

I've been sitting at this table for an hour. Alone, but not really. I'm surrounded, basically, the very opposite to being alone. But I feel like that. Inside.

And I love these people, I really do. But I don't care for the topic of club business, or scooting around the matter. I don't care about who's seeing who, and which fender bunny was the best.

For once, in my life, I want to talk about something so completely mundane that I forget about there ever being a world so absorbed by bikes and rival clubs and business. So much fucking business.

I take a look around the booth, at the faces that I've grown up with. I love them to pieces. But really, was this all we were meant to be good for?

Dash is a complete computer whiz. Amazing. Echo is a fantastic artist. Oil painter, when he's in the mood. Grip is surprisingly great with kids. Viper is scarily superb at organising, planning things into fruition. Loren is a genius when it comes to numbers, the whole world is his. And Harry. There was a lot more meant for him. Too much more.

But this is it. What I'm looking at now, this is really, well and truly it.

Sloane and Izzy too, I know they want more out of life than the one we're living in, but I'm not sure they want it as bad, enough to do something about it. But I don't know. Maybe I don't know anything. I'm certain of it actually. The realisation is just as scary as this life is.

"I can fuckin' feel you thinkin' from here." H says from opposite the booth.

My eyes float to his, finding him with the fluorescent glow cast halfway over his face. A very dangerous look for all parts of me. "I'm so sorry." I tell him, with no trace of emotion to be found. He gives me a half smile. A shitty half smile. One that makes me grit my teeth and look anywhere but at him.

"Remember Fran, though? She was wild." Echo laughs to the boys, to whoever is listening, which I'm sure all of them are. His words pull me back into real life, as did H's eyes just a second ago. Everything around the pub catches my attention, just not the booth I'm at.

Iz and Sloane are next to me, talking about something while also half being in the boys' conversation. Their ears pick up at the sound of Fran — a sweet butt that has never not shown her face at every Filthy Freaks get together.

"Fuckin' wild," Dash agrees far too eagerly, "She's a hot little thing, always up for a piece. That thing we were talkin' 'bout last time? She really goes mental for it." My nose scrunches at that. I'm extremely sure that if Leena— Dash's mum— heard her son talking that way she'd absolutely give it to his life. Since she's not here to do that, I take the initiative instead.

I sit forward abruptly, "That's fucked up, Dash." I point to him over the table. His face turns to me quickly, brows furrowed because how could anything that he'd said possibly be fucked up in the slightest?

"What is?" He asks, already looking defensive.

"The way you're talking about Fran. She's actually sweet," She surprisingly is, "And I'm sure she wouldn't feel the greatest having heard how you're talking about her."

Dash rolls his eyes and the other boys laugh. Apart from two. "Please, Bea, not right now, yeah? Can we not take a night off from all the feminist shit once in a while? I'm not doin' nothing. Not even sayin' anythin' that bad about her."

The hairs on my body pick up, my legs suddenly feeling all too jittery. "Feminist shit?" I repeat with bitterness.

He groans loudly, that kind of groan where it's clear I'm ruining the mood and he wants others to back him, "Fuckin' Christ, I'm not gettin' into this with you. Cover your ears if you don't wanna hear this talk then, little Bea." He waves me off.