WARNING: rape mention. Skip the first 3 paragraphs if you need to.
WILD WOLF
PART EIGHTEEN: 2002 PARIS HILTON
DIARY ENTRÉE #61
I'm upset, everything aches, more so in my own head. I want quiet, peace and I won't find it in the walls of my home. I'm at my wits end, I don't know what to do. It'd be so easy to give up, let go but I know I can't. I have a daughter to take care of, to protect and if I die then she'll have no one. I'd give the world to Linda if I could–something my mother never offered me. I try not to become her; a wrinkled sack of shit. She only cared for her pack of cigarettes and her next pay check. I was a mouth to feed, a nuisance, that's all. She was a bitter woman, hateful and spiteful because my father slept with his whores instead of her and she took it out on me. She thought she could create the perfect woman in me, make up for the fact that my father no longer wanted her. She tried to mould the woman she believed my father would crave but it was useless. He didn't want her, didn't want anything to do with me and he ran off with a woman half his age. He wanted excitement, adventure and my mother in her shapeless jumpers and saggy breasts couldn't hold a match to the blonde twenty-something with the skin-tight jeans.
I was reared to be an item, a womb and nothing more. Elliot treats me like I'm some sort of prostitute. He holds me down and pushed himself inside of me and then when he's done, he sits up and walks to the shower. It doesn't last more than a few minutes. It's not loving. It's vicious. I can't say 'no', I must lie there and do my duty as my mother would put it. A woman should care to a man's needs–always.
I tried to refuse him once and he became enraged. He was violent and forceful and once he was done he left me and went to play poker with Ian. Linda was only ten and she found me limping to the bathroom, bleeding and aching all over and she gazed at me with wide eyes. I don't think I can ever forget the look on her face. It haunts me. Which is why I can't ever leave her behind.
*
My phone vibrated. It was a call from Jenny. I ignored it and ate my chips, eyes fixed on the TV screen. I was watching Scandal, it was a show I hate-watched, I loved watching it because of Olivia and Mellie but Fitz made me mad. Liv and Mellie deserved better than him and I was waiting for the day they realised that. My phone buzzed again, and I answered. "Yeah?"
"Can I come and see you?" Jenny sounded upset, she sniffled on the other end.
I half rolled my eyes, and then lied. "I'm out of town. What's wrong?" If I had a dollar for every tear Jenny shed, I would be able to hand out small loans of one million dollars to every stranger I met on the street.
Silence. And then: "The next time you tweet about how much you hate Fitz' wrinkled balls you should turn your location off." She cut the call. I felt slightly bad, I was a shit fúck-buddy. I frowned and tossed my phone away angrily, why did I care? I didn't sign up to wipe her ass and dress her up, our relationship was based on physical need. Not emotional. She was so whiny and needy. Why couldn't she blog about being an emo on tumblr instead of coming to me and expecting me to drop everything and hold her hand?
A sigh escaped me and then my attention was back on the programme.
I woke up the next morning feeling better and walked down to the kitchen for breakfast. Tensions were high between Mom and Dad since the funeral and they've been greeting each other with a cold shoulder. Mom cooed and stroked Ed and Dad ruffled his newspaper and sipped his coffee loudly. I ate my breakfast and scampered out of the house and walked to school.
"You alright, Medeiros?" I opened my locker and pulled out a textbook.
"Linda broke up with me," he was annoyed, he paced the floor and pushed a hand through his hair. "She broke up with me. She sent me a fucking text and that was it."
"Sucks," I said and shoved a straw through my milk carton and sipped. "The canteen is selling milk for a $1 now. It's a crime. We should protest."
"I need you to talk to her. She's avoiding me and she's blocked my number."
"Have you tried sending her a tweet? She might ignore it like Beyoncé does whenever I tweet her but it's worth a try," I walked to first period. "I tweeted her for over a year when I was fourteen, begging for concert tickets and she freaking ignored me. I was so pissed."
"Are you listening to me? Who cares about Beyoncé? She's irrelevant to this conversation. Will you help me or not?"
"She just lost her Mom. Give her a break," I held out my milk carton. "You want some milk?"
He gave me a dirty look. "No, I don't want your fucking milk. Forget it. I'll deal with this myself."
"Suit yourself," I shrugged and walked into the classroom. Normally I sat next to Jenny but today Alissa sat in my seat. The pair stared at me coldly. I took the seat behind them and then leaned forward and whispered. "You look pretty, Jenny."
"Screw you," she hissed.
"Sure. We should set a date. I miss having you between my legs, baby."
She snorted angrily and didn't respond. When it came to Jenny, I always managed to do something wrong.
**
School ended with a loud bell. Students surged towards the exits, bursting out in to the cold wet day. To dull the noise of the racket, I jammed wireless earbuds into my ears. I rarely needed the earbuds but today was an exception. I had a headache and I cared not for the hundred different conversations happening around me. It was one of the drawbacks to being a lycanthrope.
I sensed Angel approach before he made an appearance. His face had cleaned up noticeably well and his eye was no longer swollen. Perks of being a werewolf. He sniffed me and hummed with satisfaction. "You need to stop doing that whenever we meet," I said slightly irritated. "It's weird."
"Are you embarrassed of me?" he glanced around with heavy eyelids, searching for someone. He fought a wicked smile and then looked down at me innocently. "So, are you?"
"Yes. What's going on? Why are you here?"
"I wanted to see you, cub."
"You're supposed to be keeping an eye on Yasmin."
"All the witch does is cry. The walls are too thin, I can hear every little thing she does and don't get me started on her pórn choice," he was nauseated. "Cartoon pórn! Who the hell gets wet to Pikachu?"
I laughed, "There are honestly worse categories than the animated section. I know this because I was a very curious fifteen year old. Mom caught me once and she walked out of the room and didn't speak to me for the rest of the day. It was mortifying."
"What do you get off to now?" he hung an arm around my shoulder casually and steered me down a street away from the rest of the students.
"Are we really going to talk about this?"
"Why not? We're trading secrets."
"Lesbian mostly."
"Is that a hint?"
My lip curled upwards into a grin. "Take it how you see it. So? What about you?"
"I don't watch filth not when I know the good lord is watching me. You're a sinner and you're going to hell."
I jostled him, "You're funny."
"I need to tell you something and I want you to promise not to get pissed," he started and the mood died down.
I frowned. "Shoot. What's up?"
"Linda blew Cerberus."
"What?"
"Cerberus told me he was talking to Linda and she was weeping into his shoulder and he was comforting her when she kissed him. And, then well, it escalated into a blowjob."
"You have an awful way of telling things," I furrowed my brows and then after a while shrugged. "It's between the two of them, I don't have a right to get mad."
"I'm surprised. I thought you'd explode and I'd have to pick up your guts and hand them back to your father."
My mobile phone rang and I held up a finger to him as I answered. "Hello? What? OK, alright, take a breather. We'll be there soon." I cut the call and addressed Angel. "Pikachu needs us."
**
Yasmin was smoking a cigarette outside of her motel room and when she saw us, she stomped it out with a clunky boot, quaking in the rain. She had attempted to scrub up but the bags under her eyes and the torn t-shirt did no favours to her appearance. "I need your help."
"Shall we go inside?"
"No, I, uh," she shook her head. "I kind of messed up the room, I was angry and I didn't think. We'll talk out here. The witches have my mom and they refuse to give her back because well, they're cuntflakes. I need to bury her, put her to rest. She's my mom. She's suffered enough."
"How do you know they have her?" Angel asked.
She turned to him, eyes bloodshot and sunken in, dry lips twisted down. "Because they're the ones who killed her. I don't need a magic ball to see what's right in front of me. They're still punishing her and they're trying to get back at me. This all happened because we tried to help you. God fucking dammit, I knew it was a mistake. The walls have eyes, the fucking ground has ears. They're everywhere–"
"We got it. They're watching. Alright. We're keeping this between the three of us and we'll get your mom back for you and you'll be able to bury her once and for all. We need a plan first. We're not going to burst in guns out, willy-nilly. That didn't work out well the last time."
"What about Cerberus? If we're going up against the witches then we'll need all the help we can get."
"He likes to play with his food before he eats it. We won't need him, he'll flip out and that will create more problems for us. First things first, we'll need to get you a gun, Yasmin, because you're pretty shit at spells – no offence."
"None taken," she clapped her hands together. "So how do we defeat these bitches?"
***
Mills' Tavern was a worn-down place. Spider webs crawled in the cracks of the sign and there was a scent of rot in the air. Creaky barrels lined the bar and the pool table balanced on three legs. A radio was playing – set on a Welsh station for some reason. Behind the counter was a closed doorway. I walked in and stood in the middle of the room and looked around. An arguing couple sat on chairs in a corner, their faces almost obscured in darkness, their tongues harsh and heavy. A bony woman in a poufy dirt-brown dress was cleaning a table top with an even dirtier rag. "Excuse me, miss," I called out.
She straightened up, twisted on her heel and hissed. Her mouth was full of yellow tombstones. "Wolf!"
"Can I get a drink, ma'am?"
"I don't serve the likes of you," she spat, her face distorted into hatred, her small eyes burning. She was around my height and she screwed up the rag in her hand like she wished it was my throat. Her animosity filled the room, the couple were put on mute and they watched from the shadows.
"Is it because of my skin?" I held out my bare arm and sighed in mock sadness. "That's racist. I should call the cops on you. But hey, congrats on making this place and your attitude look like it should belong in the 1950's. Now I want a whiskey, do I have to pour it myself or will you get going?"
The man stood up, he crossed his arms across his chest, his moustache bristling. "I suggest you get out, girlie. She ain't serving ya."
I leaned against the bar and observed him. "Thomas, can I call you Thomas? You look like a Thomas. Thomas, my boy, I won't be taking suggestions from a man that wears denim on denim. That's a 2002 Paris Hilton fashion disaster. Sit down, keep your nose to your beer and out of my business."
Rag lady* (that would be racist if she weren't white) bristled, she murmured an incantation. "Pdif emc n jqdiv–"
"Not to be rude and interrupt but that sounds like the author just smacked her hands on the keyboard." I was ignored.
I pulled out a pistol and fired at her. She shrieked and leapt away. Thomas yelled unintelligibly. "Now, now, let's not be hasty otherwise I won't purposely miss the next time I fire at you." I aimed the pistol at Thomas. "Sit yourself down, Denim. Alright. Get up, girlfriend. Hurry. I want you to tie these on big mouth over here." I tossed the plastic handcuffs on the floor and nodded to the witch.
The girlfriend was very young compared to the boyfriend. She looked to be no older than twenty five and she wore far too many necklaces. What was it with witches and jewellery? She scurried and tightened the cuffs around the witch's wrist and then did the same to her boyfriend. I walked around and stuffed the rag in the boyfriend's mouth, and then stuffed another rag in the girlfriend's mouth and tied her wrists behind her back. "There. You all look so pretty. I'm a proud mother. Now. Question time. Who else is here?"
"No one," the witch snarled.
"Do you want me to shoot you? No? Then talk to me without spitting. I'm feet away from you and my face is wet. What does that door lead to?"
"It's a backroom."
"No shit Sherlock. What's in there?"
"Stock,"
"What is it with you, huh? You got an overbite I don't know about? I told you not to spit at me when you talk."
The door to the tavern opened and Angel sauntered in with an ax50 hosted on his shoulder. Yasmin followed behind, she carried a duffel bag. I looked at the witch, "You see what I gotta deal with? I tell this man to bring a gun and look what he saunters in with. He acts like he's going to war."
"Witch," the witch glared at Yasmin.
"That's racist," Angel and I said at the same time.
"Helen," Yasmin greeted. She unzipped her duffel bag and brought out a rifle.
"My instructions were too vague, it seems," I said in exasperation. "When I said gun, I meant a bloody handgun."
"Technically it is a handgun, I don't fire with my feet." Yasmin retorted, the nozzle aimed at Helen. "Bitch. Where's my Mom?"
"You didn't find her at the other place?"
Yasmin gave me a dirty look. "If we did, would I be asking where she is? Dumbass."
And here I thought I was rude. "The other place was empty. We searched it from top to bottom. Found a couple of cool spell books which we stole but that's all we got." Angel said and walked around and stopped in front of Thomas. "Denim on denim? That's risky."
Yasmin smashed the rifle into Helen's nose and she bled. "My Mom. Where the hell is she?"
I hoisted myself onto the countertop and helped myself to a bowl of cashew nuts. Helen's voice was thick and her mouth was full of her own blood. She swallowed. "I don't know where she is. I don't have her."
"Someone should check the back," I said.
"Then go do it," Angel replied.
I gestured to my nuts. "I'm busy eating."
He heaved a sigh and marched over and disappeared through the back room. Yasmin was quick to tail after him. I looked up from sifting through the bowl. "Hey. You got any–"
Helen tensed and then relaxed. She scowled at me. "What?"
I stared at her and then whistled. "Found her?"
"No," Yasmin grumbled furiously and barged her way back through the door.
I jumped down from the countertop and asked Angel and Yasmin to keep an eye on our friends. I moved the barstools and threaded carefully. The floorboards creaked and I bent down and peeled back the carpet. "Would you look at that? It's a trapdoor." I pointed the pistol at Helen. "You're sneaky. Who wants the honours of going down there?"
"It's the boiler room," Helen panicked. "You won't find anything in there."
Yasmin lifted the latch and pulled open the door. A set of stained wooden stairs unfolded and hit the ground. "That's blood," I observed. "And that's the stench of a dead body rotting. Go after her, Angel."
"Why me?"
I patted his shoulder and murmured with a roguish smile. "Because I'm not carrying her decomposing mom back up the stairs. Get to it."
He grumbled his way down, and the two could be heard bickering. "She's here," Yasmin called. She was upset and then she sniffed. "I'm going to kill them all."
"Slow down, princess. We first gotta get her out of here." Angel said.
I faced the witches before me. "We'll be out of your hair soon. Just sit tight."
Angel walked back up the stairs, he had rolled up his sleeves and came to get the carpet. "We need something to wrap her up in. It's a mess."
"I don't envy you," it was a long wait while they carried the body up the stairs. There were a lot of curses and angry grunts. Yasmin fussed and complained of the way Angel held her Mom and Angel gritted his teeth.
"I'll put her in the goddamn trunk." The door shut after him.
Yasmin wiped her dirty palms on the thighs of her jeans. She straightened up and picked up her rifle. She was enraged, half of her hair had escaped her ponytail and her midriff was smeared with the blood of her Mom. Gross. "What do you want to do with them?" I left it up to her.
She aimed her rifle and shot Helen in the head. It was sudden, loud. Precise. Her head smacked back against the wall and blood leaked on the chair and dripped down the wall and onto the floor. The girlfriend cried out. "Please, we didn't–" Thomas begged and the bullet hit him straight between the eyes. He fell back against the table and his beer was knocked back, pooling together with his blood. The girlfriend was last to go and she shrieked and pleaded to no avail. She was shot in the head like the rest.
"Where did you learn to shoot like that?" I was impressed.
"My father taught me. He wasn't entirely useless," she was drained of energy. Something about her had changed. In an instant, she had aged, meaner, wearier. Not that I blamed her. After everything she's been through, I would be concerned if she had remained unaffected. The rifle fell from her hands and she walked with heavy feet to the door. Her hand touched the handle and she glanced back, eyes falling on Helen. "Bitch." The door slammed shut behind her.
***
* im brown, don't come for me for that. I love my people, it's just a shitty joke. But if you're brown and offended, I'm sorry.
3307 words 29/02/2016