Justin
Shit. I'd been hoping Brooklyn wouldn't notice the huge, horrible and Tyler-induced scratch on the side of my car. I'd already given him hell about it-which had earned me the cut on my lip, but had, much to my delight, left his nose broken. Again. I think that made two or three times I'd had the pleasure of hearing his bone crack.
"Some dipshit dented it over night. I haven't had time to take it to the garage shop," I lied as I walked to the passenger side to open the door for Brooklyn.
"One more question," she said, putting up her index finger in a gesture that reminded me of her mom. "Am I supposed to believe that so this whole having fun charade doesn't flop?"
Well, wasn't she becoming an expert with sarcasm. I gave her an impatient look that did nothing to move her.
"There was a time when you used to trust me," I noted, gently pushing her inside the car. To my surprise, she started buckling herself.
"There was a time when you used to tell the truth," she replied curtly, closing the door in my face.
Did that mean she'd figured out the street racing part too? I mean, she was smart enough not to believe some random tool had scratched my car with his keys for fun. It wouldn't take her long to guess what had really happened-which had been Tyler rubbing the saw-like side of his car on mine. Seriously, who has spikes on their car? Isn't that, like, illegal?
I tried to take nice, calming breaths before I got behind the wheel. So much for hoping we could have a normal day among so much abnormality. Inside, I was beating myself for it because of course I knew it was all my fault. It was always my fault. We'd established that a long time ago. And I wasn't being sarcastic.
I started the car, doing my best to ignore Brooklyn's teary eyes. I don't know whether they were angry or sad tears. Or a bit of both. I couldn't seem to do anything right. I'd been hurting her and pushing her away only to want her back again for my own selfish reasons. I needed her so I convinced myself that it was okay to come back to her and pretend I wasn't living a double life. But what if I told her everything? About the races, the drug dealing, Anthony, would she still want me? I really doubted that. She'd been clear when she'd told me she wanted me out of that world for good.
I opened my mouth, my heart wanting to get everything out of my chest, but words didn't come out. My brain wouldn't allow it. I was way too scared to open up to Brooklyn. It sucked because I knew the reason I was going back to my old ways was to deal with the pain of my dad's death. Brooklyn knew that, too. What she would not understand was why I couldn't find any other method to cope with it. I wish I could, but I guess this was all I expected for myself.
The whole ride home was uncomfortably quiet. Brooklyn looked at the window without uttering a word. She didn't even react when I put on her favorite radio station. I was willing to listen to lame pop just for her. But even that didn't call her attention. Guilt was gnawing at my insides, leaving a raw, nauseous feeling behind. Was it possible for your own digestive juices to corrode the walls of your stomach? I hoped not. That sounded disgusting enough, I didn't need to feel it.
When I parked in front of my building, Brooke didn't unbuckle. I twisted on my seat to face her. Pretending everything was peachy had only gotten us this far. We were gonna have to talk sooner or later, and I might as well lift the weight off my shoulders already.
"Just come up. I promise we will talk. Really talk," I said as I tried to reach for her hand. She curled it under her thigh, which hurt like a blow to the stomach.
"I can't keep doing this, Justin," she whispered without moving her eyes front the windshield. "I love you, but this is killing me." Her gaze finally turned to me. Her brown irises were coated in tears that I bet she was trying her best not to spill.
My heart dropped. I had caused this; I'd never felt so awful in my life, yet she had said those three words. She still loved me and I didn't deserve it. My thumbs shot to her cheeks to smother the moisture that had finally managed to escape the brim of her eyelids. Then, she started full on crying, finally clicking her seatbelt free .
"Shit," I swore under my breath. "Don't cry, please. Princess, don't cry." My heart was breaking. I felt the physical pain. I was an expert at hurting this girl, wasn't I? I wanted to kick myself.
Brooklyn didn't oppose any resistance when I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her shaking frame to my chest. She didn't stop sobbing either.
"I'm so sorry, baby. Please, don't cry," I begged as I stroked her hair and pressed kissed to the top of her head. I didn't deserve her. She was way too good for me. She didn't deserve to go through all of this just because her boyfriend was an egotistic bastard.
After a few moments, Brooklyn's body relaxed, and then, she stopped crying. She was hiccupping by the time she pulled away from me, her eyes red and puffy. The front of my sweatshirt was soaked, which made me feel even worse-if that was even possible.
I couldn't bear to look at her because it felt as though someone was stabbing me in the chest with a knife repeatedly. Brooklyn wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her coat, training her eyes back on the windshield.
"Let's go," she said hoarsely.
Taken aback by the fact that she'd want to spend another minute with me, I quickly exited the car to open her door. She beat me to it, though, and didn't look at me until we were inside my apartment. As expected, it was empty. Now that I had to face the facts and that I'd promised Brooklyn we would talk, I wished someone would be there. Not that that would stop Brooke from interrogating me.
I gave her a glass of cold water because crying so much had left her dehydrated.
"What can I do to make you feel better?" I asked desperately as I leaned my hip against the counter.
Brooklyn whipped her head from the kitchen window, sending hair flying everywhere. The empty glass shook in her hand. "Are you serious?" she bellowed scratchily.
I sighed deeply. "Okay. I'm an asshole. We both know that," I started. "I fucked up as I always do. I made you cry. I hurt you terribly. I feel horrible about it. You can't even begin to imagine how awful I feel." I took a couple steps toward her. She leaned back against the wall.
"Stop using that excuse. 'I fucked up, but it's okay because that's what I do.'," she said with an undertone of mock. "Just so you know, you choose what you're like, Justin. There's not a pattern in your DNA that says 'This body belongs to a jackass, so he shall act as one.'."
I flinched at her harsh tone, though I couldn't blame her for it.
"It's not that easy," I said, running a hand through my hair.
Brooklyn put the glass down on the table with a thud. "See, that's another one of your stupid tag lines." She threw her arms in the air in exasperation, padding over to the other side of the small kitchen. "I am so sick of hearing them. You are responsible for your life and your decisions. Whatever you choose to do, it's on you. You're not fucked-up, and it isn't that complicated. That's only what you tell yourself so you don't have to feel so guilty. It's your way of fooling yourself into thinking that it's not up to you to change your lifestyle anymore. But guess what, Justin? Your life is always in your hands. No one can take that from you."
"What are you now, a psychologist?" I asked sardonically, conscious that I was once again on asshole-mode.
She sent me an icy glare, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips in what'd turned from sadness into anger. "What I sure as hell I'm not is stupid," she spat. "How long did you think it'd take me to find out you were doing those damn jobs for Anthony again? Huh?"
I didn't reply because it was a rhetorical question, and I knew she'd keep talking after a dramatic pause.
"You're acting the same way you did back when we met." She started counting with her fingers, "Avoiding me, lying, disappearing suddenly after suspicious texts, smoking like your freaking life depends on it, sporting a brand new bruise every time I see you..."
It seemed like she had more, but stopped, tired.
"I don't know what to do," she finally admitted in defeat, letting her hands-that had been gesticulating around her like crazy-fall limp to her sides. "I know I promised that I would stand by you no matter what," her voice turned softer, almost fragile, "but I'm at a loss for what to do now. I'm trying, believe me. I'm trying to be understanding and patient, to take care of you. But you're not letting me. You're making it so hard that it makes me want to give up." Her eyes got teary again, and I swore through gritted teeth.
"I'm not going to, okay? You can try as hard as you want to push me away, and I won't leave. But before you do whatever you're doing, take a moment to consider how it affects the people around you. Do you have any idea what your behavior is doing to your mom? Your siblings? To me?" A tear rolled down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away before I could.
I didn't know what to say. Was there anything to say at all?
She nodded her head slowly at my silence, taking it in a negative way it seemed.
"I need to use the bathroom," she said barely over a whisper.
When I let her get out of the kitchen without a word, it felt as though I was letting her go for real. I didn't want that, but I couldn't find words that would make her stay. As soon as I heard the bathroom tap running, I punched the wall. The tiles didn't scrap my knuckles, but they sure left them sore. I bit my lip and winced when my teeth dug in the cut Tyler's fist had inflicted. Damn motherfucker!
I barged into my room, discarding pieces of clothing along the way, until I was in just my jeans and a thin white beater. My hands were shaking with fury-towards myself, obviously-and I felt like beating the shit our of the wall. But I could still hear the tap running in the bathroom so I did my best to regain some self-control.
Brooklyn walked timidly into the room a few seconds later, wringing her hands in her lap.
"You're a selfish jerk," she stated coolly, looking straight at me.
Her blunt assessment distracted me from my self-hatred momentarily. I stopped pacing with my hands clasped behind my neck, staring back at her perplexed.
"I know."
"Good," she said simply, sitting on my bed. She must've cleaned her face with cold water because it wasn't red and blotchy anymore.
I sat next to her, our thighs grazing. "I would say that you should dump me, but I don't want you to leave me," I said, grasping her hand in mine. Brooklyn looked down at our hands and laughed. It was a short, humorless kind of laugh. Nothing like her usual cheery giggles.
"Whatever happened to The Reason?" she asked, lifting her eyes to mine. They were very bright after the crying, but I couldn't be sure whether it was fear, helplessness or remaining fury glistening in them.
"You're still my reason," I whispered truthfully. I think I actually blushed sheepishly after that because Brooklyn gave me a lopsided smile. "I never wanted any of this to ruin our relationship or to even affect it at all. You're the most important thing in my life, and I can't bear to lose you," I said, but Brooklyn looked dubious, like it was hard to believe me.
"Why are you doing this to yourself, Justin?" Her earnestness left my mind blank. "I know you are going through a hard time right now, and you think working for Anthony is the only thing that's waiting for you in the future, but your dad wouldn't want this. He was so proud of you for turning into a good man." Her fingers caressed the back of my hand softly, her yes still fixed on mine.
"Does it even matter anymore?" I inquired wistfully.
"It should," she said convincingly. "You promised him that you would take care of your family and act like an honest, grown-up man. You were doing so good before-" She didn't need to finish.
"Before everything went down the drain?" I offered. That was basically what'd happened.
"I know it's difficult to see the glass half full right now, but things will get better. The pain will never go away, but it'll get easier to handle. You have to let go of all the bitterness in order to move forward. That's what your dad would've wanted," she said, eyeing me carefully, her hand drawing patters on my tattooed forearm.
"I don't expect you to understand."
I could tell immediately by the change in her expression that I'd hurt her deeply-even more so than in the whole past week-but there was nothing else to do. I couldn't keep her by my side if I was gonna treat her like shit. I'd been completely sincere when I'd told her she was the most important thing in my life, so I did the mature thing that would save her some of the pain: I pushed her away again.
Brooklyn curled her bottom lip inside her mouth and lowered her gaze. I too tore my eyes away because I couldn't witness what I was putting her through. Breaking up would've been the best for her-she would spend a few weeks, maybe months, feeling down and heartbroken, but she'd get over it and find someone better. However, she was right, I was a selfish jerk and I couldn't bear to lose her completely. I needed to know she was still there even when I least deserved it.
"I need a smoke," I muttered, shaking my unruly hair.
Brooklyn let go of my hand hastily, almost ashamed that she'd still been holding it. "Let me find those suckers first and I'll make sure you don't get a chance," she said dryly, standing up and making her way to my closet. She knew where I kept my cigarettes, damn.
"Oh my God." The drawer made a screeching sound against its hinges at the abrupt stop.
My breath stopped. I knew exactly what had caused Brooklyn to gasp.
"Oh my God," she repeated, taking a step back from the closet. There wasn't much room for walking around, so she ended up against the bed wall, an horrified look on her face.
"It's not what it looks like," I said quickly. Among every lame thing I could've said, that was positively the lamest.
Brooklyn made a shocked sound on the back of her throat. "Justin, I'm not a fool. I've seen guns in my life before-shall I remind you my dad is a cop? And that is definitely a pistol. Oh my God." She was shaking her head so fiercely that her neck looked like it would snap.
"Okay, so it's a gun. That doesn't mean I've used it. Plenty of Americans have weapons for-"
She cut me off. "Who gave it to you? And why would you suddenly need it? Unless you've had it all this time and you haven't told me." Her look turned accusatory. Her endless questions were making my head ache.
"Anthony gave it to me for self-protection, okay? I haven't had to use it yet," I explained, knowing she wasn't going to leave until she had answers.
When I tried to approach her, she tried to recoil against the wall. Was she seriously afraid of me now?
"Oh, for god's sake, Brooklyn. I'm not going to shoot you."
She seemed to relax as soon as she realized how absurd her fear was. "I know. It's not me I'm worried about," she admitted lowly, playing with the ends of her hair.
"I told you once I had never killed anyone," I said, taking a few steps closer to her. "I plan on keeping it that way." This time there was no trace of a lie in my statement. I would never take anyone's life, much less after knowing how it feels to have that done to someone you love.
"What if it's you in the receiving end of the bullet?" she asked in a small voice. Her eyes were shining again. That's when I knew she wasn't scared of me, but for me. "What if one day you have to deliver something from Anthony to some creepy dude that shoots you in the middle of nowhere and nobody is there to help you and the paramedics don't arrive soon enough and someone calls me to say my boyfriend is-" I put a finger to her lips to end her rambling. Her tone had been growing agitated, as well as her breathing. I had never seen someone having a panic attack, but I was pretty sure Brooklyn was having the first symptoms.
I cupped her face in my hands. "Hush. It's okay. Nothing like that's gonna happen. I'm being really careful. I'll be safe," I assured her, petting her cheeks.
Her eyes widened in horror. "How can you say something like that? You are never safe. I can't even understand how you can talk about this so naturally, like you aren't risking your life doing something illegal, like-"
Once again, I interrupted her. "I just need to do this for some more time, and then I'll quit. When I get enough money to help mom, I'll quit. I swear-"
"Nate kissed me."
"-Just don't worry about me. Don't think about it-wait what did you just say?" My voice hardened, going at least an octave higher as soon as my brain registered Brooklyn's words. My muscles tensed and I had to take my hands off her face in order to keep my strength in control.
"Nate kissed me," she deadpanned again.
I saw red.
Fuck, I'd been wishing my ears had betrayed me. I was a second away from punching the wall. I knew because my hand was starting to twitch, which was a clear indication of what my body was asking me to do to release some tension.
"What do you mean Nate kissed you?" The prick's name rolled off my tongue like venom. Was it possible to hate him even more than I already did? So it seemed.
"It wasn't a kiss, kiss. He just-I was upset after our phone call, and he must've thought I needed that kind of comforting so he kissed me..."
I had lowered my head so it was level with hers. My palms were smashed against the wall, twitching precariously. "And why would he get that idea?" Even with all my might put on trying to stay calm, my tone was still fuming.
"I don't know, I didn't kiss him back!" Brooklyn exclaimed, making a big show of holding my steady gaze. "I pushed him back as soon as his lips touched mine."
That was it. My fist slammed against the door of the closet to my right, making it rattle. Just the thought of anyone else's-but especially that prick's-lips on my girl made my blood boil. I wanted to smack the guy with a baseball bat until there wasn't an unbroken bone in his body.
"Why didn't you tell me before?" I demanded, seeing Brooklyn wince. The little control I had over my anger was slipping out of my fingertips by the second. I would never hit her, but I wasn't so sure about the furniture in my room.
"You said you wanted to have a normal date." She shrugged defiantly.
"This stopped being a normal date a long time ago," I retorted. "I'm gonna break that faggot's legs. And then his arms. And then his back. And his fucking head."
"No, you're not."
I ignored her. "And I don't want you seeing him ever again."
Brooklyn let out a laugh. "Too bad because he's still my lab partner."
"I don't care. If I see him within a ten-feet radio of you, I'll fucking put that gun to use." I pointed to the still open drawer. Probably not the smartest decision.
Brooke swallowed hard. "You don't get to make those decisions for me."
"You are my girlfriend, so I get to take care of you. If that includes keeping dickheads that can't get a hint that you're not interested in them anymore away, that's what I'll do," I declared earnestly.
Brooklyn gave me a sad smile. "Funny because taking care of me is exactly what you haven't been doing lately."
With that she pushed through me and out of the room. Ow, low blow. Though I guess I was asking for it. Still, the idea of Nate's hands on Brooklyn was enough to make me want to track him down at that very moment.
Brooklyn was almost out of the door by the time I reached her. She'd put on her coat and was adjusting her knitted hat when I gently touched her face to make her look at me. She flinched away, which hurt like a slap.
"Wait a second. We're not done talking," I said.
"Oh, I'm done. I'm so done. I have to go." She zipped her coat up and flicked her hair out of it. For some reason she'd again made me feel like she was done for good.
"Don't be silly. It's dark outside. I won't let you go alone." I started reaching for my own hoodie, when her voice stopped me.
"I'll take a taxi." She turned the front door knob and cracked it open.
"I won't let you go alone. Just let me drive you," I insisted, buttoning my jacket. The second my eyes fixed on her lips, another wave of anger rolled through me. They looked the same, pinkish and beautiful, but I needed to wipe away the trace of that blue-eyed idiot from them. Somehow, my mind gave me a clear image of what Brooklyn would do if I tried to kiss her after everything, so I stopped myself from leaning down.
"I don't want to be with you right now," she said, eyes shimmering with fresh tears.
I felt like a transparent glass wall had suddenly appeared between us, keeping me from doing anything but looking at her in painful surprise. My lips parted, but I couldn't come up with anything useful to say.
Every single cuss word in the English dictionary (and then some) flashed through my mind when she turned around to leave. I wanted to stop her, wanted to tell her that I loved her, that I'd drop everything for her, that I'd do whatever it took to make her happy. I'd give her the moon, take her to Paris as she'd always dreamed, I'd do anything she asked me too. However, the glass wall was growing thicker and thicker between us with every step she took until, finally it was so thick I couldn't even hear her quiet sniffing as she closed the door behind her.
Brooklyn
I'm dying inside.
I remember that's what I thought as I descended the stairs in a hurry. I needed to get out of there, put some distance between me and the pain. But even when I was in the open air, breathing in and out greedily, I couldn't keep the burning sensation away.
I didn't turn around to see if Justin had followed me, or even if he was watching me from the kitchen window. I guess a part of me had hoped he would've gone after me, said he was sorry, that he loved me, that he'd become the person I'd fallen in love with again. None of that happened. My mouth tasted like bile, but it wasn't because I wanted to throw up, it was the memory of Nate's kiss. I wanted Justin's lip to make it all better. His kisses had the power of turning my world upside down, only this time my world was way too messed-up to be fixed with a simple touch of his lips. The part of me that was still sane knew he couldn't come after me, not after what I'd said.
I don't want to be with you right now.
God, I was such an idiot. Of course I wanted him with me. I was scared, the sky was pitch black, and the streetlamps didn't give away enough light. I felt lost, even though I knew where I was. I was turning the corner down Justin's street. I was willing my feet to move without a real sense of direction. Tears stung the back of my eyes, but I vowed to myself I wouldn't cry. I was done with being the poor little girl that can't take what life gives her. Even if that is a boyfriend that can turn into a complete douche bag when he wants to, and dark streets when her car is not around to run to.
Walk to the main street. Stop a cab. Go home.
I repeated the orders in my head like a mantra, but even then my mind couldn't seem to grasp them.
On top of that, I was so angry. With myself, with Justin. Especially with Justin. What the hell was he doing with a gun? I guess I should've known he'd handled guns before, considering we'd been at a shooting range together-back at my dad's promotion party-and he'd been privy to all the tricks. But still, I don't think he'd been lying when he said he hadn't used it. I hoped so. If got into a shooting or something... I... I honestly don't know what I'd do.
I stopped dead in my tracks when I realized I had completely zoned out from reality and had been walking around the whole time while arguing with myself in my head. Cold fear took over my insides, nearly paralyzing me. I didn't even know why I was suddenly so terrified, but I was. It was getting hard to breathe, to put one foot in front of the other, to get an idea of where I was. I'd run down a few streets, and now I was as lost as that time when I was eight and let go of my mom's hand during a busy day at the mall. I felt like that 8-year-old again, only worse. My stomach tightened in knots, my throat closed up. I didn't even want to cry anymore. I just wanted to curl up in a ball in the middle of the street and wait for someone to find me and take me home. Preferably Justin.
But how would he? I had taken off and I had no idea where I was. I couldn't even work my fingers to find my phone. The wall I was leaning against was moist, and smelled like urine and litter. I peeled myself away from it and glanced around. Up and down the street I only saw closed shops, a few lights scattered here and there, no people. I thought that was a good sign, but then again look at what'd happened the last time. Some creepy man with a knife had tried to mug me. Not to mention this neighborhood was ten times more dangerous than Queens.
I forced my body to move slowly as I walked towards what looked like a wider street. Avoid narrow, dark alleys was what my dad had always told me. I tried to. I swear I tried, but they still found me. I was still a good 200 feet away from the nice, welcoming wide street, when two figures emerged from the dark. I hadn't even heard them coming.
Terror paralyzed me again. I contemplated running back in the opposite direction, but I couldn't make my feet move this time. Had I stepped in wet concrete? I checked. Nope. I was simply immobile at the worst time.
One of the black figures came closer. It was a man, not too tall and with a bald head. He seemed Latino by the bronze color of his skin. I couldn't make out any feature in the other one, but he was considerably taller than his friend.
"You lost, honey?" the short one asked, coming closer and closer.
My mouth was clammed up. No sound came out, although I bet the guys could hear the erratic pounding of my heart. I could feel the blood pumping in my ears like a stereo.
"Cat got your tongue?" the other guy called.
What was it with creepy men and that expression? It made them sound so stupid. And about a thousand times creepier.
I finally took a step back when the short boy was only two feet away from me.
"I have to go," I croaked out, backpedaling on the sidewalk.
The short guy smirked. His mouth was huge, as were his teeth. They glimmered in the moonlight. "Yeah, I don't think so," he crooned in definitely a Hispanic accent.
The other guy came behind me and pressed something-I couldn't identify the object, but I gathered that it was some kind of weapon-to my lower back. I trembled. Oh my God, please no, I begged in my head. Now I think I was ready to cry. Vows be damned.
"Walk," the guy behind me ordered in my ear, stressing his words with a push of the thing against my back. I didn't need to be told twice.
Justin, please, come save me.
Justin didn't magically show up to save the day this time, though.
The short guy pinned me against a wall of one of those dreadful dark alleys I'd so intently been trying to avoid. This had to be a joke. Or a nightmare. Or part of a movie. These things didn't happen in real life. My nails scratched at the damp bricks behind me, barely making a sound. Despite his disadvantage in height, the short guy seemed to be the one that called the shots. His partner in crime (pun intended) was on the mouth of the alley, checking no one passed by. I wish someone would pass. I prayed someone would pass.
"What do you want? I'll give you everything I have, just leave me alone," I pleaded anxiously. I could feel the disgusting pig pressing against every part of my body. I wanted to hurl. Maybe if I emptied the lasagna I'd had for lunch all over him, he'd step away.
Before I could so much as gag, his chuckle rumbled through me. He brought a finger up to my lips, tracing them. "Oh, I plan on taking everything," he whispered, making unpleasant shivers run down my spine. "Didn't daddy ever tell you pretty chicks like you shouldn't wander around here alone when night falls?"
I wanted to laugh at how ridiculous his accent sounded, but I was way too frightened to manage something beyond a dithery sound. The guy chuckled again, spilling his alcohol-smelling breath all over my face. This time I did gag. Nice and loudly.
"Oh, don't you be nervous, honey." His knuckles grazed the side of my neck. A rebellious tear glided down the corner of my eye. The bastard saw it and snickered.
"My boyfriend will kill you," I managed through a hiss. My teeth chattered, and I no longer knew whether it was from coldness, fear or revulsion.
"I very much doubt that," he replied in a clipped tone. In a second he'd sprung a pocket knife in my face as a warning. The bladder was an inch away from my cheek. I trembled pathetically.
"Please," I begged, feeling more tears spill out. "Just let me go, please."
Short Guy smirked, showing once again that row of big, shiny teeth. He had a nice dentition. If he hadn't been scaring the living days out of me, I would've pointed it out.
We heard a whistle and turned our heads towards the taller guy, whom I thought may be Afro-American. He was making some gesture at the guy that held me captive that I couldn't comprehend. The movement of my head brought the knife closer to my face, to the point where it touched my skin and it broke.
I whimpered. The cut surely wasn't deep, but it stung, making my reflexes kick in. Almost involuntarily, my knee raised to the guy's crotch. He yelped and cussed in pain, but I couldn't get too far before he was yanking my hair back.
"You bitch!" he shouted, pulling at my hair tightly. I winced. That hurt like hell too. I just hoped he hadn't ripped out any chunks of hair. "I was gonna be sweet to you, but now I'll make sure you suffer for your mistake," he seethed in my ear as he held my back to his chest. More impotent tears flowed down my cheeks, gathering at my chin. The Hispanic guy started undoing the zipper of my coat as his friend jogged towards us.
I begged him silently to help me, but other than biting his lip pityingly, he did nothing. I cried out as I felt a hand creeping up my stomach to my thankfully-still-covered-by-two-layers-of-clothing boob.
"Shut up, bitch!" The guy screamed along with a rougher squeeze of his hand. "You're gonna get unwanted attention."
In my case, I the attention from the neighbors or the police wasn't unwanted at all. So I kept trashing around and shouting, "Please, please, please!" to no avail.
Short Guy asked his friend to slap a hand over my mouth as he pushed me back against the disgusting brick wall. I sobbed raggedly, feeling panic rise up in my body. I was going get raped-maybe by two different guys-and there was nothing I could do about it. The Afro-American one still held my mouth with the semi guilty look on his face, and no matter how hard I cried he did nothing to stop his friend from moving his hands over my body.
"If you don't stay still, I'm gonna cut your fucking throat," Short Guy warned me, once again lifting the pocket knife to my face. At this point, that didn't seem like such a bad idea against having him take advantage of my body and scar me inside forever. After all, they say physical scars aren't the worst.
"Hey! You!"
I wanted to jump in relief at the third voice that joined our hushed conversation, coming from the other street.
"Fuck," both guys that were with me swore at the same time.
I wanted to sing Hallelujah. God had heard my prayers. At least until I felt pain as sharp as glass down the left side of my jaw. I jumped in shock, causing the bladder to dig deeper.
"Shit," Short Guy, still holding the knife, said, letting it drop like he hadn't intended to harm me so deeply. My skin burned and throbbed, and I could see the blood running all the way down my neck, soaking my coat and seeping into the inner layers.
Oh my God, I thought, I'm going to bleed to death. My mind got fuzzy, my vision blurred, and I clutched the wall behind me in order to stay on my feet. The sight of so much blood-and the knowledge that it was all mine-made me sick. Soon, I was heaving the contents of my stomach on the pavement next to me. What a waste of lasagna, I though comically. Next thing I knew, my almost-rapists were running down the alley onto the not-wide-enough-but-better street, clutching several parts of their bodies at once. I figured my savior had gotten in a few hits, and found myself enormously happy at the thought. Though, that didn't change what I'd already gone through. The memories of gleaming teeth, a bloody knife and filthy hands would haunt me down in nightmares, I was positive.
"Are you okay?" a voice that sounded slightly familiar asked. I lifted my sight warily from the ground to a pair of dark eyes. They were looking down at me from at least a head taller. My chin trembled, and I was once again aware of the pain in my jaw. How Justin could get into fights so often baffled me. I was already wishing someone could put morphine into my system so I wouldn't have to deal with the pain extending to my skull.
"I'm not sure," I stammered after a while. I'd almost forgotten the guy had talked to me.
He grimaced as he studied my face, which only worried me more. Crap, I hadn't even thought about my parents. They were probably up the wall already wondering where the heck I was. And when they saw the cut...
"We should get that cleaned up. It looks nasty," the guy said. I couldn't see beyond a few lines in his face. It was still familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Was he one of Justin's friends?
"It does?" I groaned, lifting myself from the wall. My instinct told me not to trust this boy-not to trust anyone. But he'd helped me. If he wanted to hurt me, why would he have saved me?
He nodded grimly. "I could get you to the hospital, but unless you want to go through all that shit and have to wait, I live a couple blocks from here."
Woah, was he suggesting I went with him? As in to his house? Forward much?
"I don't know," I hesitated, worrying my lip until I realized pulling up my skin hurt even more.
"Look, I know you don't know me, but you're shaking and bleeding quite... profusely. I would feel bad if I let you go alone like that," he said. "Plus, I imagine you're not from around here."
I hadn't noticed my hands shaking until he mentioned it. They weren't shaking. It felt like a freaking earthquake was rocking though me. And the blood wasn't dry yet so that meant the bleeding hadn't stopped. Maybe I should let this guy help me?
I wasn't sure about my decision, so I didn't say anything. However, I did start walking towards the light. Darkness had acquired a whole new level of creepiness for me. The guy walked beside me, draping an arm lightly over my shoulder. Despite how awkward it was, it felt comforting somehow. I'd rather have someone else hug me until my dread had diminished, but the unknown guy would have to do.
Once outside the alley, I could see more clearly again, which I wasn't sure was any better. The left side of my coat had dry blood on it, the zipper was broken and my sweater was rumpled. Unpleasantness coursed through me as I my memory recalled how all that had happened. I wanted nothing more than to get out of these clothes and shower until my skin was raw clean. If I'd thought Nate kissing me was gross, I couldn't even begin to explain how this felt.
I was so busy trying not to freak out again that I almost missed the moment we passed under a streetlight and I finally recognized the face walking next to me. I came to an immediate halt. "Holy shit." The words slipped out of my mouth like an only salable. I was utterly flummoxed.
Tyler scratched the back of his braided head as he registered my discovery. "Yeah," he muttered. "I was counting down the seconds until you figured out who I was."
I took a log stride back. "I have to go," I said quickly, but he stepped in front of me when I tried to flee.
"Please, don't be scared. I'm not going to hurt you, I swear. I know you have no reason to trust me-other than I just saved your life," he said after he considered it. "If I wanted to do any harm, why would have I gotten you out of that alley?"
I weighed my options for a minute. I guess he was right. But he might be taking me to his place to murder me there. He didn't look like the murder type, though. Is there even a murder type? I think my brain was playing tricks on me. I had stopped thinking rationally. I was just so confused I doubted I would be able to tell blue from green if you asked me right then.
Tyler let out a long breath at my doubt. "Look, I have a girlfriend so I don't need to rape any stranded girls. And I'm not into cutting people. You haven't done anything to me, so why would I suddenly want to hurt you?" He shrugged to accompany his question. "I have no idea what Justin has told you about me-I suppose nothing good-but there was a time when we used to be friends. Even he would tell you I respect women above everything else."
Tyler had this weird habit of interrupting himself, which made me laugh out loud. He probably thought I'd cracked my head on the bricks and that's why I was acting weird. Maybe I had.
"Wait, you said Justin and you used to be friends?" I scrutinized his face under the yellowish streetlight, looking for signs that he was lying. Either he was really good at it, or he was telling the truth. It felt refreshing to have someone be honest with me for once. Even if it had to be my boyfriend's-where did we stand right now? -enemy.
"Yeah," Tyler admitted, kind of embarrassed, then added, "Brooklyn, I really am beginning to worry about your cut. It's gonna get infected. Just come with me and I'll answer every question you have."
I was a bit weirded out by his insistence- (how did he know my name?)-and seemingly genuine concern so I blurted out, "Okay," without giving it much thought. The hunger for information overpowered my distrust.
Tyler's apartment was small but surprisingly cozy. Turns out, he lived on the other side of the park near Justin's place. So I had been running in circles around Justin's building area before I'd encountered the guys.
"Do you live alone?" I asked, swinging my legs back and forth over the kitchen counter. It was one of those breakfast bars that looked directly over the living room.
"No. I have two roommates, but they're out partying or something," he said, as he ran a small towel under the tap. My dirty coat was draped over a chair. I'd lost my knitted hat during the brawl-if you could call it that-with the two men. Not that I particularly cared. The top of my sweater was dirty too, some of the pearls turned a browny red. It'd be salvageable, though. My coat, I wasn't so sure.
"You don't like to party?" I asked stupidly. I'd seen him at the club the night Justin and him got into a fight. I was increasingly convinced that I'd hit my head sometime during the night.
Tyler chuckled, wringing the towel over the sink before dabbing the cloth over my wound to clean it up, making me recoil. "I do, but I had plans with Alejandra today."
I hissed a breath. "She'll be mad, especially if she finds out you ditched her for me. She isn't very fond of me, is she?"
Tyler looked up at me with a crooked smile. "She'll get over it." He put the towel down, turning my jaw to the side gently, examining the cut.
I found it sort of amusing that were having a conversation like our respective partners wouldn't kill us if-when-they found out. Tyler seemed nice so far, though. I was half expecting him to jump with a metal pole and hit me with it any moment like he'd done to Justin a long time ago. Come to think of it, Justin hadn't mentioned any ugly encounters with him lately. I was still very careful, nonetheless. I wasn't as stupid as to believe Tyler was suddenly my friend. Besides, Justin hadn't exactly been sharing many details of his life with me recently.
"So, tell me about how you and Justin began to hate each other," I said after a long silence during which I had to remain still so Tyler could bandage my jaw. He seemed to be an expert at taking care of wounds (which could only mean one thing) and he concluded I wouldn't need stitches, but that I'd have to change the gauze often. That was a huge relief because having to go to the doctor would imply telling my parents, and I was going to try to hide this from them at all costs. As much as you can hide a band-aid the size of half a pencil.
Tyler sighed loudly. "He hasn't told you anything at all?"
I shook my head no.
"Okay, I'll make it short so you don't get bored," he started. "I've probably known Justin longer than any of my friends, and longer than he's known his. Kids don't hate each other for no reason, right?"
I guess?
"So Justin and I started off being friends. We shared toys in the playground, played videogames, hung out and all that crap, approximately until we were 15. We were pretty inseparable."
"What happened?" I asked eagerly. Truth be told, I was becoming very surprised by Tyler's language. He didn't swear as much as I'd expected, and he was being very gentle with my wound. If this had been the first time I met him and I didn't know about the times he'd hit Justin to the point of coming through my window with a gash, I would've actually found him friendly and nice.
Tyler leaned back against the counter opposite of the one I was sitting on and crossed his arms. He was done with curing my injury and already I felt better without seeing all the blood and knowing that I wouldn't get some contagious disease now that it was disinfected.
"A girl happened."
I felt an unexplainable pang of jealousy in my chest. My fingers gripped the glass of water Tyler had handed me, white-knuckling it. It was pointless and silly of me, but it would always bother me to think of Justin with other girls. Even when I was seven shades of pissed at him.
"She was a bit of a slut," Tyler said without remorse. "After a few weeks of her having fun with both of us behind the other's back, we found out and it ended up in a fistfight. I'll spare you the details."
I was stunned. All of this, this mutual hatred between them... for a girl? A girl that had been playing both of them at 15? It was ridiculous if you ask me.
"So that's all?" I said, partly hoping there was more. Only to help me understand, not that I wanted to hear something outrageous.
Tyler shrugged. I wondered if Justin or him knew how many similar gestures they had. "It escalated from there. We started picking up fights any chance we got, our friends kind of divided into two groups, and we resolved to make the other's life a living hell."
My eyes widened. Justin most likely hadn't told me about this before because he was ashamed. I mean, the story was lame. Really lame.
"We never worked out our issues so the hatred just grew," Tyler added, refilling my glass of water. My mouth still tasted a bit like vomit, but it was better than nothing. "To be honest, I don't lose any sleep over it nowadays. Things have been tranquil for a while."
I nodded my head for lack of a better answer. I downed my second glass of water and hopped off the counter.
"Will you tell me something, Tyler?" I said a bit hesitant. I was ready to leave, but I needed to know something first.
"Shoot," he said, bobbing his head. His thin braids dangled at the ends. They barely reached his shoulders and they reminded me of Jaden Smith.
"Do you race?" Surprise flashed across his eyes. "You know, as in illegal street racing," I explained, moving my hands all over the place like I do when I'm nervous.
"I know what you mean," he said sharply, then softened his tone to the amicable one he'd been using since we'd met, "And yes, I do."
I bit the inside of my cheek hard. He had no problem admitting it. "Is Justin... racing too?" The potential answer scared me deadly. I almost wished I hadn't asked. I had my suspicions since I'd seen the dent in Justin's car, but now I just wanted to turn a blind eye on it. What you don't know won't hurt you and all that crap.
"I've seen him around a couple times. I'm sorry," he said, and for a moment I thought he might mean it. But what would he care? He didn't give a crap if Justin had an accident or caused one. He didn't care about what'd happened in the past. He didn't know about Michael and how that had lead to something really big breaking between Justin and I. In a way, it felt like our relationship was teetering on the edge again. And I really didn't want that. I'd do anything I could to save it as long as there was something left to save.
Frustration pinched my eyes, and before I let the tears slip, I grabbed my coat.
"Thanks for everything," I told Tyler rashly, making a beeline for the front door.
He tried to stop me to convince me to let him drive me home. But I swore I'd be fine. He didn't let me go until he'd given me his number scribbled in a piece of paper, though. I hoped he didn't expect me to call him. I mean, I was grateful for his help and so on, but that didn't make us instant friends. I didn't want any more trouble with Justin, so if I could keep this from him, it'd be better.
This time when I crossed the door to the street, I didn't stop to breathe or let nausea take over me. I ran and didn't stop until I was safe inside a cab.
I guess I was stupid for thinking I wouldn't break down again. Call it wishful thinking, call it whatever. The thing is as soon as the driver put the taxi into drive, I curled in the corner of the backseat and started crying silently into my knees. Everything caught up with me and I suddenly couldn't wait to be home, tucked inside my bed, away from the monsters in those streets. I knew it wouldn't be easy to forget this, especially when I wasn't planning to tell anyone. The last thing I wanted was to worry my parents or Kelsey. Blake would probably find out eventually-that's what he always does, or did.
The driver eyed me like I was a crackhead when I gave him the money with bloodshot eyes. I couldn't care less. I made my way to the tall building where I lived at a fast pace, almost bashing right into someone.
"Blake?"
The back of the boy's head sure looked like my brother's blondish hair, but he was kissing a guy right in front of our door. The street door. Where people were streaming by and the caretaker was staring with an amused smile.
The boy broke away from the kiss, his eyes widening like saucers when he spotted me. It was indeed Blake. My mouth fell what felt like all the way to the floor. My jaw actually protested at my abrupt dislocation.
"Blake," I repeated. He blinked as the guy next to him blushed like a tomato. I switched my gaze back and forth between the two until understanding downed on me-don't blame me for being slow after everything that night. A grin split my face as both my brother and the boy I presumed was his boyfriend shared a confused expression. I hugged Blake tightly, needing him to comfort me and happy that I'd finally caught him on his little secret.
"You're... okay with this?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he put his arms around me.
"Are you kidding me? After the shittiest day of my life, this couldn't make me happier," I sighed, smiling at the other boy who was still looking sheepish. "I'm Brooklyn," I introduced myself.
"Kevin," he said, sticking out his hand. Instead, I gave him a brief hug, which he returned awkwardly. I imagined him making questioning faces at my brother over my shoulder.
Kevin was shorter than Blake, but still taller than me. His pale blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of vintage glasses and he had a mop of dark brown hair that curled all around his head. He was cute.
"You don't think this is... weird?" Blake was still frowning.
"Are you kidding me, Blake? Were you really worried about telling me this? I thought you were doing drugs or something! This is really relieving." I side-hugged him again. "You know I love you no matter what. You're my favorite brother." I winked at him, which made Kevin laugh.
As we stood there in the middle of the street under the thousands of twinkling lights of Manhattan, chatting about how Blake and Kevin had met and why he was worried we wouldn't accept him, I felt a spark of hope for myself. It wouldn't be easy, but that didn't mean it was impossible. I was still shaken up about the whole almost being raped thing, but now it seemed like a distant memory. I'd read somewhere that your mind tends to block out the stuff you can't take so you don't get traumatized. Maybe that's what was happening. Maybe I could forget about tonight and focus on the future. Maybe things would look brighter tomorrow.
Maybe, just maybe, all hope wasn't lost for Justin and me.
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A/N AS YOU KNOW THIS IS NOT MINE AND I JUST WANTED YOU GUYS TO READ THIS AMAZING STORY THIS STORY CREDIT GOSE ALL TO SWAGGIEBIEBSIE ON JBFF.