RONNIE
"Y'all saw what she was wearing just now? Almost exactly like the dress she was wearing that night. Hot damn. She may have laid there like a dead fish, but we had some fun. No questions with a tight bitch like that."
I've never wanted to throw up as much I did at the moment. Bile was burning a path up my throat in quick succession, the mocktails I've had throughout the night churning up a storm in my stomach. How could simple, put together words be so vile and disgusting to hear?
After my shaking hands twisted the cap of the bottled water, I gulped a mouthful hoping to soothe the unease building inside me. I couldn't help but wonder, what were the odds of us running into this specific motherfucker not a week after hearing the whole story? Slim to none I'd have said but here we were.
To add insult to injury, he was lying. He had the audacity only a sorry excuse of a man could possess to lie about sleeping with someone and even make up details like a true incel. I was livid. My head turned to the right, and I looked at him. His stupid, smug face, yakking on about some fabricated BS like he wasn't a borderline rapist.
"Fun, huh? What was that I saw online then? She slapped the shit outta you the morning after!" another friend of his chimed in.
"Naaah, we just argued that morning. What you saw's just the usual over-exaggeration those gossip writers like to do to sell stories. And well, you know. Women," Kyle Santino brushed off. He then turned his head in my direction, saw me looking and smirked.
"What ya' looking at, gorgeous?"
I had to unhand the bottle quickly before it burst from my death grip. Schooling my expression to hide the utter disgust I was feeling, I smiled coyly and batted my lashes a bit. "Nothing..." I muttered, shyly looking away from him.
His smirk only grew in size, as was his ego undoubtedly. "Sure, sure." Ignoring his friends' new conversation, the guy focused his attention on me. "You here with someone? If you don't got a man, can I buy you a drink or something?"
Mr. Nice Guy, right. I remembered. If one didn't know any better, they would've said yes. Calling you gorgeous and offering to buy you a drink only if you weren't taken, he seemed nothing more than a gentleman. Unfortunately for him, I knew better. With that in mind, entertaining him under false pretenses was what I did next, maintaining a sweet, soft tone. I was an expert at hiding my disdain and keeping my cool, after all, it was practically written in my job description in invisible ink.
"Nope. No man." Technically not a lie. "Can I hold you to that drink though? I'll be right back."
"I'll be waiting, gorgeous." He winked.
Oh, so many things I wanted to do to him. Introduce him to my fist topped that list. But as I disappeared back into the dancing crowd and felt his beady eyes tracing my form, I hesitated. Was it really worth it, going through with my spontaneously concocted plan to lure him into a corner and give him a taste of the bottom of my Louboutin heels? It sounded great in theory, but maybe I was just letting my feelings get the best of me. Maybe a guy like that deserved not an ounce of my energy.
I sighed. Nearing our booth on the second floor of the club, the hatred coursing my bloodstream dwindled down the farther I got. From where I was standing, I could see Harper's golden hair draped over her smooth shoulders, her face hidden. Even from this far away, the magnetic pull she had on me didn't waver. Instead, the urge to break a few of Kyle's teeth was replaced by the urgent need to hold Harper in my arms and let her presence wash away the remnants of my violent thoughts.
Yep, that's exactly what the doctor ordered. Her smile was my medicine, her proximity the antidote to the poisonous thoughts a certain little fucker inspired in me. I walked faster towards her.
My heavier than usual footfalls finally brought me back to our private booth, where what I found made the slowly simmering rage in the pit of my stomach bubble right back up past it's previous peak.
My sweet Harper was hunkered in a corner, fidgeting with the hem of her dress and smiling that practiced faux smile up at Monica and her friends. She was cheering them on on their twerking contest, but I recognized the faraway look in her eyes. I found it hard to breathe, like someone was crushing my windpipe in their fist.
That's it. In a split second decision, my mind took a sudden, sharp U-turn just like that. The tire-burning, road-skidding, dangerous kind that I vaguely knew, somewhere in the back of my head, wasn't right. But it was so cloudy up in there, rage taking up most of the space that it pushed reason and virtue right out. Closing the remaining distance between us, I shrugged off my blazer and told Harper to wear it. "Here, you're shivering. And I got your water. Stay here, I'll be right back. I swear, Harp, then we'll go home."
She looked up at me from her seat questioningly, but didn't get the chance to inquire as I kissed her lips in reassurance. Reassuring her or myself, I wasn't sure. Probably us both.
The next stop was over at the other side of the booth where Nic was attempting to shake booty upside down. With her hands on the floor and her high heels on the seat, the birthday girl was failing miserably at the task in hand. Seeing her just being her goofy self caused me to smile for a fraction of a second. Helping her stand right side up, I pulled my favorite lawyer on retainer — and by retainer, I mean my friendship— aside and said, "Watch Harper a sec for me, will you Nic? I'll be right back."
"Where're you going?"
"You remember our latest What Would You Do sesh, right?"
Monica was evidently was confused on why I was bringing that up right now, her perfect brows knitted together as she asked, "Yeah, why...?"
"Still stand by it?"
"Duh." She burped, pursing her lips after in oops. "But again, why?"
I pecked her forehead. "Good."
"Wha—?"
I didn't get to hear the rest of what she said for I was already walking away once again. Looking back a last time, I caught sight of her pulling Harper up to join their drunken dancing contest. Streaks of blue and red light crossed her face in intervals as a small but genuine smile eventually pulled at her lips, making my girlfriend look ethereal.
And it only caused my intentions to solidify.
I made it back to the bar in record time. "A gin and tonic please." I smiled sweetly. "On him." Tilting my head towards Mr. Nice Guy himself, who was once again smirking at me.
"Look who came back."
"Look who stayed, waiting for me."
A clear glass filled with my drink of choice was placed in front of me. I downed it in one go. It wasn't like I'd feel it's effects, it was my first and last drink of the night after all. With that, I started to walk away, leaving the man confused. Hook. Only turning back when I was halfway to my destination. "Up for some fun?" Line.
His eyes lit up like the fourth of July sky. Sinker.
Pretty certain we had different definitions of fun tonight, but he didn't need to know that.
I walked the whole way to the women's restroom, hearing Kyle's friends' indistinct cheers at being quote unqoute "the man".
The Man entered the empty restroom— surprising, but lucky— licking his lips cockily. With the echoes of my stilettos the only loud sound, I strutted closer to him, swaying my hips deliberately. Inches away from him, I dragged my palms down the lapels of his suit jacket.
I was about to wipe that smug smile off his face and enjoy every second of it.
Replacing my seductive look with a glower, I gripped his jacket with both hand and slammed him against the wall as hard as I could. Watching the lust drain from his expression was almost enough. Almost.
"What the fuc—"
He never got to finish that sentence because my curled fist made contact with the side of his face with such force he was left looking the other way. Once he recovered, he pushed me away from him.
"Bitch! What was that for?!"
The stunned expression painted across his features— aside from the blood of course— was better than any artwork I've seen in a long while. He was looking me up and down, disbelieving of the fact that my smaller stature was able to land that hard of a blow. I flexed my knuckles. Thank you boxing classes— what? they were part of my workout routine— you haven't failed me so far.
"What?" I asked all innocent, looking up at him through my lashes patronizingly. "You're dressed so much like a douchebag, I couldn't help but want to punch you. I mean, you're practically asking for it."
"Huh? You're crazy, get the fuck away from me. You're lucky I don't hit women." Yup, just sexually assault them. He swiped the blood dribbling down his cheekbone where a fresh cut was located. "That's what this about? Heard me talkin' shit about some girl? What, you jealous or just on that feminist bullshit?"
"Don't you ever talk about her that way again. Don't ever even think about Harper, or any other woman for that matter, I'll make you fucking regret it."
He laughed maniacally as realization set in. "You mean that slut Harper? All this for her? Damn, that pussy must be real good if you—"
I hit him again, before he finished that sentence, this time straight on the nose. The stinging of my knuckles, raw and sore for sure, barely even registered because my mind was too preoccupied with the satisfying crack of bone that wasn't my own. Kyle's head flew back in impact, staggering back a few steps.
An assortment of colorful curse words were spouted at me as Kyle clutched his brand new nasal fracture, red liquid seeping from between his fingers that weren't able to hold the bleeding at bay. The anger was very visible as it painted itself across his features. I gulped as subtly as I could. Standing straight before me, his almost six feet frame seethed, his pearly whites bared like a predator. He might've been drunk and caught off guard, but the guy still towered over me.
Okay so... I may have miscalculated.
Looking over my surroundings, I realized that I would have to pass by him to get to the exit. We stood in between the large mirror and the restroom stalls, and the unflattering fluorescent light above us was probably a paid actor with the way it flickered twice in a twisted you're doomed fashion.
"I was trying to be nice, but now you're really pissing me off." He took one step forward. I took one back. "You should've just kept your pretty mouth shut, gorgeous, 'cause now I wanna use it for something els—"
For the third time tonight, he was cut off mid sentence, just not by me. It was by a stall door creaking open loudly. Both mine and Kyle's head swiveled in the direction of the movement. I genuinely thought we were alone, but I guess not. My brows pulled toward my hairline in shock as I observed.
From the now wide open cubicle out stepped a fairly tall blonde in all-black clothing, obnoxiously chewing on a piece of gum— but in a cool, bad bitch kinda way, you know what I'm talking about?— while checking herself out in the mirror. The lady casually smoothed the flyaway hairs sticking out of the double braids tightly woven unto her skull, the ends stopping not past her shoulders.
As we watched in baited silence, the moment paused like a movie on Netflix, I thought to myself, wow, this woman sure can pee really quietly.
"This guy bothering you?"
She was talking to me. I sucked in a breath. Despite the kind and sincere way she was looking at me, the intimidating aura surrounding her still made me stutter.
"I, well– You know, technically– So like, I was the one tha– But it's actually—"
"If I knocked him out, would he deserve it?"
That shut my blubbering up real quick. Eyes bugged, I nodded frantically, looking between Kyle's bewildered face and the mysterious lady's almost bored expression.
"What?! Now who the fuck are you?" Kyle exclaimed, his tone comically high-pitched.
The woman proceeded to make her way towards him with purposeful steps. Her tongue visibly rolled across her front teeth in annoyance as Kyle took on a pathetic fighting stance, fists raised.
"Feminist Bullshit, nice to meet you," she simply said before a forearm to the chest pushed him back with impressive force. In a split second, that same arm's elbows swiped at the side of Kyle's jaw and head.
I could only stand and watch as his face lolled to the side before he dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. My jaw fell in sync with his body, a sharp gasp escaping my lips. The sound then caught the strangely scary— again, in a good way, oddly enough— woman's attention. She looked at me and I think I almost peed my pants.
"Oh, hey," she said with an easygoing raise of ther eyebrows, walking past me back inside the cubicle she came out of.
"H-hey... I, uhh, thank you...?" I offered reluctantly, following her movements with a wary gaze, as if she was about to do something out of the blue. Like, I dunno, knock me out cold too with a flick of her finger.
The way she was looking at me was a mix of amusement and something else I couldn't put my finger on. She smirked slightly and picked up a black backpack from the floor. "Sure, love."
Quickly hopping over the unconscious heap on the floor, I started following the lady out of the restroom, only stopping in my tracks when an authentic and expensive-looking pearl necklace slipped out of the pocket of her bag and clattered onto the tiled floor.
I picked it up with nimble fingers. Hmm, she didn't look like a pearls typa gal. I gave it back instantly and without a word. Well, I also tried to giving a sincere smile, but I'm pretty sure all I could muster was a weird combination of a trembling grimace and a psycho grin. One second she was there, the next I was alone with an unconscious, bleeding man sporting the most accurate what the actual fuck just happened expression and numb raw knuckles.
Making my way back through the still packed dancefloor, it was as if nothing remotely bonkers just happened. I reflected on the past handful minutes of my life and realized just how irrational and impulsive I was acting. If that lady didn't interfere when she had, I don't know what kind of other trouble I would've gotten myself into. But, god was she scary. Incredibly quiet too, like what the heck was she doing in that stall making zero noise? Was she standing still on the toilet and just— okay, I'm getting sidetracked.
Point is, I shouldn't have done that in the first place. I had let anger control my actions, which was totally out of character— is it? Still on the fence on that one but I digress— and it could've lead to more danger. For myself, and for Harper. Shit, I was an idiot. My right hand hadn't even stopped shaking yet. Gazing at the damage, finally feeling the pain on my knuckles after the adrenaline has subsided, I admitted to myself that I regret what I just did. Like my initial thoughts from earlier tonight, he wasn't worth it. Not a even a smidge.
Harper. I need her.
Of course I do. I only ever needed her to make me feel alright.
Weaving through the crowd like a woman with a mission, I cataloged the roughly twelve minutes I wasted spending with that human garbage bag in a part of my brain labeled 'Shit I Regret'— it was also sub-cataloged under no. 103 of my bucket list: 'punch someone who deserves it', but that's just a minor detail need not mentioned.
The rest of the night passed in a blur. After making it back to the booth, I tried my best to hide my busted right hand but as is turned out, the women in my life were perceptive as hell. While Nic rushed to my side wide-eyed and concerned, wildly whispering "Witnesses?"— I shook my head no, didn't need her to go all mama-lawyer on me just yet— Harper just looked into my eyes and got her answer.
I ordered the rest of the girls an Uber, made sure they were all strapped and ready to go, and kissed the birthday girl adieu on the cheek before ushering a slightly tipsy Harper into my car.
The silence was loud throughout the drive home. No words needed, Harper knew exactly what went down by the look of shame in my eyes. How I wished I knew what was going through her mind. Was she mad? Was she disappointed in me? Was she okay? Her glossy eyes were my only indication that she was still alive and not some statue made of stone.
Even the short walk into my flat was excruciatingly silent. Fuck, enough.
"I'm sorry," I whispered ruefully into the quiet emptiness of my living room. My living room that felt more like ours the more the months passed, that was half submerged in darkness because we hadn't bothered to turn on all the lights except the one in the kitchen, that now only ever smelled like her.
Maybe there was something desperate about the way I spoke because Harper finally cracked. Like thunder, her words got increasingly louder the more she went on.
"Why do you have to be so... so... Stupid! What you did was reckless, and dangerous, and completely unnecessary! What if you got in trouble, huh? What if he hurt you? What if— fuck, did he hurt you?"
In a flash, there she was in front of me, my jaw cradled in her hand as she inspected me for any injuries. "He didn't..." I covered her hands with mine and lowered them between us.
The momentary softness fuelled by concern and worry was broken like a spell the second Harper caught sight of my banged-up hand once again. "God, Ronnie, don't you ever pull this shit again."
She marched into the kitchen, her steps resolute, it was like the alcohol she had intaken tonight melted right out of her bloodstream. Stomping back into the living room after a series of opening and closing of cabinets, Harper walked straight toward me, pointing a finger at me.
"I don't need you fighting for me." She pushed me back down in the couch, speaking fiercely. "I don't need you thinking putting yourself in danger for me, or for whatever reason, is okay."
That night, I let her lecture me, chastise me, tell me how irrational I've been. I let her pace in front of me, her words flowing like a dam broken. She addressed her feelings of anger and worry. She told me how scared she was that I was taking too long to come back to her. She expressed how seeing me bleed made her feel like she was too. I let her.
Planting each knee on either side of my thighs, Harper places the first aid kit she took beside us, and herself on my lap. "What I need—" Inhaling quickly to compose herself, I watched as my girlfriend eventually gave up the tough act and choke up, the tears in her magnificent emerald gaze making a comeback, breaking my heart in the process. Softly, she continued, "what I truly need, is you. Here. With me, safe. Can you do that for me, please?"
I nodded almost frantically, saying yes without uttering the words, rushing to make sure that she knew I could do that for her. Of course I could. Anything for my Harper.
I sighed and marveled at how quickly my feelings for this woman escalated, I didn't even realize it.
That night, I let her tend to my wounds in the midnight tranquility. Her jaw clenched as she cleaned the cuts and wrapped my fingers in white bandage. I let her kiss the pain away, her lips delicate and soft against the fabric around my hand.
I let her whisper into my skin admissions of how she adored me for standing up for her, even if she didn't ask me to. She told me how "amazing and stupid and goddamn crazy" I was for putting myself at risk like that.
I let her break down and cry into the crook of my shoulder until she felt whole enough again, catching the stray tears that fell from her tightly closed lids with my lips. And when she finally was, I let her rock my body right, the way she wanted, the way I craved, because in that moment, Harper could do no wrong. Again, I let her.
Harper had voiced what she needed tonight. This was mine. Her.
Truly, all I needed.