*Okay, so this is a long chapter. Sue me; I had a lot to say. After I wrote
this, I came across a song that fits so perfectly with this chapter, that I
figure I must have been channelling Fred Durst when I wrote it. Actually,
it's only the middle section, but I'm sure you'll figure that out when you
get there.*
Went too fast, way too soon, I feel disgusted and you should too. It's no good when all that's left is the sex... the sex. Sex has become all I know about you, Memories of those filthy things that we do. There is not one single thought that is left after sex with you. Should have left my pants on this time, But instead you had to let me dive right in. It's my ass, your perfume, that make temptation hard to refuse. So I guess we undressed to have sex... dirty sex. Should have left my pants on this time, But instead you had to let me dive right in. How could you respect yourself? You couldn't respect yourself, Cuz I didn't respect myself, I couldn't infect myself. I realise that I'm worth more than that.
--"No Sex" by Limp Bizkit
Portman's POV:
What do you do when you come home to find that you mother has brought not one, but two guys back from the bar where she works for a little after- hours entertainment? If you're me, you get wet, get laid, break up with your girlfriend, narrowly escape death at the hands of your one true love, get really stoned and go to sleep with a smile on your face.
After 17 years of living with my mother, I was used to her ways, but it was still with some surprise that I opened the door of our new apartment to behold a very stocky, very hairy, very naked man in the kitchen. There was an unopened bottle of beer on the counter, and the man, whose hair was a bright, flaming orange, was opening all the drawers and digging through them. Thankfully, there was a counter between us, and his back was to me, so he wasn't completely exposed.
As I stood there, trying to figure out how I could slink past him to my room without his noticing, he slammed a drawer with frustration and bawled, "Mare, where the FUCK do you keep the bottle opener?"
From down the hall came a flurry of giggles and a hushed, "Stop it!" before she responded, "If it's not in the drawer, it must still be in one of those boxes."
Naked guy spun around, presumably to look for the boxes, and saw me standing there like an idiot. You see, I'd just realised that naked guy couldn't be in the bedroom making my mom giggle and in the kitchen getting a beer at the same time. I imagine my jaw was hanging somewhere in the vicinity of my knees as I took in this surprising and thoroughly disgusting development.
"Jesus Fucking Christ! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
What was *I* doing? Step a little closer and say that, pal, I thought to myself. But I said nothing, just stared at him coolly, revelling in the surprise my presence evoked from the man, and the intimidation that joined it when he got a good look at me. There was a silence during which neither of us spoke, and then my mother called out, "Marty, what's taking so long? Dean, honey, did I hear you come in?"
I saw realisation slowly dawn in the man's eyes; looked like he'd managed to figure out who I was. A regular Einstein, this one. Boy, did my mom know how to pick them. Now just go away and leave me alone, I willed him silently, but of course it was to no effect. Hairy naked guy, it seemed, wanted to have another go at regaining control of the situation, now that he knew I was Mary's kid.
"I asked you a question punk: What the hell are you doing here?"
Great, not another power-tripping asshole. I could barely keep my lip from curling. "I live here, what's your excuse?"
His eyes took on a flat sheen and he puffed out his chest. "Your mother."
Ouch. Obviously, he thought he'd really put me in my place with that one. I just smiled sweetly at him, reached into my back pocket and pulled out my army knife. I flipped out the biggest blade, picked up the beer still sitting on the counter, popped the lid, and took a long, deep swig.
He looked as if he wanted to leap over the counter and throttle me, but I think his plans were impeded by: a) my size, and b) his nakedness. So he settled instead on glowering at me in what I'm sure he thought was a very threatening manner. I'd seen it all so many times before, I was bored with the whole thing. Except for the threesome part; I was still trying to digest that, and trying not to imagine who the third party was, when all my questions were laid to rest.
My mother appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, a sheet wrapped half around her. Beside her was a tall, gangly blonde guy wearing nothing but baby blue skivvies and a cowboy hat and boots. Oh well, at least cowboy guy was better than hairy naked guy.
"Dean, I thought I heard you come in. How's the new school?"
"Fine," I muttered, staring at the ground as I downed the rest of the beer. Did she really think I wanted to see all this, or did she just not care at all? I looked up at her, my mother, taking in the stains on the sheet she'd draped around her body, her bloodshot eyes and dishevelled hair (she'd *have* to be drunk to pull something like this), and the fact that cowboy guy had cheap red lipstick smeared all over his face and down his neck. There were so many things I should be feeling right now, but instead I felt nothing, like I'd been hollowed out.
My mom must have realised that they had walked in on something between hairy naked guy and myself, because she snuggled up to him from behind, and crooned something into his ear that I couldn't make out. He grinned wolfishly, and, shooting me a look that made it clear he thought he'd come out on top, disappeared into the bedroom.
"Why don't you join Marty, Randolph? I'll be there in a moment." Cowboy obliged, leaving me alone with my mother. She walked over and put her hand on my shoulder, and I had to fight the urge to recoil.
"I'm sorry Dean," she said lightly, as if she was apologising for forgetting to buy my favourite kind of ice cream, instead of hosting a mini- orgy with some hairy-ass Scottish dude and a cowboy named Randolph. "I didn't think you'd be coming home so early tonight, since it's Friday and all."
"It's Tuesday."
"Oh. Well, uh, here," she said, shuffling over to her purse and pulling out a ten and a five. "Why don't you go see if there's an arcade nearby?"
An arcade? Was she serious? "Fine," I muttered, grabbing the money and shoving it deep into the pocket of my jeans.
"Uh, Dean?" she called out tentatively as I opened the door.
I didn't turn around. "Don't worry, I'll find somewhere else to spend the night," I said, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into my voice. I slammed the door with (almost) as much force as I could muster, causing the whole frame to quiver and shake, before I headed back out into the night.
I ran for blocks, turning down alleys and side streets at random, needing more than anything to put some distance between myself and that place. I finally stopped, leaning back against a brick wall to catch my breath, ignoring the faint but unmistakable odour of alcohol mixed with vomit and stale urine that permeated the entire alley. Without the sound of my footsteps hitting the pavement, the silence seemed to close in around me, until all I could hear was my own heavy breathing, which grew steadily deafening, drowning out everything else.
I left the alley and strode up the street, passing a bundle of rags that rose and fell rhythmically and reeked of cheap booze. I checked the street signs: 9th and Pine. We'd been here less that a week, so I didn't really have a clue where I was, but that didn't bother me. I figured I'd wander around for awhile, get the lay of the place. What else was I going to do?
After walking for a dozen or so more blocks, I found myself in deep in the Latin quarter of town. I knew this area pretty well, though I rarely walked through it at night; this was considered unwise, if you were alone and looked like you didn't belong.
I was walking along, wondering if anyone would be dumb enough to pick a fight with me, when I heard the sound of a car approaching slowly from behind. I stopped, my hand going automatically for my back pocket as I scanned the area, looking for possible escape routes.
A big maroon car pulled up beside me--it was too dark to make out the model- -and two guys got out. I stood my ground, sizing them up as they approached me. I couldn't make out their features--most of the street lamps had been busted out--but I felt confident I could take them both, provided neither had a gun, of course.
"What you think you doing here, gringo?" one of them asked silkily. Before I could respond, the other guy stepped forward.
"Portman, that you?"
I sighed, surprised to find myself not relieved to have avoided a fight, but rather disappointed. It would have felt good to smash their faces in. "Hey, Marco."
The other guy had stopped advancing, and was looking quizzically at his friend. "It's cool. This is Portman, he's Angel's man." He turned to me. "What you doing way the hell over here, Port?"
"Moved in last week. I live over on Hyacinth," I gestured vaguely over my shoulder. "What are you guys up to?"
"Nothing legal, man. Carlos spotted you walking, we figured we might jump you. Glad we didn't, though," he said, clapping me on the back and turning to his friend. "You know this is the guy who kicked the shit out of Benny Gomez last year?"
"No shit!" he cried, looking up at me with new-found respect. "That how you hook up with Angel?" I nodded. "Man, I've heard about you. Marco's right, I'm glad we didn't try to jump your ass."
"Me too," I lied.
"You wanna see Angel? She's at this party right now, we were just heading over ourselves."
"Sure," I hopped into the backseat beside Carlos and we took off. He reached between his legs and passed me a bottle in a brown paper bag. I took a deep pull, feeling my eyes fill with water and my throat start to burn. Fire whiskey. Good name, I thought, relishing the warmth that travelled down my gullet as I swallowed more and more of the fiery liquid before passing it back to Carlos, my mouth filled with the taste of cinnamon hearts that the whiskey left in its wake.
"Hey Marco, your friend here can really knock them back."
Marco turned around in the driver's seat and grinned at me. "That's nothing. You oughta see him when he really gets going, he's a machine, this kid."
A machine. I liked that. I stared out the window, imagining how much simpler everything would be if I didn't have to feel stuff all the time.
***
"Hang here a sec, Port, I'll go see if Angel's around." I nodded, taking the beer Marco offered me, and glancing around. A few of the guys here, like Marco, I knew pretty well, others I knew by name or sight or reputation, many I didn't know at all. I noticed some of the girls were trying to catch my eye, but I ignored them. Carlos was taking me around, introducing me to people I already knew, like I was a trophy he'd picked up.
I didn't mind; it was noisy and anonymous and people kept giving me alcohol. I was only halfway listening to Carlos' fractured, rather inaccurate account of my assault of Benny Gomez, when I heard a voice behind me. "Hey there, stranger."
Angel was wearing a little slip of a dress that clung to her body in all the right places, showing off the contours of her hips and ass, which anyone here would tell you gave Jennifer Lopez a run for her money. Her hair was a dark, dark brown, so dark it was almost black, and it hung, thick and wavy, to her waist. Deep set eyes stared out at me seductively; framed with makeup, they seemed impossibly large and smouldering. Red lips, slightly parted, tugged at my libido; arms reached out to hold me, pulling me in close.
"Hi Angel," I said, my voice slightly muffled by her mane of hair.
"Let's go upstairs," she whispered in my ear.
I obeyed, ignoring the whistles as we crossed the room and ascended the stairs. Angel pulled me into the nearest bedroom and shut the door, leaning back against it and looking at me hungrily. I took a sip of my beer and tried to look away, but my eyes were dragged back to meet hers, as if by magnetism.
When this girl wanted something, she moved in hard and fast, and I don't think she'd ever been denied. Eight months ago, after seeing what I did to that Gomez fuck, she decided that she wanted me. If we were going out, it was hardly in the traditional sense of the word. She was four years older than me to begin with, and it wasn't as if we went out on dates. We partied and we had sex, and that was about it. This was no mean feat, however, considering Angel's insatiable appetite for both. Her real name was Juanita, but everybody called her Angel because of her love affair with-- you guessed it--angel dust. She was really a nice girl, but she was hungry and wild, and more than a little bit dangerous. I could smell the desire on her, could see it in the way she looked at me, but I wasn't in the mood for it tonight; I couldn't stop thinking about my mother and those guys.
Angel moved in close to me, grabbing my ass tight with both her hands, and I could smell her perfume. Like her, it hit hard and fast, assaulting the senses, and I could feel my knees start to weaken, along with my resolve.
"You seem sad, my little gringo, what have you been up to tonight?" She spoke softly, the words floating from her mouth in breathless little puffs of air, whispers of Egyptian queens long dead. "Would you like a little treat, a little taste of heaven?"
I backed up half a step, trying to clear my head. "I don't think so, Angel, not tonight. My mom, she..." My voice trailed off as she put a finger to my lips.
"Sshhhh, I have something that will make it all go away. Just sit back and let Angel take care of you." She pushed me back onto the bed, gently, so gently, but I could feel the strength, like coiled springs, just beneath her caramel skin. This girl, I truly felt, had the power to tear the world apart. She opened a drawer on the nightstand beside the bed, and pulled out something that looked like a joint.
I still wasn't ready to give in, but then her dress dropped to the floor like a wisp and she stepped out of it neatly, turning to face me, completely naked. "Why fight it? You know you want to." I could see that she was honestly confused with my obvious inner turmoil.
When Angel and I got together, we soon discovered that we had a talent. I'd been with plenty of girls before, and lord knew Angel got around, but neither of us had ever experienced anything like the sex we had when we were together. It was earth-shattering, mind-blowing, scream-till-you-cried sex, and when you threw PCP into the mix... let's just say the results were... enjoyable.
And yet, it was all we had. We didn't have a thing in common; I don't think we ever had a full conversation when we weren't completely wasted. All this, however, was nothing new, and it had never bothered me before...
I watched Angel light up and take a hit; the room was so dark that it glowed outside, and the burning cherry cast a thin yellow glow across her dark, strong features. She passed it to me with puckered-up lips and hungry, expectant eyes; I didn't protest this time.
We made love for several hours, orgasms equally interspersed with hallucinations brought on by the drugs. As always, I was the one who eventually had to call it quits; Angel could go for days without tiring. She often said that what made me special was not just the quality of the sex, but that I could go for longer than anyone she'd ever had before. We lay on the bed, and I watched the snakes slither and crawl over each other, covering the entire ceiling. Rattlers, pythons, vipers, and many others I could not name. Flicking tongues and soulless eyes filled my world, and it was all I could do to keep from trembling.
I felt dirty, used, and for the first time, unfulfilled, even though I had spent the last few hours in a state of perpetual ecstasy. I glanced over beside me; Angel was asleep, her breathing light and regular. She wouldn't miss me. She didn't love me, just like I didn't love her. We were drawn together by our bodies, by our lust for each other, but I was beginning to think that maybe that wasn't enough for me anymore. I didn't want to wind up like my mother, but I knew that if I kept this up, I would. It just felt too good to resist.
I climbed out of bed and got dressed in silence. I took a pad of paper and a pen from the nightstand a scrawled a quick note, which I set on my pillow and, giving Angel one last, longing look, slipped quietly out the door.
Angel, You're a hell of a girl, but I'm sorry, I just can't do this anymore. Be good.
Dean Portman
***
Finding myself alone once more, and on my way down from a hell of a trip, I left the Latin quarter and headed in the general direction of home. So what now, Portman, I thought to myself, kicking a rock as I walked along and feeling rather sorry for myself. Suddenly, the window of a car parked right in front of me exploded, and I hit the ground automatically, my heart pounding in my ears. After an eternity of listening for any sound, I chanced a glance around me. There was nobody in sight, and I hadn't heard a car; it must not have been gunfire, after all.
I got to my feet, feeling rather sheepish. The car, a rusty old yellow Rabbit, had had both its driver and passenger side windows annihilated by an object of some sort, though certainly not a bullet... a rock, perhaps? This reminded me that, bullet or not, someone had just tried to kill me, and I glanced down the alley I had been passing when it happened. I thought I saw a rather enormous figure standing in the dark, just beyond where the light of the street lamps could reach. I took a few steps into the alley, and heard a muffled crash before whoever it was took off in the opposite direction.
I stood there a moment, wondering who the hell that had been, and what I had done to them to provoke an assassination attempt. I still didn't know where I was going to sleep tonight; I had plenty of friends on this side of town, but to be honest, I didn't really like any of them. Then I remembered; Johnny lived on this side of town, his greenhouse was only a dozen or so blocks form here. I started to walk a little faster, happy that I'd found somewhere to go, and eager at the prospect of seeing Johnny again.
When I reached the greenhouse, however, I paused. It was almost four in the morning; surely Johnny would be asleep. He always told me to come over whenever, and to let myself in if he didn't answer, so I just went inside, making as little noise as I could, flopping down onto a beanbag chair in the living room. The moment I did, however, my stomach let out an angry growl, and I realised how long it had been since I'd eaten anything. I dragged myself to my feet, and nearly had a heart attack when I saw Johnny leaning against the entrance to the hall that led to the rest of his flat.
"Thought I heard you come in," he yawned, rubbing his eyes sleepily and smiling up at me with that cheerful, infectious grin of his. "What's up, kid?"
"Nothing. Sorry I woke you up."
He waved his hand impatiently. "I wasn't asleep. You hungry?" I nodded. "There's focaccia bread and cheesecake, but not much else. You want me to whip something up?"
"I'll do it." I started pulling vegetables from the fridge as Johnny sat down on a stool at the counter. I cut up the peppers rather zealously, my knife banging loudly when it made contact with the cutting board. Johnny waited until I had finished chopping before speaking.
"So, you gonna tell me what's wrong Dean, or do I have to guess?"
I tossed the peppers into a wok, adding mushrooms, snow peas and water chestnuts. "I broke up with Angel."
Johnny's eyes widened slightly. "Really?"
I sighed, and reached for the packet of Chinese noodles he held out. "Yeah, I don't really know why even, I mean, we didn't fight. We never fight. I was just thinking about everything and... even really good sex becomes just sex after awhile, if you don't have anything else."
Johnny smiled. "I'm proud of you, Portman. I thought you'd never say that."
"Believe me, neither did I," I said ruefully. "Maybe I'm going crazy."
"No you're not," Johnny broke in, rather forcefully. "You're just growing up, and you see that you're more than just a good lay."
"You're right," I said sarcastically, sprinkling the food with soya sauce and turning on the stove. "Next time I'll use my stunning intellect to impress women."
Johnny opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. "Is that really all that's bothering you?" When I said nothing, he continued. "How's the new school?" I snorted, and he grinned. "Okay, stupid question. How's hockey?"
"Bunch of rich, snobby pansies. They hate me."
"It's their own loss. They still let you take kids out, right?"
"It's about all they let me do." I shook my head, angry with myself. "I'm sorry Johnny, I don't mean to bitch so much. It's not that bad, they're a really good team, and besides, it's hockey. Hockey's always fun."
"How's the new apartment? You got your own room this time?"
"Uh-huh," I said, non-commitedly, turning my back to him to tend to the stir-fry.
"Dean, don't bullshit me. What is it? Is it your mom? Does she have a new boyfriend already?" His voice got very serious as he leaned forward in his seat.
"It's nothing like that," I said quickly. And before I knew what I was doing, I was telling him all about hairy naked guy, and Angel, and how I nearly met my end on the way over here. He just listened to me rant, not saying anything. When the stir-fry was finished, I handed him a plateful, and was surprised to see that he seemed close to tears.
"What is it?" I asked worriedly.
"It's nothing," he muttered, coughing and looking away. "I just... I wish things were better for you, Dean."
"What are you talking about?" I asked in astonishment. "Shit, Johnny, I'm fine; I guess I just wanted to get that off my chest." I didn't understand why he looked so upset.
Johnny grinned at me. "You're right. I don't know what I was thinking." Then he got that serious look again. "Portman, you know you can always come here if something like that happens again." I nodded, but he wasn't satisfied. "Promise me you'll come here if it happens again."
I looked at him curiously. "Okay... I promise. Are you sure you're alright?"
He mopped up the last of his stir-fry with a piece of focaccia bread, and popped it into his mouth. "You know it." His eyes lit up as he remembered something. "Come on, I've got a surprise for you."
He made me wait in the living room while he brought it out: the new Harry Potter book. Johnny had started me on them years ago, and I had already been trying to think of ways to come up with the money I'd need to buy it. "Wow, thanks Johnny!"
He smiled at me, his eyes twinkling. "No problem. I figured we could relax, have a little smoke, and I could read some of it to you. You know, like we used to do."
When I was 11 and Johnny was dating my mom, he gave me the first book, and told me to read it, that I'd love it. I'd never really read anything before, and I wasn't very good at it, so Johnny read it aloud to me every night. Like countless others before me, I became hopelessly addicted, and I read the next three books--all gifts from Johnny, of course--by myself.
As any smoker will tell you, marijuana has the ability to open up your imagination, and get you thinking in ways you never had before. Perhaps it was the way time slowed down; it stretched everything out and gave you more time to think. I lay back on my beanbag chair and Johnny sat down on the zebra-print love seat, the hardcover book in his lap. He read for what seemed like hours, passing a joint between him and myself, until the sky grew light in the east as the sun prepared to rise. So many images filled my mind; it was pretty amazing that a stupid little book could make me forget about everything like that. I fell asleep that night, dreaming not of my mother in a threesome, or Angel and her perfume, but of dragons and wizards, house-elves and Quidditch, Polyjuice potion and blast-ended skrewts.
*So, Bottles emerges from the dead! Welcome back Melissa, and I think I speak for everyone when I say: MORE CHADAM!
Schizzie's fabulous Fulton stories have been keeping from writing my own; anyone who hasn't read them already had better get cracking!*
Went too fast, way too soon, I feel disgusted and you should too. It's no good when all that's left is the sex... the sex. Sex has become all I know about you, Memories of those filthy things that we do. There is not one single thought that is left after sex with you. Should have left my pants on this time, But instead you had to let me dive right in. It's my ass, your perfume, that make temptation hard to refuse. So I guess we undressed to have sex... dirty sex. Should have left my pants on this time, But instead you had to let me dive right in. How could you respect yourself? You couldn't respect yourself, Cuz I didn't respect myself, I couldn't infect myself. I realise that I'm worth more than that.
--"No Sex" by Limp Bizkit
Portman's POV:
What do you do when you come home to find that you mother has brought not one, but two guys back from the bar where she works for a little after- hours entertainment? If you're me, you get wet, get laid, break up with your girlfriend, narrowly escape death at the hands of your one true love, get really stoned and go to sleep with a smile on your face.
After 17 years of living with my mother, I was used to her ways, but it was still with some surprise that I opened the door of our new apartment to behold a very stocky, very hairy, very naked man in the kitchen. There was an unopened bottle of beer on the counter, and the man, whose hair was a bright, flaming orange, was opening all the drawers and digging through them. Thankfully, there was a counter between us, and his back was to me, so he wasn't completely exposed.
As I stood there, trying to figure out how I could slink past him to my room without his noticing, he slammed a drawer with frustration and bawled, "Mare, where the FUCK do you keep the bottle opener?"
From down the hall came a flurry of giggles and a hushed, "Stop it!" before she responded, "If it's not in the drawer, it must still be in one of those boxes."
Naked guy spun around, presumably to look for the boxes, and saw me standing there like an idiot. You see, I'd just realised that naked guy couldn't be in the bedroom making my mom giggle and in the kitchen getting a beer at the same time. I imagine my jaw was hanging somewhere in the vicinity of my knees as I took in this surprising and thoroughly disgusting development.
"Jesus Fucking Christ! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
What was *I* doing? Step a little closer and say that, pal, I thought to myself. But I said nothing, just stared at him coolly, revelling in the surprise my presence evoked from the man, and the intimidation that joined it when he got a good look at me. There was a silence during which neither of us spoke, and then my mother called out, "Marty, what's taking so long? Dean, honey, did I hear you come in?"
I saw realisation slowly dawn in the man's eyes; looked like he'd managed to figure out who I was. A regular Einstein, this one. Boy, did my mom know how to pick them. Now just go away and leave me alone, I willed him silently, but of course it was to no effect. Hairy naked guy, it seemed, wanted to have another go at regaining control of the situation, now that he knew I was Mary's kid.
"I asked you a question punk: What the hell are you doing here?"
Great, not another power-tripping asshole. I could barely keep my lip from curling. "I live here, what's your excuse?"
His eyes took on a flat sheen and he puffed out his chest. "Your mother."
Ouch. Obviously, he thought he'd really put me in my place with that one. I just smiled sweetly at him, reached into my back pocket and pulled out my army knife. I flipped out the biggest blade, picked up the beer still sitting on the counter, popped the lid, and took a long, deep swig.
He looked as if he wanted to leap over the counter and throttle me, but I think his plans were impeded by: a) my size, and b) his nakedness. So he settled instead on glowering at me in what I'm sure he thought was a very threatening manner. I'd seen it all so many times before, I was bored with the whole thing. Except for the threesome part; I was still trying to digest that, and trying not to imagine who the third party was, when all my questions were laid to rest.
My mother appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, a sheet wrapped half around her. Beside her was a tall, gangly blonde guy wearing nothing but baby blue skivvies and a cowboy hat and boots. Oh well, at least cowboy guy was better than hairy naked guy.
"Dean, I thought I heard you come in. How's the new school?"
"Fine," I muttered, staring at the ground as I downed the rest of the beer. Did she really think I wanted to see all this, or did she just not care at all? I looked up at her, my mother, taking in the stains on the sheet she'd draped around her body, her bloodshot eyes and dishevelled hair (she'd *have* to be drunk to pull something like this), and the fact that cowboy guy had cheap red lipstick smeared all over his face and down his neck. There were so many things I should be feeling right now, but instead I felt nothing, like I'd been hollowed out.
My mom must have realised that they had walked in on something between hairy naked guy and myself, because she snuggled up to him from behind, and crooned something into his ear that I couldn't make out. He grinned wolfishly, and, shooting me a look that made it clear he thought he'd come out on top, disappeared into the bedroom.
"Why don't you join Marty, Randolph? I'll be there in a moment." Cowboy obliged, leaving me alone with my mother. She walked over and put her hand on my shoulder, and I had to fight the urge to recoil.
"I'm sorry Dean," she said lightly, as if she was apologising for forgetting to buy my favourite kind of ice cream, instead of hosting a mini- orgy with some hairy-ass Scottish dude and a cowboy named Randolph. "I didn't think you'd be coming home so early tonight, since it's Friday and all."
"It's Tuesday."
"Oh. Well, uh, here," she said, shuffling over to her purse and pulling out a ten and a five. "Why don't you go see if there's an arcade nearby?"
An arcade? Was she serious? "Fine," I muttered, grabbing the money and shoving it deep into the pocket of my jeans.
"Uh, Dean?" she called out tentatively as I opened the door.
I didn't turn around. "Don't worry, I'll find somewhere else to spend the night," I said, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into my voice. I slammed the door with (almost) as much force as I could muster, causing the whole frame to quiver and shake, before I headed back out into the night.
I ran for blocks, turning down alleys and side streets at random, needing more than anything to put some distance between myself and that place. I finally stopped, leaning back against a brick wall to catch my breath, ignoring the faint but unmistakable odour of alcohol mixed with vomit and stale urine that permeated the entire alley. Without the sound of my footsteps hitting the pavement, the silence seemed to close in around me, until all I could hear was my own heavy breathing, which grew steadily deafening, drowning out everything else.
I left the alley and strode up the street, passing a bundle of rags that rose and fell rhythmically and reeked of cheap booze. I checked the street signs: 9th and Pine. We'd been here less that a week, so I didn't really have a clue where I was, but that didn't bother me. I figured I'd wander around for awhile, get the lay of the place. What else was I going to do?
After walking for a dozen or so more blocks, I found myself in deep in the Latin quarter of town. I knew this area pretty well, though I rarely walked through it at night; this was considered unwise, if you were alone and looked like you didn't belong.
I was walking along, wondering if anyone would be dumb enough to pick a fight with me, when I heard the sound of a car approaching slowly from behind. I stopped, my hand going automatically for my back pocket as I scanned the area, looking for possible escape routes.
A big maroon car pulled up beside me--it was too dark to make out the model- -and two guys got out. I stood my ground, sizing them up as they approached me. I couldn't make out their features--most of the street lamps had been busted out--but I felt confident I could take them both, provided neither had a gun, of course.
"What you think you doing here, gringo?" one of them asked silkily. Before I could respond, the other guy stepped forward.
"Portman, that you?"
I sighed, surprised to find myself not relieved to have avoided a fight, but rather disappointed. It would have felt good to smash their faces in. "Hey, Marco."
The other guy had stopped advancing, and was looking quizzically at his friend. "It's cool. This is Portman, he's Angel's man." He turned to me. "What you doing way the hell over here, Port?"
"Moved in last week. I live over on Hyacinth," I gestured vaguely over my shoulder. "What are you guys up to?"
"Nothing legal, man. Carlos spotted you walking, we figured we might jump you. Glad we didn't, though," he said, clapping me on the back and turning to his friend. "You know this is the guy who kicked the shit out of Benny Gomez last year?"
"No shit!" he cried, looking up at me with new-found respect. "That how you hook up with Angel?" I nodded. "Man, I've heard about you. Marco's right, I'm glad we didn't try to jump your ass."
"Me too," I lied.
"You wanna see Angel? She's at this party right now, we were just heading over ourselves."
"Sure," I hopped into the backseat beside Carlos and we took off. He reached between his legs and passed me a bottle in a brown paper bag. I took a deep pull, feeling my eyes fill with water and my throat start to burn. Fire whiskey. Good name, I thought, relishing the warmth that travelled down my gullet as I swallowed more and more of the fiery liquid before passing it back to Carlos, my mouth filled with the taste of cinnamon hearts that the whiskey left in its wake.
"Hey Marco, your friend here can really knock them back."
Marco turned around in the driver's seat and grinned at me. "That's nothing. You oughta see him when he really gets going, he's a machine, this kid."
A machine. I liked that. I stared out the window, imagining how much simpler everything would be if I didn't have to feel stuff all the time.
***
"Hang here a sec, Port, I'll go see if Angel's around." I nodded, taking the beer Marco offered me, and glancing around. A few of the guys here, like Marco, I knew pretty well, others I knew by name or sight or reputation, many I didn't know at all. I noticed some of the girls were trying to catch my eye, but I ignored them. Carlos was taking me around, introducing me to people I already knew, like I was a trophy he'd picked up.
I didn't mind; it was noisy and anonymous and people kept giving me alcohol. I was only halfway listening to Carlos' fractured, rather inaccurate account of my assault of Benny Gomez, when I heard a voice behind me. "Hey there, stranger."
Angel was wearing a little slip of a dress that clung to her body in all the right places, showing off the contours of her hips and ass, which anyone here would tell you gave Jennifer Lopez a run for her money. Her hair was a dark, dark brown, so dark it was almost black, and it hung, thick and wavy, to her waist. Deep set eyes stared out at me seductively; framed with makeup, they seemed impossibly large and smouldering. Red lips, slightly parted, tugged at my libido; arms reached out to hold me, pulling me in close.
"Hi Angel," I said, my voice slightly muffled by her mane of hair.
"Let's go upstairs," she whispered in my ear.
I obeyed, ignoring the whistles as we crossed the room and ascended the stairs. Angel pulled me into the nearest bedroom and shut the door, leaning back against it and looking at me hungrily. I took a sip of my beer and tried to look away, but my eyes were dragged back to meet hers, as if by magnetism.
When this girl wanted something, she moved in hard and fast, and I don't think she'd ever been denied. Eight months ago, after seeing what I did to that Gomez fuck, she decided that she wanted me. If we were going out, it was hardly in the traditional sense of the word. She was four years older than me to begin with, and it wasn't as if we went out on dates. We partied and we had sex, and that was about it. This was no mean feat, however, considering Angel's insatiable appetite for both. Her real name was Juanita, but everybody called her Angel because of her love affair with-- you guessed it--angel dust. She was really a nice girl, but she was hungry and wild, and more than a little bit dangerous. I could smell the desire on her, could see it in the way she looked at me, but I wasn't in the mood for it tonight; I couldn't stop thinking about my mother and those guys.
Angel moved in close to me, grabbing my ass tight with both her hands, and I could smell her perfume. Like her, it hit hard and fast, assaulting the senses, and I could feel my knees start to weaken, along with my resolve.
"You seem sad, my little gringo, what have you been up to tonight?" She spoke softly, the words floating from her mouth in breathless little puffs of air, whispers of Egyptian queens long dead. "Would you like a little treat, a little taste of heaven?"
I backed up half a step, trying to clear my head. "I don't think so, Angel, not tonight. My mom, she..." My voice trailed off as she put a finger to my lips.
"Sshhhh, I have something that will make it all go away. Just sit back and let Angel take care of you." She pushed me back onto the bed, gently, so gently, but I could feel the strength, like coiled springs, just beneath her caramel skin. This girl, I truly felt, had the power to tear the world apart. She opened a drawer on the nightstand beside the bed, and pulled out something that looked like a joint.
I still wasn't ready to give in, but then her dress dropped to the floor like a wisp and she stepped out of it neatly, turning to face me, completely naked. "Why fight it? You know you want to." I could see that she was honestly confused with my obvious inner turmoil.
When Angel and I got together, we soon discovered that we had a talent. I'd been with plenty of girls before, and lord knew Angel got around, but neither of us had ever experienced anything like the sex we had when we were together. It was earth-shattering, mind-blowing, scream-till-you-cried sex, and when you threw PCP into the mix... let's just say the results were... enjoyable.
And yet, it was all we had. We didn't have a thing in common; I don't think we ever had a full conversation when we weren't completely wasted. All this, however, was nothing new, and it had never bothered me before...
I watched Angel light up and take a hit; the room was so dark that it glowed outside, and the burning cherry cast a thin yellow glow across her dark, strong features. She passed it to me with puckered-up lips and hungry, expectant eyes; I didn't protest this time.
We made love for several hours, orgasms equally interspersed with hallucinations brought on by the drugs. As always, I was the one who eventually had to call it quits; Angel could go for days without tiring. She often said that what made me special was not just the quality of the sex, but that I could go for longer than anyone she'd ever had before. We lay on the bed, and I watched the snakes slither and crawl over each other, covering the entire ceiling. Rattlers, pythons, vipers, and many others I could not name. Flicking tongues and soulless eyes filled my world, and it was all I could do to keep from trembling.
I felt dirty, used, and for the first time, unfulfilled, even though I had spent the last few hours in a state of perpetual ecstasy. I glanced over beside me; Angel was asleep, her breathing light and regular. She wouldn't miss me. She didn't love me, just like I didn't love her. We were drawn together by our bodies, by our lust for each other, but I was beginning to think that maybe that wasn't enough for me anymore. I didn't want to wind up like my mother, but I knew that if I kept this up, I would. It just felt too good to resist.
I climbed out of bed and got dressed in silence. I took a pad of paper and a pen from the nightstand a scrawled a quick note, which I set on my pillow and, giving Angel one last, longing look, slipped quietly out the door.
Angel, You're a hell of a girl, but I'm sorry, I just can't do this anymore. Be good.
Dean Portman
***
Finding myself alone once more, and on my way down from a hell of a trip, I left the Latin quarter and headed in the general direction of home. So what now, Portman, I thought to myself, kicking a rock as I walked along and feeling rather sorry for myself. Suddenly, the window of a car parked right in front of me exploded, and I hit the ground automatically, my heart pounding in my ears. After an eternity of listening for any sound, I chanced a glance around me. There was nobody in sight, and I hadn't heard a car; it must not have been gunfire, after all.
I got to my feet, feeling rather sheepish. The car, a rusty old yellow Rabbit, had had both its driver and passenger side windows annihilated by an object of some sort, though certainly not a bullet... a rock, perhaps? This reminded me that, bullet or not, someone had just tried to kill me, and I glanced down the alley I had been passing when it happened. I thought I saw a rather enormous figure standing in the dark, just beyond where the light of the street lamps could reach. I took a few steps into the alley, and heard a muffled crash before whoever it was took off in the opposite direction.
I stood there a moment, wondering who the hell that had been, and what I had done to them to provoke an assassination attempt. I still didn't know where I was going to sleep tonight; I had plenty of friends on this side of town, but to be honest, I didn't really like any of them. Then I remembered; Johnny lived on this side of town, his greenhouse was only a dozen or so blocks form here. I started to walk a little faster, happy that I'd found somewhere to go, and eager at the prospect of seeing Johnny again.
When I reached the greenhouse, however, I paused. It was almost four in the morning; surely Johnny would be asleep. He always told me to come over whenever, and to let myself in if he didn't answer, so I just went inside, making as little noise as I could, flopping down onto a beanbag chair in the living room. The moment I did, however, my stomach let out an angry growl, and I realised how long it had been since I'd eaten anything. I dragged myself to my feet, and nearly had a heart attack when I saw Johnny leaning against the entrance to the hall that led to the rest of his flat.
"Thought I heard you come in," he yawned, rubbing his eyes sleepily and smiling up at me with that cheerful, infectious grin of his. "What's up, kid?"
"Nothing. Sorry I woke you up."
He waved his hand impatiently. "I wasn't asleep. You hungry?" I nodded. "There's focaccia bread and cheesecake, but not much else. You want me to whip something up?"
"I'll do it." I started pulling vegetables from the fridge as Johnny sat down on a stool at the counter. I cut up the peppers rather zealously, my knife banging loudly when it made contact with the cutting board. Johnny waited until I had finished chopping before speaking.
"So, you gonna tell me what's wrong Dean, or do I have to guess?"
I tossed the peppers into a wok, adding mushrooms, snow peas and water chestnuts. "I broke up with Angel."
Johnny's eyes widened slightly. "Really?"
I sighed, and reached for the packet of Chinese noodles he held out. "Yeah, I don't really know why even, I mean, we didn't fight. We never fight. I was just thinking about everything and... even really good sex becomes just sex after awhile, if you don't have anything else."
Johnny smiled. "I'm proud of you, Portman. I thought you'd never say that."
"Believe me, neither did I," I said ruefully. "Maybe I'm going crazy."
"No you're not," Johnny broke in, rather forcefully. "You're just growing up, and you see that you're more than just a good lay."
"You're right," I said sarcastically, sprinkling the food with soya sauce and turning on the stove. "Next time I'll use my stunning intellect to impress women."
Johnny opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. "Is that really all that's bothering you?" When I said nothing, he continued. "How's the new school?" I snorted, and he grinned. "Okay, stupid question. How's hockey?"
"Bunch of rich, snobby pansies. They hate me."
"It's their own loss. They still let you take kids out, right?"
"It's about all they let me do." I shook my head, angry with myself. "I'm sorry Johnny, I don't mean to bitch so much. It's not that bad, they're a really good team, and besides, it's hockey. Hockey's always fun."
"How's the new apartment? You got your own room this time?"
"Uh-huh," I said, non-commitedly, turning my back to him to tend to the stir-fry.
"Dean, don't bullshit me. What is it? Is it your mom? Does she have a new boyfriend already?" His voice got very serious as he leaned forward in his seat.
"It's nothing like that," I said quickly. And before I knew what I was doing, I was telling him all about hairy naked guy, and Angel, and how I nearly met my end on the way over here. He just listened to me rant, not saying anything. When the stir-fry was finished, I handed him a plateful, and was surprised to see that he seemed close to tears.
"What is it?" I asked worriedly.
"It's nothing," he muttered, coughing and looking away. "I just... I wish things were better for you, Dean."
"What are you talking about?" I asked in astonishment. "Shit, Johnny, I'm fine; I guess I just wanted to get that off my chest." I didn't understand why he looked so upset.
Johnny grinned at me. "You're right. I don't know what I was thinking." Then he got that serious look again. "Portman, you know you can always come here if something like that happens again." I nodded, but he wasn't satisfied. "Promise me you'll come here if it happens again."
I looked at him curiously. "Okay... I promise. Are you sure you're alright?"
He mopped up the last of his stir-fry with a piece of focaccia bread, and popped it into his mouth. "You know it." His eyes lit up as he remembered something. "Come on, I've got a surprise for you."
He made me wait in the living room while he brought it out: the new Harry Potter book. Johnny had started me on them years ago, and I had already been trying to think of ways to come up with the money I'd need to buy it. "Wow, thanks Johnny!"
He smiled at me, his eyes twinkling. "No problem. I figured we could relax, have a little smoke, and I could read some of it to you. You know, like we used to do."
When I was 11 and Johnny was dating my mom, he gave me the first book, and told me to read it, that I'd love it. I'd never really read anything before, and I wasn't very good at it, so Johnny read it aloud to me every night. Like countless others before me, I became hopelessly addicted, and I read the next three books--all gifts from Johnny, of course--by myself.
As any smoker will tell you, marijuana has the ability to open up your imagination, and get you thinking in ways you never had before. Perhaps it was the way time slowed down; it stretched everything out and gave you more time to think. I lay back on my beanbag chair and Johnny sat down on the zebra-print love seat, the hardcover book in his lap. He read for what seemed like hours, passing a joint between him and myself, until the sky grew light in the east as the sun prepared to rise. So many images filled my mind; it was pretty amazing that a stupid little book could make me forget about everything like that. I fell asleep that night, dreaming not of my mother in a threesome, or Angel and her perfume, but of dragons and wizards, house-elves and Quidditch, Polyjuice potion and blast-ended skrewts.
*So, Bottles emerges from the dead! Welcome back Melissa, and I think I speak for everyone when I say: MORE CHADAM!
Schizzie's fabulous Fulton stories have been keeping from writing my own; anyone who hasn't read them already had better get cracking!*