Whew! *Wipes sweat from forehead* finally I have the next chapter ready
for you guys! I am sorry about the long wait, but I had a lot of stuff to
do for the past two weeks.
MissLKid: RP with you is very fun. I am not as busy this week, so we will probably get to do it more often now. Hope you like my new chapter.
Jkb: Wow! I got your e-mail, and thank you so much for that! I am so glad that you are keeping up with my story, and that you review it everytime. And you call me a writer in the real sense of the word? That is so friggin (using your word...haha) flattering! And no, you are not a lowly apprentice. Like I said before, you're such a sweetheart! I really hope you like this chapter as well!!!
VSGG: No problem not reviewing the story before, I am just happy to know that you are keeping up with it! Hopefully you will read the continuing chapters. About the Johnny and Summer interaction: I do have an idea of where this story is headed, although I don't any specifics in mind yet, but I can't say for sure that there will be a lot of Summer and Johnny interaction. There will definitely be some, but not a lot. But you never know, there may be more than I expect right now. I just don't want you to keep up with the story and disappoint you, just keep in mind the fact that it's not definite. Oh! And I'm so glad to hear you say that Summer is definitely not a Mary Sue, because for a while there I was like "Im not writing a mary sue, am i?" LOL.
Legofodopip: Thanks soooo much for adding me to your faves list, thats so wonderful! And...you don't have to worry about reviewing the other chapters (unless you want to of course). I just really hope you keep up with it and review the future chapters. And...the thing about the vocabulary words, thats really damn funny! My story has become a homework assignment...no Im j/k;)
Gryphon Girl: You are so nice, and so mature for your age. The god of writing? LOL I don't think so, but thanks for the compliment! I'm really glad you like my character Summer! It's weird because, in a sense, she's me (of course many things are different, but ultimately all of her feelings are mine). I really hope this chapter lives up to the last one, I hope you like it!
ObSeSsIvE-cOmPuLsIvE-666: Oh man! That was quite a review! Thank you thank you *gets on floor to grovel at your feet* It's great that you like my imagery and also the humanization of my characters. Hopefully the muses were with me when I wrote this new chapter;)
And I didn't too long with the update I hope!! You don't have to wait any longer...
Okay, I just want to remind you guys this is an R story..so...if you get offended easily, dont read (although i dnot think you would have made it this far in the first place lol).
Can you guys go ahead and tell how you like the last part (the third part of this chapter)? I wrote the last part a long time ago (about 5 weeks ago) but kept on pushing it back because I kept on adding new stuff in front of it. It then got kind of outdated (yeah a whole five weeks lol) in accordance with what happened before it so...I had to redo a lot of it. Anyway, tell me what you think. It isn't to corny or overdramatic is it? Oh well, if it is I still think its interesting to read.
Johnny stepped into the house, slamming the door behind him. His mother was settled lifelessly on the couch, staring ahead at the television. She didn't bother to turn and acknowledge her son's arrival. The man of the house, who was slovenly gulping down yet another beer, turned his head after he heard the loud noise. Johnny didn't usually slam the door.
"What're you doin, boy?" he slurred. Johnny, instead of heading straight to his bedroom as usual, stopped abruptly near the sofa. The sight of his parents agitated him; it was something he just usually tried to ignore. So why was he standing here now, in front of this goddamned pathetic sight, when he knew there was no reason to? Johnny hadn't been himself today. Something was confusing him, making him think differently. What it was he didn't know.
His father took a deep gulp of beer, awaiting an answer. Johnny was always obedient and never confrontational, so his father expected nothing different this time. The teen sighed harshly, his mouth opening as a sarcastic response almost spilled out of him. He quickly shut his mouth as he examined the man's large frame, which stood inches above his own.
Johnny, deciding any conflict was not worth the consequences, took a step forward in order to make his way towards his room. Before he could get any farther, his father moved in front of him, blocking his escape route. Johnny kept his head up, refusing to hide his ugliness. The man examined his son's face in drunken awe, as if he had never really looked at his son before. Confusion marked his intoxicated features as the beer bottle sat limply in his hand, his eyebrows wrinkling then letting loose. The thin lips of his father started to move, pouchy cheeks bouncing while he spoke.
"Who did that to you, boy?" he asked, ejecting yet another question. It seemed extremely uncharacteristic of the man, considering he wasn't one for conversations. Johnny paused for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what his father had just asked. Did his father really just say what he thought he had? The boy's teeth clenched shut, his eyes widening as he stared straight into his father's face. It wasn't a joke. The man was serious.
"What d-did you j-just say?" Johnny stammered in a quiet voice.
"You heard me, you stupid boy!" he snapped back. "I said: who did that to you?"
Johnny's figure went rigid in disbelief. The pace of his breathing sped up, hurt and bitterness filling up his insides. Did his father really just say that? No, he didn't! He did not just say that! He didn't, he didn't, he didn't. Johnny started to grind his teeth in an attempt to keep his mouth closed. He wanted to let it out, had to let it out!
Don't speak back. It'll get you in even more trouble. You know what will happen if you get in trouble.
The big man grabbed his son's arm and pulled him close, Johnny's heart starting to pound as his father's harsh breath entered his nostrils. While staring into his father's warped eyes his lip started to tremble, suppressed emotions boiling to the surface.
"You wanna know who did this to me?" Johnny questioned in a quivery voice, his legs and arms shaking. "You wanna know?" There was a long pause. Johnny started up again, unable hold it back anymore. "Well, it was you who did it to me! You! And you don't even remember! How could you do something like this and not even remember? Oh yeah, I forgot, because you were drunk!" His father stood dumbfounded, his eyes clouding over in rage. Johnny had never spoken up against anyone before, let alone against his father.
Johnny's emotions shifted from anger back to a complete bleakness. He was sure of it: there was no point in this life. There was no reason for living. The two people who were supposed to care the most for him were eating at his insides. He hopelessly laughed. Yeah, well, he wasn't going to die at the hands of his mother or father. If anyone was going to take his life, he would do it a million times before anyone else would have the power of doing it. His parents weren't going to control his life, or death, anymore.
The old man shoved him onto the couch, his mother was seemingly oblivious as to what was going on, except for the fact that she moved nonchalantly out of the way.
"Don't you ever dis'spect me, boy!" his father shouted, his heavy fist coming in contact with Johnny's face. "Don't you ever yell at me again!" Johnny turned his head to see his father pulling a two-by-four from beneath the sofa.
Johnny's face began to throb as a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. It mixed with a drop of blood that drizzled from the fresh cut in his cheek. Now this was going too far, his father was stepping way over the line. Johnny never fought back. He never ran. He just took it. Always took it, never fought back.
Fight back! Kill that bastard!
No! You're better than that!
If you were better than him you wouldn't let him beat you like he does...
Johnny's eyes rolled back, memories pervading his thoughts. In his house, his old man always beat him, but the worst part was that his mother just sat and did nothing. What would it be like to have a loving mother, someone who notices you when you walk in the house? Someone who actually worries when you're hurt, a mother with the look in her eye of that emotion he never saw coming from his own parents. He would always see kids dropped off at school by their parents when he was in grade school. They would pat the kids' heads, watch them as they walked into the front double doors. Johnny used to be hopeful something like that would happen to him, but look! Johnny-boy has waken up now and faced the real world. This is his life and it was never going to get better. Just suck it up and live with it. He would never feel that emotion, he would never have someone openly come and hug him when he got home from school.
Johnny was so accustomed to the physical and verbal abuse it was almost as if he needed it to survive. Without it, who would he be? Just nobody. At least his old man acknowledges the fact that his son exists when he swings the stick. His mother: she usually ignored him. He preferred her to spit in his face, to insult him with harsh words. At least it would show that in her eyes he still existed, every once in a while.
He never even got tough love. The love was just completely absent, as absent as his chewed out insides. All those rich kids, they didn't know just how fortunate they were. Johnny thought back to the girl from the diner. He couldn't understand how someone like her could be so bitter when she looked so perfect, everything seemed to be going fine with her. She had no caked blood on her forehead, no dark bruises outlining her face. Didn't she have a loving mother who set peas and mashed potatoes on the table when Dad comes home from a hard day at work, a big smile lighting up her face, her yellow checkered apron so lovingly worn? Her mother enjoyed wearing the checkered apron, of course. She understood it was her duty to clean the house and set the table because her husband was a real hard worker and he brought in the money so that they could have their cute little house and their shiny silver car. Maybe they went to Disney World every summer when she was young, laughing, skipping along through the park hand in hand, the mother buying bright pink cotton candy so the daughter could savor the sweetness melting onto her tongue.
Her father wasn't a insecure man who's real self was buried somewhere beneath his skin, never to emerge again. He wasn't a man who couldn't deal with life and instead took out all the tragic things that had happened to him out on his little kid. Her mother wasn't a battered little girl herself who swore that she would never marry someone like her father, but grew up and ended up repeating the cycle she was so certain she would avoid. That girl's mom didn't grow up an immigrant in poverty, dirt poor without enough money to buy sandals for her feet. Her mother was an All-American woman who had been raised with the All-American value system, a young girl wearing white flowy dresses and ribbons in her hair on the way to church.
Johnny kept still as pain shot through his back.
See, Johnny-boy, this is what happens when you speak up! This is what's gonna happen if you fight back!
He tried to keep his mind focused as he bit his lip. Focus on the lip, focus on the lip. Don't think about...
When another blow came he bit his lip so hard that it started to bleed. There was no way out, no way out except for an escape by his own bare hands, inflicted on his own body...
No. He had thought about it numerous times, but something held him back. Maybe it was something deep down inside of him, something he thought didn't actually exist.
Johnny looked into the huge, grimy mirror that hung on the living room wall, the old man's evil face hovering above his own. His beer gut was hanging out of his tight, discolored shirt. Huge stretch-marks were visible on the underside of his belly, where his skin had been pulled and expanded by swollen jelly fighting its way for some space, some air from the cramped womb in which it dwelled. The man's skin showed the progression of a diseased, stiffening liver; his yellowy, repugnant eyes seething with anger.
But it wasn't just anger. There was a crazed look in his eyes too. His father was getting a release from it, it made him feel powerful. His jaundiced, balding head was turning red from the physical exertion of throwing a few punches, swinging the stick a few times. He had an oversized stomach that was jiggling in the process. It was just a little stick, right? Just a two-by-four, it was harmless! What hurt can a little whack do now and then? His teeth were discolored and had brown tobacco build up lining the upper row, his fingernails brittle.
Every once in a while after Johnny would come home, his father would crack a can of cheap beer open, a weak fingernail ripping off in the process. "Damn these cans! I'm never openin' one again," he'd slur, a few minutes later popping open another one with his bloody, clawless appendage. The old man would pee himself to sleep every night, waking up a few hours later from the stench the urine created. "Damn it Flora! You wetted the bed again!" he would shout with his traces of his trashy accent apparent through the garbled words. Following seconds after that he'd practically pass out again, snores ringing throughout the shambled house.
Johnny's dark eyes caught sight of an empty beer, its neck sticking halfway out from under the brown cushion. Damn bastard! Too lazy to throw it away, huh? Johnny's fingers started to burn and his mouth turned dry as he licked his chapped lips.
Come on! Don't be such a wuss...
You? Doing that? Ha! What a laugh. You're not supposed to fight back. That's just not you, buddy boy. You're not the strong type.
His heart started to pound just few paces quicker as he observed his own face in comparison with his father's. The reflection through the mirror showed that they had exactly the same jaw structure, the same nose, the same amount of space between their eyes. No, no, it's not anything more than a physical resemblance. Please God, don't let it be anything more...
For once he felt like throwing up.
It was an imprint of a hand. Summer observed her thigh in the image the mirror reciprocated back to her. His touch had left a permanent mark. No, wait, that's not possible. A light, simple touch does not leave an imprint. You're so ridiculous! But there it was, under the blinding white light that was visible from the bathroom bulb. She didn't even remember how she got there. It was almost as if the past few minutes leading from the wreck had been erased from her memory. Summer tried to take hold of the confusion, but the confusion was elusive and impossible to capture. Maybe the look of the streets, the feel of the area, had made her mind go into overload. It left her regaining her comprehension shortly after, when the artificial light shining from the ceiling had opened her eyes. She had found herself contained in a cheap, tiny bathroom with him.
Summer tore her eyes from the mirror, and peered down at her leg. It was bent at the knee while the other leg was straight. It was a position she always stood in when she wasn't so comfortable, when she wasn't feeling quite right. The mark had disappeared from her thigh. But it had been visible in the mirror just a few seconds before. Had it really been a flaw, an illusion, created by the surface of the mirror?
Her thought instantly drifted away when he stepped directly in front of her, blocking Summer's chance to see if the mark was still visible through the reflection. The coolness of a cloth touched her sticky skin, running across her forehead, cleansing the cut that had bled its way onto her skin. She grimaced slightly at the burning sensation the alcohol inflicted, her knee going straight as she stood erect.
"Hold still sweetie, I'm just trying to make it better." Her teeth clenched and her body went rigid, an involuntary response to his orders. She was so good at following orders! She was a good little girl. He stared straight into her eyes. Note to self: eyes are blue. Very pale.
Very pale. Isn't that supposed to tell you something, dear? I thought you were a good little girl...
Pale. Nobody I know has pale eyes. I'm tired of seeing sparkling eyes. Note to self: I'm tired of it.
Expanded horizontally across the full length of the wall was the mirror. It wasn't exactly huge, yet it gave off that impression because the bathroom was so small, so compact. The sink prodded out unnaturally from the wall, lacking a counter to put toiletries on because there wasn't enough space. There was no point in having anything elaborate in a bathroom like this anyhow. The toilet sat feebly to her right, inches away from where she stood. Summer's eyebrows wrinkled in curiosity.
"Where exactly are we?" she questioned. He ran his finger along her sweated eyebrow.
"Don't you remember?" he questioned like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We had planned to go here from the parking lot. You told me the directions. It was your choice, not mine. Why would I choose a crappy place like this anyway? I did it all for you." He emphasized his last phrase, "Because I love you." Summer felt a wave of warmth flood her, a tiny smile creeping up onto her lips.
You know that's not what happened! Why are going along with it?
Shut up! I believe him. Maybe I did somehow imply that I wanted to come here. Maybe I asked for it. Maybe...
Sure, never mind the fact that what he just said was total bullshit!
My mom always told me it's the thought that counts.
I want to believe him.
Her skirt was still moist from the throw-up. Don't remind me of that, throw-up is so gross. Although...it wasn't exactly the normal throw-up that contained bits and chunks of food. Just some recycled cola. Ew. Still gross though. The stale air in the bathroom gave off a certain suffocation that pressed down on whatever lay beneath it. There was no ventilation, and with the door closed, the air repeatedly circulated in the small space. It gathered up whatever crossed its path, unable to expel it.
"Hey!" he waved his hand in front of her face, trying to get her attention. "You ain't focusin'. I need you to think straight for me, baby." Summer couldn't help her mind from wandering. Too many things were happening, coming from different directions. She was so used to the same wavelength, all these different levels were confusing her. Her mind was shifting from one level to the other and it was unable to keep still.
Fingers ran their way through long silky hair. Note to self: fingers are crooked. Hair is straight. Something's not clicking here.
"Don't worry. It's going to be okay. You're such a sweetheart, just like in those songs they play on the radio all the time. You're my little honey child." Summer blushed, thinking back to the songs she had listened to over the weekend when she had sat in her room, combing her shiny hair in front of the mirror. His face peered straight down into hers, and this time under the bright glow she could see the tiny cracks in his skin, the dullness of his hair.
Something's not clicking here.
Summer could feel the blood circulating heavily through her system while the pump echoed in her ears. As she leaned her head back against the dismal wall, her face started to throb more aggressively, the heat leaking from the exterior of her skin to her insides. It burned into her face and formed warped red splotches on her chest.
"What about my skirt?" she questioned, pointing to the moist area, surprised at the hoarseness of her own voice. He smiled. It was crooked.
"Sweetie, it's going to be okay," he stated while chuckling.
"Really?" she questioned, this time not so sure what she should believe, but now there was no turning back from where she was headed.
"You're not going to be needing it anyway."
Summer's eyes widened at his words. Her lungs took in slow breaths as the light from the ceiling seemed to blur her vision, a sick feeling starting to rise from the pit of her stomach. Just say that one little word! Come on! You know, the four letter word. No, not that one! The one that starts with an "s" and ends with a "p". She tried to get her lips moving, but couldn't. Summer had never resisted anything before, how would she know now how to? It was just easier...easier to take it. Her mom's words resided in her ears: Resistance is futile, now be a good little girl! Her mother probably didn't even understand what that really meant.
He forced the material down her legs, the throbbing in her lower stomach exposed. Summer's ears started to ring uncontrollably.
No! Wait! I didn't want this! I didn't want this!
Don't resist! You can't live like you've been living. This is your escape. You would rather die than be innocent for the rest of your life!
His cold lips brushed across her inflamed cheek, the mirror coming into view again. The image reflected back to her was not of her own wide eyes, her own pink lipstick, but that of her friend.
Emily's lips moved, and Summer could hear her tiny voice above the ringing in her ears: Why are you doing this? I'm not talking to you anymore. You're indecent.
Summer could feel hot liquid forcing itself again from her stomach. She fought to keep it inside. Her parents appeared in the image, squeezed into the rectangular object next to Emily. All three people stared at her, their eyes penetrating into her half naked figure through the mirror. Don't take my clothes off, I can't bear to be naked in front of all these people! My skin is exposed, cover up the blotches, please!
Her mother's voice pierced through the ringing in her ears, overpowering Emily's babbles: What is everybody going to think of you, huh? Why are you doing this to me Sunny? Why? Nobody is going to like us anymore, everybody's going to be talking about us and it's all your fault!
Now, now, Mary, don't worry about it. We don't really need her anyway. We'll just lock her in the cellar, then we won't have to deal with her anymore. Those darn authority figures won't even find out! Summer's mouth went dry as her father disintegrated from the mirror with his pointer finger held to his temple in deep thought: Now, what is a good campaign motto for the election that's coming up?
Cold hands brushed against her heated stomach, his thumbs pulling on the elastic of her cotton panties. Summer moved her head to the side, his lips catching hers and pressing down on her. She was breathing through her nose, the breaths becoming quicker and quicker. He pressed into her until the back of her head was in contact with the wall, his kisses suffocating her, just as she had been suffocated her whole life.
Stop! I feel sick, this isn't me! She wanted to stop it, but at the same time she didn't. Her mom's influence continued to pervade her thoughts.
Don't lose yourself. It's unstoppable after this!
But she was already halfway down the path, and she would never be able to retrace her steps now. It was so different, so against what her parents wanted. Good! Fuck them! Summer blinked in surprise at the hostility now flooding her thoughts. She had never realized that she felt this way, not until now.
Summer's panties were completely off now as his hands started roaming her body. His lips had formed into a smirk, oddly similar to the smirk she had made a few weeks earlier while trotting down the street.
"I know you're likin' it. Mmm you're diggin' it, ain't ya?" Summer closed her eyes, his words making her mouth go dry as her bottom lip trembled. Who did he think she was? Some tramp or something? Wait! That's not me! I'm not like that! Is that what I look like to you? Some whore? But she didn't speak up, didn't respond to his statement.
She wasn't going to resist. That he knew for sure.
Her eyes peeled open once again, at the same time it had happened the two nights before.
No, not again. Please God. Come on, I know you're up there somewhere...
...Okay, maybe not, you bastard!
Damn that hypocritical bastard. He never answered her prayers. What a liar.
After shifting to get up from the bed, Summer realized that she had fallen asleep in an uncomfortable position. You're so stupid! Why didn't you think about that before you went to sleep? But then again, she hadn't even been able to see straight before she had practically passed out. Why would anyone even think about getting under the thick blankets or moving to a more suitable arrangement if their eyes were practically crossed?
Summer stood up, the room blurring for a few seconds. Luckily this time it went back into focus. It was almost as if there were a biological clock ticking inside of her, grabbing her from her lifeless sleep and shoving her into a waken state of hunger and wantonness every time. Stepping away from the bed rigidly, she grabbed the cigarettes sitting atop the small furniture next to her and lit a cigarette. After blowing a few puffs, a trail of smoke crawled through the bedroom door. Oh shit, I forgot I can't smoke in this house. Slender fingers hesitantly put the smoke out, Summer's body craving the nicotine that she was now depriving herself of.
Her figure slipped through the front door, and she sighed in annoyance. Why was she never able to escape the constrictive humidity?
Summer felt something itchy on her right thigh, and raised her skirt just high enough so that her fingers could scratch it. She looked down to see what it was, but as always, no evidence presented itself. No bite, no nothing. Yet it always itched in the same spot, every night.
Her ears started to ring ever so slightly, making her forget. Summer knew she had to go to a place where she could satisfy the feelings. She needed to go, even though she hated doing it.
London calling to the faraway towns
Now that war is declared and battle come down
London calling to the underworld
Come out of the cupboard all you boys and girls
As she trotted along in a disabled state of mind, a dark creature peered out from the alleyway, noticing the delicate female striding under the street light. Summer stood out a little more so than she needed to. He seemingly floated just a few steps behind, the girl totally oblivious to the danger that trailed her. As she stepped pass a deserted back street, the filthy animal grabbed her arm, and dragged her into the dead end.
London calling now don't look at us
All that phony Beatlemania has bitten the dust
London calling see we ain't got no swing
'Cept for the ring of that truncheon thing
The narrow alley had a dim red light shaking on and off at a rapid pace. A nasty substance had leaked from the trash bin and formed a puddle smack dab in the middle of the small alley. It was the remnants of leftover alcohol bottles that had been thrown into the bin, mostly beer and vodka seeping through the trash and forming an even more putrid solution.
As Summer was pushed into the wall, his face coming into view under the light flickering down.
It was the towhead from the diner.
Summer almost laughed out loud at herself. What was this? A horror movie or something? Was he going to turn into a werewolf? Sure, and she was going to scream like the dickens while his faced turned all hairy, his back hunching over like an old lady while he howled into the night. Too much hair is gross anyway.
Still, he intimidated her although she refused to admit that to herself.
"You...what the hell are you doing?" she questioned in a seemingly clear, stable voice. If she acted tough, cold, harsh, maybe she could convince herself she wasn't really scared.
"No," he countered, "I want to know what the hell you are doing here, walking my streets. Insulting my fucking friend. I told you I was gonna get you..."
"And here you are," she continued sarcastically. Summer just couldn't comprehend the loyalty this guy had for his gang. Why would anyone go to these lengths just because she said a few things to his friend in the diner? A slight sense of jealousy ran through her. Summer couldn't remember the last time someone had defended her like that.
"You bitch," he said calmly, still holding her against the wall with a tight grip. "Nobody, and I mean nobody, talks to my friend like that." Adrenaline was pumping throughout her body as she looked straight into his eyes. They were pale blue with a mix of crimson, reflecting the shaky red light that dangled above them. Don't look at his face. Don't remember. Play the role…just pretend.
The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in
Meltdown expected and the wheat is growing thin
Engines stop running but I have no fear
London is drowning and I live by the river
"Who cares about your friend anyway?" Summer asserted, the moisture from the air accumulating on her eyelashes. "You're all a bunch of filthy hoods." Spit flew onto his face, the froth sliding over his lips, then dripping off his chin onto his shirt. He tore her from the wall, stepped back, and this time slammed her up against the rusty colored bricks. Her vision blurred for a few seconds as his elfish face coming into view once again. Summer took in a shaky breath, forcing the tears back. You're so lame! My God. Why are you crying? You're not as strong as I thought you were. No…nevermind. I always knew you were weak in the first place. Did you really think you could fool everybody?
No! She wasn't going to cry in front of him. She never cried, what was happening to her? It's just my mind playing tricks on me. It's not affecting me.
Dallas observed her features, noting her wavering emotions. Ha. What an easy target. And she thought she was so tough.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Dallas menaced in a low tone, the words slipping through his clenched teeth. "You think you can walk these streets with your nose stuck up in the air, flaunting your expensive clothing, and expect everyone to bow down and kiss your feet? Honey, you ain't gonna survive long on this side of town. Sooner or later someone's gonna take a goddamn knife and slit your delicate, soft throat." He released one of his hands from her blouse, his index finger tracing a faint path on her vulnerable neck.
Summer continued to look into his face, his eyes blinding her thoughts.
Don't look into his eyes! It's screwing you up.
You know you want to. Don't try to forget. It's a part of who you are.
Dallas removed his grasp from her shirt and ran his hands down her shoulders, then over her arms. Her breathing became slower as she struggled to keep herself together.
Don't lose yourself. It's unstoppable after this!
Dallas's eyes widened in satisfaction as he suddenly remembered her odd refusal the night before. This time he was the one control of the situation. Dallas started to bring his face closer to hers, until their lips were practically touching. Summer's hands started to shake, their noses barely connected, and only an inch between their lips.
Summer tried to play it cool, make it look like the small distance between them wasn't really making her uneasy. She rigidly sucked in the air from the thick atmosphere in an attempt to keep herself from blacking out. It was getting harder and harder to breath.
He observed the girl in awe of the craziness she exhibited. Dallas felt a pang of contentment, his lips becoming a smile. She looked as if she was going to have a nervous breakdown. On top of Dallas's intimidating nature, he knew there was something else that was frightening her. Something that had scared her last night at Buck's. This girl had a definite weak spot, yet he couldn't quite figure out what the source of it was.
The outline of his face started to blur. Through the haziness, she saw his lips form into a smirk.
Come on! He's laughing at you! Do something to show him you're not so weak.
Summer was desperate to get a breath. She brought her hands up to his chest, weakly pressing into him so that he would back away. He didn't move, his face still too close for her. Speak up, say something to get him to move! You're gonna suffocate! She managed to focus her mind for a few seconds, piecing the words from her scrambled thoughts together.
"You?" she managed to get out, "you're gonna die one day on the streets. Your body is gonna be thrown into a fucking trash heap in a cheap plastic bag, and nobody is gonna care."
Dallas paused for a second, then backed up, letting her loose.
He imagined the broken pieces of his body jumbled inside a garbage bag, the lid of the trash bin shutting him into darkness. Time wouldn't stop, time wouldn't stand still. Nobody would care that Dallas Winston was dead. Everyone would go about their business. Drinking their coffee in the morning. Petting their cats in the afternoon. Brushing their teeth at night. In bed, they would flip open the pages of the newspaper, his tiny name barely visible in the obituary section, at the very bottom of the final page.
Fuck the world! Fuck everyone! I don't care.
Her words got to him more than he would ever want to admit.
Don't let her see it. Don't let her have the satisfaction of knowing her words had an effect.
Show her, man! You're better than that!
He slowly pulled his fist back, the slammed her across the face. Summer gasped while Dallas laughed in amusement. Yeah, you would expect a chick who mouthed off to Dallas like that to be able to take the hit, be tough for god sakes! But he could see she wasn't really tough like that. Summer was weak. Summer was just so easy in every aspect. She was as easy to convince as a kid offered cotton candy, she was as easy to convince as a teenager offered a chance to rebel against those darn authority figures!
She was as easy to unravel as the thread on her shirt.
It was a sad fact: no one had actually done that do her before. Never challenged her, never made her see inside herself. See the person that was buried somewhere underneath.
"You wanna know something?" he said through gritted teeth, both his hands now holding a tight grip on her shirt. "I dunno if I believe in God, or Heaven, or any of that bullshit. But I do know one thing. If any of that shit is true, any of it at all, my friend would be the first one headin' straight up there, flappin' around with goddamn angel wings. You would be stuck right here in this disgusting alley, a fuckin' bum with no teeth."
Dallas pulled Summer away from the brick wall as she let out a pathetic sob. Her satin shirt was ripped open in the process, exposing her warm, aching breasts that were spilling out of the bra. He shoved her onto the ground and slapped her. She yelped again, yet ceased to resist. He started sliding her skirt down off her hips.
"He has a soul somewhere underneath all those scars," Dallas stated, "way more of a soul than you'll ever have..."
Summer's hair was smothered in the puddle of the slimy liquid substance as Dallas pressed her into the concrete. He was going to use this fucking bitch, teach her a lesson. The heat started in his face then traveled downward, dribbling its way to his lower body. Dallas knew this was the worst thing a man could do to a female. This girl was gonna see what it was like to really live on the streets, see the part that wasn't glorious. The kind of life where people turned their heads away, or worse, people didn't even realize you are there...
London calling upon the zombies of death
Quit holding out and draw another breath
London calling and I don't wanna shout
But when we were talking I saw you nodding out
London calling see we ain't got no highs
Except for that one with the yellowy eyes
He started fondling her ripe breasts with one hand, the other slipping the straps of her bra down off her shoulders. He peered into Summer's eyes, expecting to see some rotten emotion: anger, terror, disgust. Instead he saw something that shocked him. It was a pleading look. Not to stop, but to continue with the sabotage he was doing to her body. She wanted it so bad, it would practically kill her if he stopped now. What in the fuck was wrong with this girl? She confused the hell out of him, after this was over he didn't want to have anything to do with her. He just didn't get her...
It would practically kill her if he stopped now.
…or maybe he did.
Dally stopped pulling her skirt down, leaving it halfway off. Her beige panties gave off a red hue under the weak glow, her stomach rising and falling to the pace of her gasps.
No, that's not the way to do it, Dallas slowly realized, get her where it really hurts.
"Why are you stopping?" she panted, her expectant figure calling out. "Don't you..." she stopped herself short before actually finishing her sentence. But he was like all those others, right? Didn't he want her?
"No....no." Dally thought aloud, the vengeance taking over his desire. It gave off a sense of euphoria. "I'm gonna teach you a lesson." He stood up, and as he towered over her, his cold eyes observed the beautiful damage he had caused. He could see her veins throbbing in protest from the pain that was now visible on her face. Her plump red bottom lip had a huge cut and a stream of blood was leaking through it. Summer's long, dark hair hung in wet strings down to the half of her back, soaked from the rancid substance that had dripped from the waste.
"Why don't you take a good look in the mirror now," he said calmly, a crazed look in his eyes, "and describe what you see."
With that he turned his back to her, and sauntered off from the dim light of the alley, as if nothing had happened at all.
Summer lay in the alley, the fever dying down as a total depression overtook her. Slowly the stickiness went away, the sweat evaporating off her body. She was nothing without the humidity gravitating towards her.
After what seemed like an hour, she rose to her knees and turned to the red-tented puddle that was visible under the flickering light. Summer caught a glimpse of her reflection in the polluted liquid. She stared in disgust at her torn blouse, her half removed skirt, and her swollen cheek. Blood was dribbling down her chin from the cut on her lip, and she cringed at the foul smell her hair gave off. It felt so raw. The one thing she did not want to become had manifested itself inside of her and had ultimately taken over. She wouldn't have cared now if her guts were hanging outward and flies were nibbling at her tissue. It didn't matter anymore.
Suddenly she realized who the black haired kid reminded her of.
He reminded her of herself.
Lyrics from "London Calling" by The Clash
MissLKid: RP with you is very fun. I am not as busy this week, so we will probably get to do it more often now. Hope you like my new chapter.
Jkb: Wow! I got your e-mail, and thank you so much for that! I am so glad that you are keeping up with my story, and that you review it everytime. And you call me a writer in the real sense of the word? That is so friggin (using your word...haha) flattering! And no, you are not a lowly apprentice. Like I said before, you're such a sweetheart! I really hope you like this chapter as well!!!
VSGG: No problem not reviewing the story before, I am just happy to know that you are keeping up with it! Hopefully you will read the continuing chapters. About the Johnny and Summer interaction: I do have an idea of where this story is headed, although I don't any specifics in mind yet, but I can't say for sure that there will be a lot of Summer and Johnny interaction. There will definitely be some, but not a lot. But you never know, there may be more than I expect right now. I just don't want you to keep up with the story and disappoint you, just keep in mind the fact that it's not definite. Oh! And I'm so glad to hear you say that Summer is definitely not a Mary Sue, because for a while there I was like "Im not writing a mary sue, am i?" LOL.
Legofodopip: Thanks soooo much for adding me to your faves list, thats so wonderful! And...you don't have to worry about reviewing the other chapters (unless you want to of course). I just really hope you keep up with it and review the future chapters. And...the thing about the vocabulary words, thats really damn funny! My story has become a homework assignment...no Im j/k;)
Gryphon Girl: You are so nice, and so mature for your age. The god of writing? LOL I don't think so, but thanks for the compliment! I'm really glad you like my character Summer! It's weird because, in a sense, she's me (of course many things are different, but ultimately all of her feelings are mine). I really hope this chapter lives up to the last one, I hope you like it!
ObSeSsIvE-cOmPuLsIvE-666: Oh man! That was quite a review! Thank you thank you *gets on floor to grovel at your feet* It's great that you like my imagery and also the humanization of my characters. Hopefully the muses were with me when I wrote this new chapter;)
And I didn't too long with the update I hope!! You don't have to wait any longer...
Okay, I just want to remind you guys this is an R story..so...if you get offended easily, dont read (although i dnot think you would have made it this far in the first place lol).
Can you guys go ahead and tell how you like the last part (the third part of this chapter)? I wrote the last part a long time ago (about 5 weeks ago) but kept on pushing it back because I kept on adding new stuff in front of it. It then got kind of outdated (yeah a whole five weeks lol) in accordance with what happened before it so...I had to redo a lot of it. Anyway, tell me what you think. It isn't to corny or overdramatic is it? Oh well, if it is I still think its interesting to read.
Johnny stepped into the house, slamming the door behind him. His mother was settled lifelessly on the couch, staring ahead at the television. She didn't bother to turn and acknowledge her son's arrival. The man of the house, who was slovenly gulping down yet another beer, turned his head after he heard the loud noise. Johnny didn't usually slam the door.
"What're you doin, boy?" he slurred. Johnny, instead of heading straight to his bedroom as usual, stopped abruptly near the sofa. The sight of his parents agitated him; it was something he just usually tried to ignore. So why was he standing here now, in front of this goddamned pathetic sight, when he knew there was no reason to? Johnny hadn't been himself today. Something was confusing him, making him think differently. What it was he didn't know.
His father took a deep gulp of beer, awaiting an answer. Johnny was always obedient and never confrontational, so his father expected nothing different this time. The teen sighed harshly, his mouth opening as a sarcastic response almost spilled out of him. He quickly shut his mouth as he examined the man's large frame, which stood inches above his own.
Johnny, deciding any conflict was not worth the consequences, took a step forward in order to make his way towards his room. Before he could get any farther, his father moved in front of him, blocking his escape route. Johnny kept his head up, refusing to hide his ugliness. The man examined his son's face in drunken awe, as if he had never really looked at his son before. Confusion marked his intoxicated features as the beer bottle sat limply in his hand, his eyebrows wrinkling then letting loose. The thin lips of his father started to move, pouchy cheeks bouncing while he spoke.
"Who did that to you, boy?" he asked, ejecting yet another question. It seemed extremely uncharacteristic of the man, considering he wasn't one for conversations. Johnny paused for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what his father had just asked. Did his father really just say what he thought he had? The boy's teeth clenched shut, his eyes widening as he stared straight into his father's face. It wasn't a joke. The man was serious.
"What d-did you j-just say?" Johnny stammered in a quiet voice.
"You heard me, you stupid boy!" he snapped back. "I said: who did that to you?"
Johnny's figure went rigid in disbelief. The pace of his breathing sped up, hurt and bitterness filling up his insides. Did his father really just say that? No, he didn't! He did not just say that! He didn't, he didn't, he didn't. Johnny started to grind his teeth in an attempt to keep his mouth closed. He wanted to let it out, had to let it out!
Don't speak back. It'll get you in even more trouble. You know what will happen if you get in trouble.
The big man grabbed his son's arm and pulled him close, Johnny's heart starting to pound as his father's harsh breath entered his nostrils. While staring into his father's warped eyes his lip started to tremble, suppressed emotions boiling to the surface.
"You wanna know who did this to me?" Johnny questioned in a quivery voice, his legs and arms shaking. "You wanna know?" There was a long pause. Johnny started up again, unable hold it back anymore. "Well, it was you who did it to me! You! And you don't even remember! How could you do something like this and not even remember? Oh yeah, I forgot, because you were drunk!" His father stood dumbfounded, his eyes clouding over in rage. Johnny had never spoken up against anyone before, let alone against his father.
Johnny's emotions shifted from anger back to a complete bleakness. He was sure of it: there was no point in this life. There was no reason for living. The two people who were supposed to care the most for him were eating at his insides. He hopelessly laughed. Yeah, well, he wasn't going to die at the hands of his mother or father. If anyone was going to take his life, he would do it a million times before anyone else would have the power of doing it. His parents weren't going to control his life, or death, anymore.
The old man shoved him onto the couch, his mother was seemingly oblivious as to what was going on, except for the fact that she moved nonchalantly out of the way.
"Don't you ever dis'spect me, boy!" his father shouted, his heavy fist coming in contact with Johnny's face. "Don't you ever yell at me again!" Johnny turned his head to see his father pulling a two-by-four from beneath the sofa.
Johnny's face began to throb as a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. It mixed with a drop of blood that drizzled from the fresh cut in his cheek. Now this was going too far, his father was stepping way over the line. Johnny never fought back. He never ran. He just took it. Always took it, never fought back.
Fight back! Kill that bastard!
No! You're better than that!
If you were better than him you wouldn't let him beat you like he does...
Johnny's eyes rolled back, memories pervading his thoughts. In his house, his old man always beat him, but the worst part was that his mother just sat and did nothing. What would it be like to have a loving mother, someone who notices you when you walk in the house? Someone who actually worries when you're hurt, a mother with the look in her eye of that emotion he never saw coming from his own parents. He would always see kids dropped off at school by their parents when he was in grade school. They would pat the kids' heads, watch them as they walked into the front double doors. Johnny used to be hopeful something like that would happen to him, but look! Johnny-boy has waken up now and faced the real world. This is his life and it was never going to get better. Just suck it up and live with it. He would never feel that emotion, he would never have someone openly come and hug him when he got home from school.
Johnny was so accustomed to the physical and verbal abuse it was almost as if he needed it to survive. Without it, who would he be? Just nobody. At least his old man acknowledges the fact that his son exists when he swings the stick. His mother: she usually ignored him. He preferred her to spit in his face, to insult him with harsh words. At least it would show that in her eyes he still existed, every once in a while.
He never even got tough love. The love was just completely absent, as absent as his chewed out insides. All those rich kids, they didn't know just how fortunate they were. Johnny thought back to the girl from the diner. He couldn't understand how someone like her could be so bitter when she looked so perfect, everything seemed to be going fine with her. She had no caked blood on her forehead, no dark bruises outlining her face. Didn't she have a loving mother who set peas and mashed potatoes on the table when Dad comes home from a hard day at work, a big smile lighting up her face, her yellow checkered apron so lovingly worn? Her mother enjoyed wearing the checkered apron, of course. She understood it was her duty to clean the house and set the table because her husband was a real hard worker and he brought in the money so that they could have their cute little house and their shiny silver car. Maybe they went to Disney World every summer when she was young, laughing, skipping along through the park hand in hand, the mother buying bright pink cotton candy so the daughter could savor the sweetness melting onto her tongue.
Her father wasn't a insecure man who's real self was buried somewhere beneath his skin, never to emerge again. He wasn't a man who couldn't deal with life and instead took out all the tragic things that had happened to him out on his little kid. Her mother wasn't a battered little girl herself who swore that she would never marry someone like her father, but grew up and ended up repeating the cycle she was so certain she would avoid. That girl's mom didn't grow up an immigrant in poverty, dirt poor without enough money to buy sandals for her feet. Her mother was an All-American woman who had been raised with the All-American value system, a young girl wearing white flowy dresses and ribbons in her hair on the way to church.
Johnny kept still as pain shot through his back.
See, Johnny-boy, this is what happens when you speak up! This is what's gonna happen if you fight back!
He tried to keep his mind focused as he bit his lip. Focus on the lip, focus on the lip. Don't think about...
When another blow came he bit his lip so hard that it started to bleed. There was no way out, no way out except for an escape by his own bare hands, inflicted on his own body...
No. He had thought about it numerous times, but something held him back. Maybe it was something deep down inside of him, something he thought didn't actually exist.
Johnny looked into the huge, grimy mirror that hung on the living room wall, the old man's evil face hovering above his own. His beer gut was hanging out of his tight, discolored shirt. Huge stretch-marks were visible on the underside of his belly, where his skin had been pulled and expanded by swollen jelly fighting its way for some space, some air from the cramped womb in which it dwelled. The man's skin showed the progression of a diseased, stiffening liver; his yellowy, repugnant eyes seething with anger.
But it wasn't just anger. There was a crazed look in his eyes too. His father was getting a release from it, it made him feel powerful. His jaundiced, balding head was turning red from the physical exertion of throwing a few punches, swinging the stick a few times. He had an oversized stomach that was jiggling in the process. It was just a little stick, right? Just a two-by-four, it was harmless! What hurt can a little whack do now and then? His teeth were discolored and had brown tobacco build up lining the upper row, his fingernails brittle.
Every once in a while after Johnny would come home, his father would crack a can of cheap beer open, a weak fingernail ripping off in the process. "Damn these cans! I'm never openin' one again," he'd slur, a few minutes later popping open another one with his bloody, clawless appendage. The old man would pee himself to sleep every night, waking up a few hours later from the stench the urine created. "Damn it Flora! You wetted the bed again!" he would shout with his traces of his trashy accent apparent through the garbled words. Following seconds after that he'd practically pass out again, snores ringing throughout the shambled house.
Johnny's dark eyes caught sight of an empty beer, its neck sticking halfway out from under the brown cushion. Damn bastard! Too lazy to throw it away, huh? Johnny's fingers started to burn and his mouth turned dry as he licked his chapped lips.
Come on! Don't be such a wuss...
You? Doing that? Ha! What a laugh. You're not supposed to fight back. That's just not you, buddy boy. You're not the strong type.
His heart started to pound just few paces quicker as he observed his own face in comparison with his father's. The reflection through the mirror showed that they had exactly the same jaw structure, the same nose, the same amount of space between their eyes. No, no, it's not anything more than a physical resemblance. Please God, don't let it be anything more...
For once he felt like throwing up.
It was an imprint of a hand. Summer observed her thigh in the image the mirror reciprocated back to her. His touch had left a permanent mark. No, wait, that's not possible. A light, simple touch does not leave an imprint. You're so ridiculous! But there it was, under the blinding white light that was visible from the bathroom bulb. She didn't even remember how she got there. It was almost as if the past few minutes leading from the wreck had been erased from her memory. Summer tried to take hold of the confusion, but the confusion was elusive and impossible to capture. Maybe the look of the streets, the feel of the area, had made her mind go into overload. It left her regaining her comprehension shortly after, when the artificial light shining from the ceiling had opened her eyes. She had found herself contained in a cheap, tiny bathroom with him.
Summer tore her eyes from the mirror, and peered down at her leg. It was bent at the knee while the other leg was straight. It was a position she always stood in when she wasn't so comfortable, when she wasn't feeling quite right. The mark had disappeared from her thigh. But it had been visible in the mirror just a few seconds before. Had it really been a flaw, an illusion, created by the surface of the mirror?
Her thought instantly drifted away when he stepped directly in front of her, blocking Summer's chance to see if the mark was still visible through the reflection. The coolness of a cloth touched her sticky skin, running across her forehead, cleansing the cut that had bled its way onto her skin. She grimaced slightly at the burning sensation the alcohol inflicted, her knee going straight as she stood erect.
"Hold still sweetie, I'm just trying to make it better." Her teeth clenched and her body went rigid, an involuntary response to his orders. She was so good at following orders! She was a good little girl. He stared straight into her eyes. Note to self: eyes are blue. Very pale.
Very pale. Isn't that supposed to tell you something, dear? I thought you were a good little girl...
Pale. Nobody I know has pale eyes. I'm tired of seeing sparkling eyes. Note to self: I'm tired of it.
Expanded horizontally across the full length of the wall was the mirror. It wasn't exactly huge, yet it gave off that impression because the bathroom was so small, so compact. The sink prodded out unnaturally from the wall, lacking a counter to put toiletries on because there wasn't enough space. There was no point in having anything elaborate in a bathroom like this anyhow. The toilet sat feebly to her right, inches away from where she stood. Summer's eyebrows wrinkled in curiosity.
"Where exactly are we?" she questioned. He ran his finger along her sweated eyebrow.
"Don't you remember?" he questioned like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We had planned to go here from the parking lot. You told me the directions. It was your choice, not mine. Why would I choose a crappy place like this anyway? I did it all for you." He emphasized his last phrase, "Because I love you." Summer felt a wave of warmth flood her, a tiny smile creeping up onto her lips.
You know that's not what happened! Why are going along with it?
Shut up! I believe him. Maybe I did somehow imply that I wanted to come here. Maybe I asked for it. Maybe...
Sure, never mind the fact that what he just said was total bullshit!
My mom always told me it's the thought that counts.
I want to believe him.
Her skirt was still moist from the throw-up. Don't remind me of that, throw-up is so gross. Although...it wasn't exactly the normal throw-up that contained bits and chunks of food. Just some recycled cola. Ew. Still gross though. The stale air in the bathroom gave off a certain suffocation that pressed down on whatever lay beneath it. There was no ventilation, and with the door closed, the air repeatedly circulated in the small space. It gathered up whatever crossed its path, unable to expel it.
"Hey!" he waved his hand in front of her face, trying to get her attention. "You ain't focusin'. I need you to think straight for me, baby." Summer couldn't help her mind from wandering. Too many things were happening, coming from different directions. She was so used to the same wavelength, all these different levels were confusing her. Her mind was shifting from one level to the other and it was unable to keep still.
Fingers ran their way through long silky hair. Note to self: fingers are crooked. Hair is straight. Something's not clicking here.
"Don't worry. It's going to be okay. You're such a sweetheart, just like in those songs they play on the radio all the time. You're my little honey child." Summer blushed, thinking back to the songs she had listened to over the weekend when she had sat in her room, combing her shiny hair in front of the mirror. His face peered straight down into hers, and this time under the bright glow she could see the tiny cracks in his skin, the dullness of his hair.
Something's not clicking here.
Summer could feel the blood circulating heavily through her system while the pump echoed in her ears. As she leaned her head back against the dismal wall, her face started to throb more aggressively, the heat leaking from the exterior of her skin to her insides. It burned into her face and formed warped red splotches on her chest.
"What about my skirt?" she questioned, pointing to the moist area, surprised at the hoarseness of her own voice. He smiled. It was crooked.
"Sweetie, it's going to be okay," he stated while chuckling.
"Really?" she questioned, this time not so sure what she should believe, but now there was no turning back from where she was headed.
"You're not going to be needing it anyway."
Summer's eyes widened at his words. Her lungs took in slow breaths as the light from the ceiling seemed to blur her vision, a sick feeling starting to rise from the pit of her stomach. Just say that one little word! Come on! You know, the four letter word. No, not that one! The one that starts with an "s" and ends with a "p". She tried to get her lips moving, but couldn't. Summer had never resisted anything before, how would she know now how to? It was just easier...easier to take it. Her mom's words resided in her ears: Resistance is futile, now be a good little girl! Her mother probably didn't even understand what that really meant.
He forced the material down her legs, the throbbing in her lower stomach exposed. Summer's ears started to ring uncontrollably.
No! Wait! I didn't want this! I didn't want this!
Don't resist! You can't live like you've been living. This is your escape. You would rather die than be innocent for the rest of your life!
His cold lips brushed across her inflamed cheek, the mirror coming into view again. The image reflected back to her was not of her own wide eyes, her own pink lipstick, but that of her friend.
Emily's lips moved, and Summer could hear her tiny voice above the ringing in her ears: Why are you doing this? I'm not talking to you anymore. You're indecent.
Summer could feel hot liquid forcing itself again from her stomach. She fought to keep it inside. Her parents appeared in the image, squeezed into the rectangular object next to Emily. All three people stared at her, their eyes penetrating into her half naked figure through the mirror. Don't take my clothes off, I can't bear to be naked in front of all these people! My skin is exposed, cover up the blotches, please!
Her mother's voice pierced through the ringing in her ears, overpowering Emily's babbles: What is everybody going to think of you, huh? Why are you doing this to me Sunny? Why? Nobody is going to like us anymore, everybody's going to be talking about us and it's all your fault!
Now, now, Mary, don't worry about it. We don't really need her anyway. We'll just lock her in the cellar, then we won't have to deal with her anymore. Those darn authority figures won't even find out! Summer's mouth went dry as her father disintegrated from the mirror with his pointer finger held to his temple in deep thought: Now, what is a good campaign motto for the election that's coming up?
Cold hands brushed against her heated stomach, his thumbs pulling on the elastic of her cotton panties. Summer moved her head to the side, his lips catching hers and pressing down on her. She was breathing through her nose, the breaths becoming quicker and quicker. He pressed into her until the back of her head was in contact with the wall, his kisses suffocating her, just as she had been suffocated her whole life.
Stop! I feel sick, this isn't me! She wanted to stop it, but at the same time she didn't. Her mom's influence continued to pervade her thoughts.
Don't lose yourself. It's unstoppable after this!
But she was already halfway down the path, and she would never be able to retrace her steps now. It was so different, so against what her parents wanted. Good! Fuck them! Summer blinked in surprise at the hostility now flooding her thoughts. She had never realized that she felt this way, not until now.
Summer's panties were completely off now as his hands started roaming her body. His lips had formed into a smirk, oddly similar to the smirk she had made a few weeks earlier while trotting down the street.
"I know you're likin' it. Mmm you're diggin' it, ain't ya?" Summer closed her eyes, his words making her mouth go dry as her bottom lip trembled. Who did he think she was? Some tramp or something? Wait! That's not me! I'm not like that! Is that what I look like to you? Some whore? But she didn't speak up, didn't respond to his statement.
She wasn't going to resist. That he knew for sure.
Her eyes peeled open once again, at the same time it had happened the two nights before.
No, not again. Please God. Come on, I know you're up there somewhere...
...Okay, maybe not, you bastard!
Damn that hypocritical bastard. He never answered her prayers. What a liar.
After shifting to get up from the bed, Summer realized that she had fallen asleep in an uncomfortable position. You're so stupid! Why didn't you think about that before you went to sleep? But then again, she hadn't even been able to see straight before she had practically passed out. Why would anyone even think about getting under the thick blankets or moving to a more suitable arrangement if their eyes were practically crossed?
Summer stood up, the room blurring for a few seconds. Luckily this time it went back into focus. It was almost as if there were a biological clock ticking inside of her, grabbing her from her lifeless sleep and shoving her into a waken state of hunger and wantonness every time. Stepping away from the bed rigidly, she grabbed the cigarettes sitting atop the small furniture next to her and lit a cigarette. After blowing a few puffs, a trail of smoke crawled through the bedroom door. Oh shit, I forgot I can't smoke in this house. Slender fingers hesitantly put the smoke out, Summer's body craving the nicotine that she was now depriving herself of.
Her figure slipped through the front door, and she sighed in annoyance. Why was she never able to escape the constrictive humidity?
Summer felt something itchy on her right thigh, and raised her skirt just high enough so that her fingers could scratch it. She looked down to see what it was, but as always, no evidence presented itself. No bite, no nothing. Yet it always itched in the same spot, every night.
Her ears started to ring ever so slightly, making her forget. Summer knew she had to go to a place where she could satisfy the feelings. She needed to go, even though she hated doing it.
London calling to the faraway towns
Now that war is declared and battle come down
London calling to the underworld
Come out of the cupboard all you boys and girls
As she trotted along in a disabled state of mind, a dark creature peered out from the alleyway, noticing the delicate female striding under the street light. Summer stood out a little more so than she needed to. He seemingly floated just a few steps behind, the girl totally oblivious to the danger that trailed her. As she stepped pass a deserted back street, the filthy animal grabbed her arm, and dragged her into the dead end.
London calling now don't look at us
All that phony Beatlemania has bitten the dust
London calling see we ain't got no swing
'Cept for the ring of that truncheon thing
The narrow alley had a dim red light shaking on and off at a rapid pace. A nasty substance had leaked from the trash bin and formed a puddle smack dab in the middle of the small alley. It was the remnants of leftover alcohol bottles that had been thrown into the bin, mostly beer and vodka seeping through the trash and forming an even more putrid solution.
As Summer was pushed into the wall, his face coming into view under the light flickering down.
It was the towhead from the diner.
Summer almost laughed out loud at herself. What was this? A horror movie or something? Was he going to turn into a werewolf? Sure, and she was going to scream like the dickens while his faced turned all hairy, his back hunching over like an old lady while he howled into the night. Too much hair is gross anyway.
Still, he intimidated her although she refused to admit that to herself.
"You...what the hell are you doing?" she questioned in a seemingly clear, stable voice. If she acted tough, cold, harsh, maybe she could convince herself she wasn't really scared.
"No," he countered, "I want to know what the hell you are doing here, walking my streets. Insulting my fucking friend. I told you I was gonna get you..."
"And here you are," she continued sarcastically. Summer just couldn't comprehend the loyalty this guy had for his gang. Why would anyone go to these lengths just because she said a few things to his friend in the diner? A slight sense of jealousy ran through her. Summer couldn't remember the last time someone had defended her like that.
"You bitch," he said calmly, still holding her against the wall with a tight grip. "Nobody, and I mean nobody, talks to my friend like that." Adrenaline was pumping throughout her body as she looked straight into his eyes. They were pale blue with a mix of crimson, reflecting the shaky red light that dangled above them. Don't look at his face. Don't remember. Play the role…just pretend.
The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in
Meltdown expected and the wheat is growing thin
Engines stop running but I have no fear
London is drowning and I live by the river
"Who cares about your friend anyway?" Summer asserted, the moisture from the air accumulating on her eyelashes. "You're all a bunch of filthy hoods." Spit flew onto his face, the froth sliding over his lips, then dripping off his chin onto his shirt. He tore her from the wall, stepped back, and this time slammed her up against the rusty colored bricks. Her vision blurred for a few seconds as his elfish face coming into view once again. Summer took in a shaky breath, forcing the tears back. You're so lame! My God. Why are you crying? You're not as strong as I thought you were. No…nevermind. I always knew you were weak in the first place. Did you really think you could fool everybody?
No! She wasn't going to cry in front of him. She never cried, what was happening to her? It's just my mind playing tricks on me. It's not affecting me.
Dallas observed her features, noting her wavering emotions. Ha. What an easy target. And she thought she was so tough.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Dallas menaced in a low tone, the words slipping through his clenched teeth. "You think you can walk these streets with your nose stuck up in the air, flaunting your expensive clothing, and expect everyone to bow down and kiss your feet? Honey, you ain't gonna survive long on this side of town. Sooner or later someone's gonna take a goddamn knife and slit your delicate, soft throat." He released one of his hands from her blouse, his index finger tracing a faint path on her vulnerable neck.
Summer continued to look into his face, his eyes blinding her thoughts.
Don't look into his eyes! It's screwing you up.
You know you want to. Don't try to forget. It's a part of who you are.
Dallas removed his grasp from her shirt and ran his hands down her shoulders, then over her arms. Her breathing became slower as she struggled to keep herself together.
Don't lose yourself. It's unstoppable after this!
Dallas's eyes widened in satisfaction as he suddenly remembered her odd refusal the night before. This time he was the one control of the situation. Dallas started to bring his face closer to hers, until their lips were practically touching. Summer's hands started to shake, their noses barely connected, and only an inch between their lips.
Summer tried to play it cool, make it look like the small distance between them wasn't really making her uneasy. She rigidly sucked in the air from the thick atmosphere in an attempt to keep herself from blacking out. It was getting harder and harder to breath.
He observed the girl in awe of the craziness she exhibited. Dallas felt a pang of contentment, his lips becoming a smile. She looked as if she was going to have a nervous breakdown. On top of Dallas's intimidating nature, he knew there was something else that was frightening her. Something that had scared her last night at Buck's. This girl had a definite weak spot, yet he couldn't quite figure out what the source of it was.
The outline of his face started to blur. Through the haziness, she saw his lips form into a smirk.
Come on! He's laughing at you! Do something to show him you're not so weak.
Summer was desperate to get a breath. She brought her hands up to his chest, weakly pressing into him so that he would back away. He didn't move, his face still too close for her. Speak up, say something to get him to move! You're gonna suffocate! She managed to focus her mind for a few seconds, piecing the words from her scrambled thoughts together.
"You?" she managed to get out, "you're gonna die one day on the streets. Your body is gonna be thrown into a fucking trash heap in a cheap plastic bag, and nobody is gonna care."
Dallas paused for a second, then backed up, letting her loose.
He imagined the broken pieces of his body jumbled inside a garbage bag, the lid of the trash bin shutting him into darkness. Time wouldn't stop, time wouldn't stand still. Nobody would care that Dallas Winston was dead. Everyone would go about their business. Drinking their coffee in the morning. Petting their cats in the afternoon. Brushing their teeth at night. In bed, they would flip open the pages of the newspaper, his tiny name barely visible in the obituary section, at the very bottom of the final page.
Fuck the world! Fuck everyone! I don't care.
Her words got to him more than he would ever want to admit.
Don't let her see it. Don't let her have the satisfaction of knowing her words had an effect.
Show her, man! You're better than that!
He slowly pulled his fist back, the slammed her across the face. Summer gasped while Dallas laughed in amusement. Yeah, you would expect a chick who mouthed off to Dallas like that to be able to take the hit, be tough for god sakes! But he could see she wasn't really tough like that. Summer was weak. Summer was just so easy in every aspect. She was as easy to convince as a kid offered cotton candy, she was as easy to convince as a teenager offered a chance to rebel against those darn authority figures!
She was as easy to unravel as the thread on her shirt.
It was a sad fact: no one had actually done that do her before. Never challenged her, never made her see inside herself. See the person that was buried somewhere underneath.
"You wanna know something?" he said through gritted teeth, both his hands now holding a tight grip on her shirt. "I dunno if I believe in God, or Heaven, or any of that bullshit. But I do know one thing. If any of that shit is true, any of it at all, my friend would be the first one headin' straight up there, flappin' around with goddamn angel wings. You would be stuck right here in this disgusting alley, a fuckin' bum with no teeth."
Dallas pulled Summer away from the brick wall as she let out a pathetic sob. Her satin shirt was ripped open in the process, exposing her warm, aching breasts that were spilling out of the bra. He shoved her onto the ground and slapped her. She yelped again, yet ceased to resist. He started sliding her skirt down off her hips.
"He has a soul somewhere underneath all those scars," Dallas stated, "way more of a soul than you'll ever have..."
Summer's hair was smothered in the puddle of the slimy liquid substance as Dallas pressed her into the concrete. He was going to use this fucking bitch, teach her a lesson. The heat started in his face then traveled downward, dribbling its way to his lower body. Dallas knew this was the worst thing a man could do to a female. This girl was gonna see what it was like to really live on the streets, see the part that wasn't glorious. The kind of life where people turned their heads away, or worse, people didn't even realize you are there...
London calling upon the zombies of death
Quit holding out and draw another breath
London calling and I don't wanna shout
But when we were talking I saw you nodding out
London calling see we ain't got no highs
Except for that one with the yellowy eyes
He started fondling her ripe breasts with one hand, the other slipping the straps of her bra down off her shoulders. He peered into Summer's eyes, expecting to see some rotten emotion: anger, terror, disgust. Instead he saw something that shocked him. It was a pleading look. Not to stop, but to continue with the sabotage he was doing to her body. She wanted it so bad, it would practically kill her if he stopped now. What in the fuck was wrong with this girl? She confused the hell out of him, after this was over he didn't want to have anything to do with her. He just didn't get her...
It would practically kill her if he stopped now.
…or maybe he did.
Dally stopped pulling her skirt down, leaving it halfway off. Her beige panties gave off a red hue under the weak glow, her stomach rising and falling to the pace of her gasps.
No, that's not the way to do it, Dallas slowly realized, get her where it really hurts.
"Why are you stopping?" she panted, her expectant figure calling out. "Don't you..." she stopped herself short before actually finishing her sentence. But he was like all those others, right? Didn't he want her?
"No....no." Dally thought aloud, the vengeance taking over his desire. It gave off a sense of euphoria. "I'm gonna teach you a lesson." He stood up, and as he towered over her, his cold eyes observed the beautiful damage he had caused. He could see her veins throbbing in protest from the pain that was now visible on her face. Her plump red bottom lip had a huge cut and a stream of blood was leaking through it. Summer's long, dark hair hung in wet strings down to the half of her back, soaked from the rancid substance that had dripped from the waste.
"Why don't you take a good look in the mirror now," he said calmly, a crazed look in his eyes, "and describe what you see."
With that he turned his back to her, and sauntered off from the dim light of the alley, as if nothing had happened at all.
Summer lay in the alley, the fever dying down as a total depression overtook her. Slowly the stickiness went away, the sweat evaporating off her body. She was nothing without the humidity gravitating towards her.
After what seemed like an hour, she rose to her knees and turned to the red-tented puddle that was visible under the flickering light. Summer caught a glimpse of her reflection in the polluted liquid. She stared in disgust at her torn blouse, her half removed skirt, and her swollen cheek. Blood was dribbling down her chin from the cut on her lip, and she cringed at the foul smell her hair gave off. It felt so raw. The one thing she did not want to become had manifested itself inside of her and had ultimately taken over. She wouldn't have cared now if her guts were hanging outward and flies were nibbling at her tissue. It didn't matter anymore.
Suddenly she realized who the black haired kid reminded her of.
He reminded her of herself.
Lyrics from "London Calling" by The Clash