"Fucking faggot," I over heard coming from the men's bathroom. "Should we have gone in the girls bathroom instead," the voice continued. "'cuz you certainly aren't a man, fag."
Sucking on my cigarette, my ears perked up. Who the hell was in there?
"Fuck all of you guys," a gurgled voice protested.
Shit...
Taking my free hand, I shoved the red door open, marching in. Two football jocks were pushing someone's head down the toilet, unaware of me standing behind them. I casually tugged on the back of one of the asshole's collar, and toss him back into the south wall with ease. He hit the wall with a resounding thud, much to my pleasure. The other jock turned around, abandoning the tormented kid.
Jock numéros deux and une had a look of horror plastered on their ugly faces. The second one's face hardens, curls his fist, taking a swing at me. He has power, put little aim or accuracy. Because of this, I easily sidestepped out of the way, feeling only air whoosh by me.
"Ow, that hurt," I deadpanned. This only pissed him off more, trying to grab my by my collar or neck or something. I responded by giving him an uppercut right in his square jaw.
"FUCK!" he shouted, stumbling back a few steps. The first jock, getting up from me tossing him, charges at me like a fucking bull. I nonchalantly squeezed the pressure nerve point on his neck, and he crumbles to the ground like ashes from fire. Jock #2 squeaked like a girl, and dashed out of the bathroom faster than a rabbit on crack. I opened the bathroom stall, returning to the bullied one.
"Oh, Ike," I murmured sympathetically, looking at the smaller boy. His hair was soaking wet, dripping to his shoulders. He was huddled up on the floor, orb eyes staring up at me, on the bridge of tears.
"Don't you 'oh, ike' me, Shift!" he said defiantly. "I don't need your pity. Or for you to swoop in and save me."
"Way to be grateful." I flipped him off, then outstretched my hand.
"Fuck you," he said, taking it, and I pulled him up. He bit his lip, and immediately wrapped me in one of those humongous 'Ike hugs'. I rolled my eyes, and after a few seconds, I pushed him off with force.
"I hate those," I grumbled. Ike lightly punched my arm.
"Liar," he accuses.
We exit the bathroom, feeling shittier than ever.
No end in sight.
.
.
.
I blindly groped for the motel phone, putting it to my ear and snapping, "WHAT?"
"Sir," a woman began, unfazed, "I'm calling for your wake up call."
I squeezed the bridge of my nose, sighing. "Okay. Thank you." I slammed down the phone, and toss a dirty motel pillow at Ike, snoring in the opposite bed. "Get up, loser," I said.
"Fuck," he said, throwing off his covers. "Did you sleep okay?"
"No. Memory dreams," I explained.
"What memory?" he asked, pouring a mug of coffee.
I paused, debating to spill the details. He never liked to be reminded of the tortures of high school. "Uh, just random shit."
Ike raised his eyebrows, giving me a very dubious look. He shook it off, grabbing extra clothes from a suitcase. "Imma take a shower."
"Have fun," I muttered, gulping my scolding coffee. The newspaper headlines are really nothing special: murders in Ohio, zombie Apocalypse in Toronto, blah blah blah...
~if you want my body, and you think I'm sexy, come on sugar let me knowww~ Ike's phone rang out. After getting over the sheer second hand embarrassment that Ike's ringtone is Do Ya Think I'm Sexy, I answered it. Hey, if he didn't want me to answer his phone, he should've hid it better. Pfft, under the pillow. How ridiculous.
"Hello?"
"Ike? Is that you?" a voice asks.
"Ike Broflovski is currently in the shower. May I ask what bastard is calling at six in the morning?" Mommy always taught me proper phone manners.
"Ah," the voice coos. "This is Shift, isn't it?"
"Maybe," I snapped. "Who the hell is this?"
"It's Ike's brother, Kyle. May I ask why you're answering his phone, and why he's in the shower? Should I be angry?"
"Yes. We had hot and heavy sex last night into the wee hours of the morning, and he had to take a break to wash off," I said, voice laced with heavy sarcasm so Kyle could know I'm kidding and that he shouldn't kick my ass. "Why are you calling? He hasn't heard from you in months."
Another memory.
Rooftop of my car. Ike buried his face into my shirt, almost like a child. He doesn't say anything, just shivers uncontrollably. A few hours ago his brother had left for the Big Apple. Him and the 'rents got in a huge fight. Ike immediately came to me.
I'll take it as complimentary, I guess.
After a few silent filled moments, he speaks. "I hate them." His words are muffled by trench coat.
"Your parents?"
"I hate how they make me feel. I hate having to be ashamed whenever they look my way. That I'm not perfect enough for them because of my orientation."
I squeezed his hand, which has been clutching mine for quite a while. "Ike, are you even sure you're gay?"
He squirmed, turning his head so his eyes met mine. Oh shit, those eyes...
"Yeah."
Our hands stay together for the rest of the night.
I inwardly groaned. Goddamn, we have way too many cheesy heartfelt moments, don't we?
"I just wanted to tell him that I want to visit him once he gets settled in his dorm."
"We aren't going to be in a dorm."
"Then where?"
"An apartment."
There's a sudden gasp, and a clunk, like someone dropped the phone. The receiver crackles, then bursts back to life. "You're sharing an apartment together?"
I rubbed one of his temples with a free hand. "Yes. Kenny knows a friend of a friend of a friend with a dead ancestor or something. Or other. Shut up."
"I don't know whether or not I should be furious, or proud."
"Proud?" I asked, incredulous at this bastard's banter.
"Yeah! Ike is taking a huge step! He couldn't even admit you guys were dating before..."
Fuck my mother. "It's for convenience purposes! We're both broke!"
"..." Kyle drew out. I hate when people do that. It makes me want to shove-
No, can't go there. Even if I'm stronger than the average pompous jackass who waltzes in, Kyle seems to have an element of bat shit insanity as an advantage.
"Okay, whatever. He's not coming out for a while."
"Of the closet?"
"Of the shower! THE SHOWER!" My voice is raising dangerous levels, so I cup a hand over the receiver. "Can you hang up now?"
"Whatever, Kinder Goth."
I will fucking kill that dick.
"Tell him I called, 'kay?" he asked.
"I'll call upon the spirits from the dark underworld to come up and cut your throat if you don't hang up right now," I growled. I could almost feel the eyeroll on the other end. After a click and a beeping sound, I just ended a conversation with Ike's older brother.
Speaking of Ike, he exited the bathroom, towel around his waist, and another in his hands, drying off his wild hair. He stuck out his tongue in disgust, claiming, "There was mold everywhere!"
"What a wimp." Back in my elementary days, the older goth kids would drag me along with long nails to filthy, foul hole in the walls, laced with toxic air.
Speaking of toxic air, I pulled out a blessed cancer stick and light up.
"Your turn to take a shower," Ike said, tossing a discolored towel at my face. I grumbled something even I don't understand, and shuffled my way to the motel bathroom.
It's exactly what you'd expect a motel bathroom to look like. Cracked mirror, dim lighting, scuzzy counter tops, and...
Shit, was that a blood stain?
He turned the knobs, blasting out a stream of freezing cold water. It was almost a relief, having some time alone to his thoughts. Or maybe that's a bad thing. Closing his eyes, he remembered again.
Being tugged along by Henrietta, he trampled along the autumn leaves, struggling to keep up with the group. He hated being the smallest, with the smallest legs.
"You know," he started, panting. "I'm going to get really tall, and strong, and you fuckers will be trailing behind me!"
Crow turned around to face him, amused smirk pulling at his lips. The rest of his face was cold hard, though. "Sure, Charlie. You'll be as tall as a building and be able to crush a rock in your fingertips."
"Shut up! Don't call me that!"
"Would you rather us call you KingerGoth again?"Henrietta mused.
"No! Fuck off! I'm nine now, not a stupid kindergartener!"
Red hummed, considering. "Midget here's right. I think he's ready."
Crow ran a free hand through his curly matted hair. "Really? Well then, at this gathering we'll tell the Elder."
Charlie squirmed. "What are you talking about?" He hated when they talked in cryptic about him, and he hated the Elder even more. So pompous.
"We're going to get you a title."
A smile quickly formed on his face. "Really? Like Crow or Red?"
"Yes, unless you want to keep smiling. Then we'll kick you to the curb," Red chastised. Charlie shut his mouth, and ran to keep up with them. They finally reached the abandoned cemetery, and Charlie closed his eyes as they went through the cobwebs into the mausoleum. He held his breath, because he was sure the dead could hear him breathing. Henrietta nudged him gently to open them again, and his eyes were met with the sight of hundreds of tiny candles and kneeling gothics. They all took their place in the front, the honored spots. Mostly it was reserved for the high schoolars, like Henrietta and all of them, but Charlie had been given a spot, because of he was with one of the most prestiged groups here. He should be grateful, but most of the time he was confused here.
"All rise," the Elder said. Charlie sighed with relief, the dirt had been scraping his knees. The Elder was a woman, and she was callous, cunning, and a bitch to boot. "I've been told that one of our members is in need of a title." She beckons Charlie to rise with laqured purple nails and a flicker in her eyes. Henrietta pushes Charlie along, tugging on his arm. Elder gave a withering stare at Henrietta. "You're the guardian?"
"Yes," Henrietta growled. "Gotta problem with that?"
"You're my what?" Charlie asked. Henrietta shushed him.
The Elder kneeled down to his eye level, studying him. She took a huge breath, and closed her eyes. "I sense he will be raised poorly in this sanctum. Under your guidance, he will stray into the light."
Henrietta's hand clenched. "Are you saying I'll be a bad guardian?"
"Or maybe he's not right for this. Either way, he'll shift alliances."
"Am not!" Charlie protested, not even sure what they're talking about.
"Shush, child," Elder demanded. "His title is Shift, and he will be known forth as that."
Henrietta sniffed, glaring at the Elder. "He'll be raised just fine. Come, Shift," she said, and led him back to his spot.
Shift.
He liked it.
"Shift, goddamn!" Ike called, banging on the door. "I know you like to have your angsty thoughts in the shower, but we need to hurry up!" I toweled off in a hurry, and brush my teeth.
"Let's go then," I said, exiting the bathroom and rummaging in my suitcase for my black pants and trench coat. I pulled on my pants, and still tried to find a shirt. Ike's breath hitched. I turned around, and he's redder than blood. "What?" I asked.
"You were...nak-" he shook his head vigorously. "Nothing. Let's go."
Five cups of coffee later, and they were crossing the San Francisco Bay Bridge. Ike had been listening to his Metric CD on repeat for the past three hours. I didn't really mind it, but every time he pressed 'play' again, I made sure he knew my irritation.
"Just because you're Canadian, doesn't mean you have to like Canadian bands," I reminded him.
Pulling up at an intersection, a police officer waved us off to the side, which was pretty hard because the entire streets were lined with cars. Flashing lights blinded us, and Ike peered out the window, and gasped.
"Holy crap, there's been a murder!" he pointed at the criss cross of caution tapes covering a shitty building with chipping paint. A crowd was gathering around, gawking at the scene. Spray painted on the door, read ANOTHER PUNISHED, WE'LL BE BACK.
I scoffed. "Typical. It's like they're saying, 'Welcome to San Francisco.'"
"Let's just get to our new home," Ike grumbled.
I obeyed whole heartedly.