Nearly half the houses near Western Washington University, WWU for short, were rented by college students. The college occupancies came as no surprise. WWU was an easy, public university to get into and a hotbed for parties and mischief. The local real-estate industry relied heavily on the students’ college loans and their parents’ allowances which drove renting costs up. This wasn’t an issue for most college renters. Many of them would cram themselves in by the dozens into the old, flaying infrastructure around WWU that the owners and managers had little interest in preserving. As long as rent was paid on time, the college students were essentially free to do whatever they wanted. All that began changing after the “Block Party.”
Five neighboring houses on the same cul-de-sac were hosting college parties. One nicknamed Hell House was the spot Ashley found herself in. Alyssa wasn’t aware of Hell House’s rowdy reputation and unknowingly brought Ashley and their cheerleader friends inside.
The first things Ashley noticed inside Hell House were its unkempt state, over crowdedness, and loud music. But the thing that left the biggest impression upon entering were the red spray painted letters, “HELL HOUSE” along the black walls of the living room. The sight felt like a bad omen. The large, runny letters looked like someone had written them in blood rather than cheap paint.
What the hell is this place? Ashley wondered.
“Hell house!” Someone yelled. “Fuck yeah!”
Ahh. Duh.
A sound system linking speaker boxes in nearly every room blasted songs from artists like Suicideboys and Juicy J. The music’s volume was loud enough for most of the surrounding neighborhood to hear. The loudest speakers were in the living room where dozens of guests crammed together to thrash out and dance. At most Hell House parties, the living room regularly became host to mosh pits. Partiers would shove and throw each other in any direction, the most intense of which would result in all out brawls.
While Ashley and her friends were initially put off by the aggressive, grungy atmosphere, they found some solace upstairs where the music was not as loud. In an upstairs bedroom, they joined some cute boys, one of whom invited Alyssa to the party, who were smoking weed and drinking tequila. Even though Ashley was not enjoying the night so far, the distraction of the party was enough to keep her out.
Something fun has to happen.
One of the boys whipped out a mason jar full of weed and grinded it on a Wiz Khalifa rolling tray. The aroma of the cannabis was already overwhelming without any of it being smoked. While Ashley’s friends didn’t smoke weed regularly, they each passed around a bong and took hits.
When in Rome.
The friend group looked vastly different from the rebellious punk looking attendees downstairs. With their mostly black shirts, joggers, tattoos and piercings, they looked like they fitted right at home at Hell House. The preppy attire Ashley’s friends and the boys they met up with wore made them look like they had come to the wrong party.
But something fun has to happen.
Alyssa passed the bong to Ashley, who at this point, hadn’t consumed anything except a tequila shot. “Come on! Take a hit!”
Ashley hesitantly took the bong and put her mouth over the top. The phallic nature of the bong’s long tube made her feel dirty at first. “Like - this?”
Alyssa laughed, as did a few others.
“Yeah!” Alyssa held out an open flame from her lighter and put it next to the bong’s bowl. “Now inhale.”
Ashley took a small hit before turning her head to the side to exhale a small cloud of smoke.
Alyssa laughed again. “Did you even inhale?”
The high Ashley began to feel was immediate. She very shyly responded, “Yeah…”
As Ashley began feeling the effects of the bong rip, she was reminded of why she rarely smoked. Crap. I hope I don’t get paranoid. Fortunately, the worry was short lived. Whatever she smoked, gave her a calming, centering feeling as opposed to the fearful, petrifying states she had been in prior. Thank god.
Without thinking too much about it, she told another bong rip, this one deeper than the last. Exhaling a larger amount of smoke than she anticipated, she immediately began to cough. Suddenly, the world felt like there was a glossy layer over it. Again, she worried that the high would make her feel paranoid, but continued to feel mellow, like the weight she had been carrying all day had been lifted off her shoulders.
Half an hour went by and everyone appeared to be intoxicated. The girls danced, recording themselves in a selfie style as they did so. The boys egged on the girls to drink with them until the tequila bottle was essentially empty.
Ashley opted to continue smoking, but after several more hits, the effects of the weed seemed to hit a wall, not that she minded. The state she found herself in was relaxing, but not necessarily, Something fun…
One of the guys sat next to Ashley. “Can I hit that?” He gestured to the bong.
Ashley briefly observed him. He was thin, but tone, like a track and field athlete. He moved his long bangs to the side of his face, revealing his light blue eyes which squinted as he smiled kindly.
“Sure.” She passed him the bong.
“Thanks.”
As he exhaled his hit, she asked him, “What’s your name?”
“I’m Mark.” His full lips held his charming grin.
Alyssa chimed in, “Mark’s my cousin. He’s staying with me for the week. He’s an inspiring actor,” she said, her fingers making air quotes.
“I believe you mean to say aspiring.” He was still smiling.
Alyssa waved him off.
Once Mark was introduced, whatever uncomfortable feelings of the party disappeared. The girls and boys popped open another tequila bottle, turning their buzzes into full blown drunkenness.
Downstairs, the party’s aggressive edge began to slip. More diverse groups of people arrived at Hell House, changing the atmosphere. The aggressive mosh pits became more poppy as the music changed from hardcore rap tracks to more mainstream hip-hop and R&B jams. There were no longer just punks dressed in mostly black clothing congregating throughout the house. There were high school and college students from varying cliques showing up to have a good time.
Ashley spent her next hour talking with Mark. He and his family lived in Spokane and were in town for a relative’s birthday. Mark had been spending a majority of his time with Alyssa and smoking weed. Unlike most of the stoners Ashley knew, Mark seemed like a smart guy. He had already been accepted to the University of Southern California. His parents, like hers, were upper middle class and could afford to send him to college, but he had received a scholarship which would help lighten his parents’ burden.
Ashley couldn’t help, but feel an interesting attraction to this stranger she had just met. Mark wasn’t her type, but she had never been around many people like him. For most of her life, Ashley associated with the cheerleaders and jocks, never really getting the opportunity to explore anything new. Unlike Luke, Mark was not a muscular jock, but a charming, disarming theater kid who wanted to pursue performing arts. He ran cross country for his school’s Varsity team, which, at least according to him, helped get his scholarship. But being an athlete was not his ambition.
“Actor, huh?” She asked him.
Mark nodded.
“Aren’t your chances slim to nothing?”
He shrugged, still flashing his charismatic grin.
“I have a cousin who went to New York to try and be an actress. She came home after six months of not booking any work and losing all her money.”
“Was she any good?”
Ashley chuckled. “No.”
“Guess her chances for success weren’t very high to begin with, huh?”
“Aren’t you worried you’ll be like one of those starving artists?”
His expression suggested otherwise. “I can still teach once I get a degree. Worst case scenario is I’ll just end up teaching. If that’s the worst thing that would happen to me, I’m fine with that”
“So you don’t care if you don’t make it?”
“Of course I care,” he chucked. “But my world isn’t going to end if I don’t. I just want to do what I enjoy doing.”
Mark’s confidence reminded her of Luke, but only the version of her boyfriend who asked her out on the football field years ago. “At least you have a plan B.”
“I’m not delusional. I think everyone should go to school and figure things out, but if you want to do something, you might as well just see what you can do.”
Ashley took out her iPhone. “Check this out.” She showed Mark her cousin’s acting reel which she posted on YouTube a year ago.
Despite investing a little over a thousand dollars into the demo, Ashley’s cousin’s performances were anything, but good. The camera and sound quality was great, but the acting was atrocious even for SyFy movie of the week standards.
“Wow,” Mark said, trying not to laugh. “That was - something.”
“You’re better than her?”
“I mean, it’s a very subjective craft.” He paused, as they both looked at each other eye to eye. “But yeah, I think so.” His eyes squinted again as he grinned, like his eyes were smiling too.
His smile was disarming, but Ashley wondered, “Are you cocky? Egotistical?”
He shrugged. “I’m just me.”
As their eyes continued to study each other with intimate interest, it occurred to Ashley that her relationship with Luke was not a subject in any of their conversations. Maybe now’s the time to say -
“You’re very pretty,” Mark said.
Maybe later. “Thanks.” She knew she was blushing, as her face felt warm. What am I doing?
“You also seem kind of out of place.”
“What do those two things have to do with each other?” You should tell him now -
“Well, one, you got all dressed up like you thought you were going to a different party. You strike me as more of a preppy girl than someone who wants to throw people around to Juggalo music. Two, it’s clear you rarely smoke weed.”
“You can judge my bong hits, but I actually do party. I just wasn’t expecting to come to Hell House.” She said the last two words with a low growl. Tell him.
He chuckled. “Sorry you’re disappointed.”
“Honestly, I’ve been having a rough day.” She looked at him. “It’s not all bad though.” Don’t.
He leaned towards her, his full lips close to hers. For a moment, she felt frozen with guilt. Stop.
But as his lips met hers, she could not help herself, but kiss him back. He held her face tenderly as their mouths opened to receive each other’s tongues. Even though they were making out, he did not have an aggressive forcefulness she often recently found with Luke, but a gentle, intimate touch.
You can stop this now. Your friends are here. Someone will tell. Someone will say something to Luke. She didn’t listen to herself as they continued to kiss, her body wanting something else than her mind warned.
Her hand unintentionally touched his stomach. To her surprise, she felt bumps; abs that were hard and prominently defined. His hands slid down her backside and held her at her hips. She could feel his semi-hard erection gently touch her leg. It did not feel purposeful though, but more like an accidently graze. The touch enticed her.
Something fun, a new voice said.
They continued kissing briefly until, “Come on,” Mark said. “Let’s go dance.”
Something wrong, a familiar voice chimed. Suddenly, the guilt began to come back. The realization that the risks of cheating in a widely attended party like this would come back to haunt her felt like a guarantee. “I don’t know if that’s - ”
“Come on,” he cut her off. “Let’s go enjoy the party.”
Don’t -
He grabbed her hand and gestured for them to go downstairs. Though she was hesitant, Ashley allowed him to lead her to the living room.
Ashley…
“Ridin’ Solo” by Jason Derulo played over the speakers in the living room, much to the disdain of the original attendees who were at this point greatly outnumbered by new arrivals.
Mark placed his hands around her hips. Her body instinctively started moving to the rhythm of the music. Other people around them were grinding; the girls' backsides waved back and forth against their partners’ pelvises. Mark and Ashley followed suit.
It didn’t take long for Ashley to feel Mark’s fully erected cock pressing against her as they danced sensually. Even though her mind told her, This is wrong, her body felt a primal, lustful urge for him. Maybe it was the fights with Luke. Maybe it was not being with another guy for over two years. Whatever it was, despite her mind’s objections, Ashley felt like she was incapable of doing anything else besides feeling Mark behind her.
Discreetly, he slid one hand down her skirt and the tights under them. One of his fingertips found her clit and gently stroked it in circular motions. For a minute, she felt the world slipping around her. All her problems, both in her relationship and in life, faded away as her impending orgasm took over her thoughts and brought her to this very moment. A stranger, someone she had just met and had only known for a little more than an hour, was bringing her to the ultimate release.
Something fun…
“Yo!”
The familiar voice was loud enough to carry across the living room, catching Ashley’s attention. It belonged to Cyrus who was across the room with several Storm football players. His face stared directly at her like he had just witnessed someone commit murder. At that moment, Ashley knew she was fucked.
“What the fuck, Ashley?!” Cyrus yelled. “What’re you doing?!”
She immediately pushed herself away from Mark.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
She turned to Mark’s confused expression and then back at Cyrus. Her high had suddenly turned on her. Anxious feelings and thoughts flooded her mind and body in such a fury that for several moments she could not form words.
After several suffocating seconds, she finally was able to tell Mark, “I’m sorry.” And then she ran out.
I told you…
Outside the house, Ashley found her friends vaping their e-cigarettes with two other college aged dudes. Her anxiousness was becoming coupled with extreme guilt. She felt screwed like her life was about to be over. Not even the sight of her friends, who she had been trying to get to quit vaping, concerned her.
“Hey, Ashley,” one of her friend’s said. “Where have you been? These guys just came from another party and - ”
“I don’t care.” Ashley said coldly. “I want to go home.”
Her friend looked insulted. Another one could sense something was awry. “Hey, what’s the matter, Ashley? Why do you look so worried?”
Ashley looked at her friend as tears swelled her eyes. Cyrus stepped outside with the other football players. They stood out on the porch of Hell House looking at her. Ashley could feel their judgmental eyes piercing at her even with her backside turned towards them. When she finally did look at them, their expressions made her feel like they wanted to beat her and leave her in the woods to die like some dirty, disgusting pig.
One football player shouted, “Slut!”
I warned you. Tears flowed down Ashley’s face like waterworks. “I just want to go home.” I told you…
The block outside Hell House became overcrowded with mostly college aged students and random high school partiers. Hundreds of them flooded the street just as a cop car parked down the block.
As the cops exited their vehicle and approached Hell House, shouts and screams from the partiers hurled in their direction. “Pigs!... Cunts!... Fascists!... Fucking losers!”
The cops tried to pay no attention to the insults coming their way as they went up to the front doors of Hell House. Cyrus and the football players ran away as the cops approached.
Ashley watched as one of the tenants of Hell House yelled at the cops, “Get off my fucking property! We aren’t doing anything wrong!”
One of Ashley’s friends hugged her as the cops and the tenant shouted back and forth.
“You need to shut this party down before it becomes forcibly disbanded,” said one of the cops.
“Fuck you!” The tenant spit at the police.
Immediately, the cops took down the tenant and began placing him in handcuffs. Ashley could feel the tension rising amongst the crowds outside as they watched the arrest go down.
“We’ll find a ride.” Ashley’s friend said, observing the chaos unfold. “Let’s go.” She gently grabbed Ashley’s hand.
As Ashley and her friends began walking away, the crowds outside on the block descended into a frenzy.
Dozens of partiers began chanting in unison, “Hey! Ho! These fucking piggies got to go!”
Stoners, in defiance of the cops’ presence, began blazing doobies and blunts in the open. The partiers on the top floor of Hell House spit and tossed bottles at the cops. The cigarette smokers flicked their butts at them too. Onlookers on the street, inspired by the actions of those at Hell House, threw their own bottles in cops’ direction.
A BMW at the end of the cul-de-sac began doing donuts dangerously close to a crowd of admirers. Up and down the street, a biker sped through a small gap separating the partiers into crowds. The biker flipped off the cops as they escorted the tenant to their car, nearly crashing into them.
Several more patrol cars drove into the growing lawlessness. As they did so, the crowds swarmed in towards them. A partier threw a bottle at a cop car, soaking the front windshield liquor and covering it in broken glass. Seconds later, more partiers hurled their bottles and cans, striking the other patrol cars.
As the crowds ran out of bottles to throw, they resorted to hurling whatever they could get their hands on. For minutes, the sky rained rocks, bikes, chairs, and whatever miscellaneous objects could be thrown in the cop’s vicinity.
A brick smashed through the windshield of one of the patrol cars and landed in an officer’s lap, leaving him with several nasty cuts from the broken glass.
Several partiers pushed and pulled a stop sign back and forth until it wiggled out of the ground. Together, they hoisted the stop sign up and used it as a battering ram on one of the patrol cars’ doors.
A drunk, scantily clad girl stood on her hands, propped her legs on top of one of the cop cars, and twerked in the cops’ view, exposing her vulva as her panty-less skirt fell down. Several amused males whistled.
“Eat that pussy, pigs!”
Realizing the crowd was unmanageable, the six officers on the scene tried to start up their cars, but the crowds of partiers surrounded their vehicles.
One officer radioed in, “I have a code 10-34; riot in progress! Send backup now!”
Ryan and Cindy were aware of the block party, but opted not to go. Neither felt like going to another party after Dalton’s. The wounds from that night would take a little more time to heal. Ryan also needed some time to relax given the mental difficulties he’d endured through the day. He and Cindy went to see Transformers again before it disappeared from theaters.
Despite the flashy visuals and enticing action of the film, Ryan had a hard time relaxing. His body felt tense, like his central nervous system was shocked. Having an unclenched jaw felt impossible, even though the tightness had given him a headache throughout the day.
At least there hasn’t been any drama since school.
As the movie was reaching its climax, Ryan’s cell-phone rang. At first, he didn’t bother to see who was calling. When the vibrating stopped, he put his phone on Do Not Disturb, but seconds later another call came through.
What the hell, he thought. What’s the point of Do Not Disturb if the call keeps coming through?
It quickly dawned on him that there were only two numbers in his cell phone that went through on Do Not Disturb; his girlfriend’s and his dad’s.
Fuckin’ why now? He sighed and whispered to Cindy, “My dad’s calling me. I have to take it.”
She nodded, understanding.
Ryan got up and began walking to the side of the theater. Answering his phone, he said quietly, “I can’t talk right now.”
“Where are you?” His father asked urgently.
“I’m at a movie. I can’t talk right now”
“Shhhh!” An attendee nearby gave Ryan the death stare.
Ryan flipped him off.
“You’re not at that block party tonight are you?”
“No, dad.”
“Good. All hell is breaking loose there.”
Chaos continued to intensify on the street of the block party. The aggression from the crowds grew like a wildfire that had gotten out of control. It posed not just as a danger to the cops, but to the crowds as well.
Fireworks were being lit off without regard to how close people were around them. One landed on a porch covered in spilt liquor and quickly ignited a small fire. Another firework exploded in a partier’s grip, nearly blowing off two of his digits. Frantically, he screamed, holding the charred and bleeding fingers dangling from their thin slabs of connecting tissue. His friends surrounding him laughed.
The motorcyclist continued racing up and down the street until he lost control of his bike. He avoided hitting a partier who daringly crossed the gap in the crowd the bike sped through. The motorcyclist broke his arm slamming into a curb. His bone protruded through his forearm.
Molotov cocktails were ignited and thrown at the cop cars. The resulting flames escalated from the already liquor soaked vehicles. The area resembled less of Barclay and more of a foreign country in the midst of a revolution.
The riot control car encroached into the neighborhood.
A cop on the riot control car’s speakers announced, “This is officially a riot. Disperse and go home.”
A quarter of the crowd backed off, but the most intense devotees stood their ground. They continued to hurl their insults and whatever various objects were left to throw.
The back doors of the riot control car flung open and police in riot gear made their advance. They shot rubber bullets and tear gas into the crowd. More of the students began to disperse. The most aggressive ones continued to press on. Their inebriated confidence led them face to face with the no-nonsense police. They were greeted by the fierce hits of batons, the burning fumes of tear gas, the painful impacts of rubber bullets, and the restraints of handcuffs. The cops did not let those remaining off easy. An example had to be made.
In less than ten minutes, hundreds of college and high school students had fled the street. The partiers remaining were arrested, many of them with bruises and cuts to remember the night. As the cop cars filled up with rioters, more officers arrived on the scene to take the surplus with them.
An ambulance arrived to take the injured to the ER. It was followed by several more, as dozens of parties would need immediate medical attention. The injuries varied from broken bones to alcohol poisoning. Rest assured, it was going to be a busy night for first responders.
The party was over. What was left were shards of glass from broken bottles, spilt liquor, cigarette butts, skid marks, miscellaneous objects (like a stop sign, bricks, and trash), and blood stains.
Ashley watched the smoke and police lights from the block party in the distance as one of her friends drove her home. In the back of her mind, she felt like something was ending. Instead of cuts and bruises, what she had left to remember the night were tears and regret. She would have happily traded her remembrances for the scars and dark purple flesh. In a way, her reminders of the night felt more painful.
It was not something fun.
As the car got further away from the view of the block party, Ashley began thinking about the memories she held fondest with Luke.
The winning touchdown… Fooling around in the back of his mom’s car… The school dances… The first time they made love…
She began to cry, looking away from her friends as she did so. She did not want them to see her guilty sobs.
It wasn’t something fun, the voice in her head throughout the night told her. It’s the end of your relationship.
As EMTs picked up the remaining injured and officers searched for the last of the nearby rioters, Sheriff Hornbeck’s cruiser drove into the cul-de-sac. Despite missing the riot, the leftover destruction gave the Sheriff all the information he needed to confirm how bad the night had gone.
The Captain of the Sheriff’s Department and one of Mr. Hornbeck’s closest friends, Riley Thompson, was waiting for him. Riley nodded to Mr. Hornbeck as he approached. “Sheriff.”
“What the fuck happened, Riley?”
“College block party. This one got way too out of hand.”
“No shit.” Mr. Hornbeck took a second glance at all the broken bottles, littered cans, destroyed property, and blood stains.
Riley chimed in, “Pretty bad, huh?”
The Sheriff shook his head. The night had been shit prior to the block party news. “Several of my deputies had to pick up a kid from a crack-head mom on Texas Street. He was emaciated and covered in pipe burns. Then we had a dad molesting his seven year old daughter in Maple Falls. Those aren’t even the worst things that go on in this county.”
“Any advances in the kiddy porn ring?”
The Sheriff grimaced. “When I grew up here, I thought this would be a great place to raise a family just as my dad and his grandad did. Before I got into law enforcement, I honestly thought the shit from the 60s and 70s were over.” He shook his head again. “How fucking dumb I was. None of this shit goes away. Now I’m just a divorced dad spending half my time wondering what the hell is going on. No matter how much I try to clean up this county, some child fucker just takes a shit on the floor.” He took another look at the destruction. Fuck… “When did this place turn to shit?”
Riley grinned. “When the lib-tards took over.”
“How many arrested?”
“Well, we got twelve people in the ER. Probably will be more once the ODs start rolling in. Some thirty plus are being processed with more on their way. One’s a probation officer’s kid apparently.”
The Sheriff noticed several officers staring at him. Instead of nodding or gesturing respectfully, their gazes were judgmental and unwelcoming.
Riley commented, “Friends of the detectives. The ones that were investigating your son.”
“How many people feel that way about me now?”
“Not many, but, honestly, more than you’d like to know.”
The Sheriff took in the information for a moment. He knew Riley was underselling it, him being a friend and all. For months now, the Sheriff knew that there was quiet, but growing consensus that he was failing at his job.
The fucking nerve. They’d do the same if they were in my shoes. Mr. Hornbeck responded, “All the secrets and favors I’ve done for these people, all in the name of doing what’s right and standing by my brothers and sisters. I’ve had this job for almost a decade. Now I get these looks.”
The Sheriff stared at the several judging officers for a few moments, waiting for them to break. There were many things the Sheriff wanted to shout out to them, none of them professional.
And what would they do about it? I’m the goddamn sheriff. Mr. Hornbeck kept staring, his scowl growing. Fuck ‘em.
The Sheriff spit at the ground in the direction of the officers and went back to work.
Ryan parked his car outside Cindy’s house, dropping her off from the movie. By that point, both were aware of the block party riot, but it wasn’t the topic of their conversation during the drive. In fact, nothing was said to each other.
Finally, Ryan said, “I’m glad we didn’t go to that party.”
Cindy nodded. “Yeah, me too.”
“Guess seeing the movie the second time was worth it?”
“Yeah, it was.”
Despite her acknowledgement, she seemed emotionally vacant. The last few hours felt more or less the same.
“Is something wrong?” He asked.
“To be honest, ever since Dalton’s party, I thought I closed one door after - you know?”
Ryan nodded. “Yeah.”
“I just - I have a feeling something bad is going to happen.”
Brief flashes of the killing blows to Frank crossed Ryan’s mind. He had gone through most of the day after school without having to revisit the wound, but Cindy’s words easily triggered the reminder.
“I don’t - I didn’t mean…” Ryan’s words trailed off. He stared blankly as if he were in some kind of trance.
Cindy observed Ryan’s state briefly before asking, “Didn’t mean what?”
His thoughts shifted to a memory of himself at thirteen years old, staring at his shirtless body in the mirror. The scrawny physique that belonged to him at the time disgusted and repulsed him; a project in need of a desperate transformation.
Was it any worse than what you are now? He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before he began, “When we met, I had an idea of who I wanted to be. Now that I’m that, I just… I’m a good person, aren’t I?”
“Why would you doubt if you are?”
“I didn’t mean for Luke to get wrapped up in selling ecstasy. I didn’t mean to wrap myself up in what I’m doing either. I just saw it as a way to further this image I had of myself. I thought this was a good opportunity to help. To be someone because…”
He remembered the writings he gave his father, sitting in the cruiser, unread. As much he wanted to forget the memory, the image of the untouched papers had been seared into his head since the day it happened, like a permanent, unfading tattoo.
“I was nobody for a long time,” he finished.
“You’re not a bad person, Ryan. I wouldn’t love you if you were. But, to be honest, I don’t think any of this dealing drugs stuff is you. Just because you do it with good intentions doesn’t mean it’ll have good outcomes.”
Ryan nodded. “I suppose Luke’s learning that the hard way.”
It wasn’t the response she was hoping for. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ryan sensed the disappointment. “Hey,” he said as she opened the door. He gently grabbed her hand. “I love you, Cindy. If there’s anything I do that you don’t like, please let me know.”
Then stop going down this path you’re on, she thought of saying. No. Not right now. She grinned halfheartedly. “I love you too, Ryan.” Later.
He kissed her tenderly before she exited. Watching her walk up to her house, he began to feel a bit better than he had been.
As he was about to put the car in drive, he thought, At least the night got to end on a better note.
Then he saw the classroom door. Down the road, it stood upright as clear as day. Terrified, Ryan’s eyes stared directly at the sight.
This can’t be real.
Several intense, unblinking seconds went by before he heard loud knocks coming from behind the door.
“Help me!” A young voice called out from beyond the door.
Ryan jumped out of his seat. In the rearview mirror, he saw the Monster eyeing him. Its blank, pale face was now detailed with wrinkles and open pores, resembling some kind of ungodly, demonic hybrid of a man and Monster.
“Why do you pick fights with the other boys?” It asked.
Ryan blinked hard, hoping closing his eyes would make it go away. Please stop. Please stop.
Someone at him.
Ryan opened his eyes. The Monster and the door were gone.
The driver of the truck behind Ryan yelled, “Move your car!”
But Ryan still wasn’t present. In his mind, he remembered sitting in his car outside Frank’s house.
The driver behind him honked again. “Come on!”
Ryan muttered, “I didn’t - I didn’t mean - ”
Like the many nerve rattling times before, Ryan thought of the pummels he delivered to an already deceased Frank. Like each time, the details were more vivid than the last to the point that Ryan felt like he was there again. His clenched fists felt the knuckle on jaw contact, the warm blood, the breaking skin…
Please, god. Please just make it stop.
The driver flashed his brights before going around Ryan. The blinding lights began grounding Ryan back to reality.
The driver flipped Ryan off as he passed. “Fucking dumbass!”
Ryan was in the present again, sitting alone in his car in the middle of the street. The world was quiet.
The consistent hallucinations and lapses in reality were growing concerning. In the past, the moments were easier to shrug off, but like an uncared for wound, the damage was getting worse. Ryan understood that there was something blatantly wrong with his mental health.
But what are you going to do? You can’t tell anyone. You can’t just say you’re a killer. Ryan looked to Cindy’s house and shook his head. Just remember why you did it. Just remember… “One day it’ll get better. One day…”
He began driving home, tired and desperately hopeful for that, “One day.”
Kenny had planned to go to the block party, knowing it’d be a great opportunity to make a lot of extra cash. But there was another matter to attend to, so he had Marcus and Dom take care of it.
As Kenny drove his BMW with his brother, he couldn’t help, but think of the past. The destination they were going to reminded Kenny of the pain he felt the first day he was molested.
At eight years old, Kenny hid in his bedroom as his mother was about to leave for a random date. Knowing his mother would more than likely come back incredibly intoxicated or with a new bruise was the least of his concerns.
“Thanks for doing this, Tobey,” Kenny heard his mother say in the living room. “I just need a little time to myself away from these brats.”
Tobey’s raspy voice replied, “What’s family for?”
Just Tobey’s voice alone gave Kenny goosebumps like he had never felt before. Only his uncle’s voice was capable of doing that. To confirm his worst suspicions, Kenny opened his bedroom door slightly to see if he could get a peak of who he feared would be watching him that night.
Standing near the front door talking with his mother was indeed his uncle Tobey. The late twenties, lanky and long bodied, pale faced man reminded Kenny of more of a skeleton than a man. Often, he’d wear oversized hoodies that’d hide his thin frame, but given that Kenny had seen Tobey naked numerous times, he was aware of nearly every physical detail about his uncle.
Kenny wanted to shout, Don’t let him stay the night! But he knew what the kind of reaction would get him. The last time he fought back, his mother left him a cigarette burn on his chest. Instead, he kept watching, petrified in a state of terror.
“Give me a call if you need anything.” His mother grabbed her purse.
Tobey gave her a thumbs up. “You got it.”
His mom exited. Tobey watched from the living room window as she walked down the apartment complex’s stairs and into her 1993 Toyota Corolla. Once she was gone, Tobey unzipped his pants and took off his hoodie, exposing his pierced nipples and tattooed covered body.
“You ready to play hide and seek, Kenny?”
Kenny slammed his door shut, but it only spared him several moments from the inevitable.
Thinking about the memory didn’t depress Kenny like it did when he was younger. In the past, the abuse would make him cry and cause self imposed social isolation. The physical pain wasn’t as bad as the shame and embarrassment of being taken advantage of. His occasional spouts of bleeding in his underwear didn’t physically hurt him as much as the understanding that he was too poor to get any new underwear.
But that was the past.
After Kenny ripped out Tobey’s prince albert piercing, the abuse stopped. Tobey stopped coming to apartment and soon went to prison for child rape. The case was separate from what Kenny endured, as Kenny never told anyone other than his mom about what happened to him. Kenny wasn’t a fan of lawful justice, but the thought of Tobey getting raped in prison gave him satisfaction. All the memories of his uncle now fueled Kenny’s ambition and anger. Driving to his mom’s house, the latter was the case now.
He parked his BMW outside one of the many unkempt trailers near the Lummi reservation. Despite the late hour, the trailer park was still alive with activity. A neighbor’s TV could be heard playing loudly, several residents smoking cigarettes were working on a dilapidated truck, a chained pit-bull barked at the BMW, and stray cats wandered underneath one trailer to the next.
Kenny didn’t bother knocking before entering his mom’s trailer. He forced himself inside the smoke filled, tiny home as Bobby followed behind. Stacks of dirty dishes littered the sink, an ashtray was overfilled with cigarette butts, and a litter box covered in cat turds stunk up the atmosphere.
The boys’ mom came out from the bedroom. She had aged significantly from her years of cigarette smoking and substance abuse. Add in the fact she had gained over fifty pounds and she looked like someone knocking on death’s door rather than a woman in her late thirties.
It had been years since Kenny had seen his mother and the sight of her only further upset his already agitated state. As a child, Kenny remembered his mom being decent looking, at least for someone from a low, socioeconomic class. Looking past her bruises, pale skin, and off putting personality, she was pretty, with many of the features one would find attractive from a woman in her twenties. Her face was angelic, with blue eyes and blonde hair and her body had voluptuous details a man would take a second glance at. But the rapidly degenerating way she was now suited her, at least to Kenny.
Now the outside reflects the inside.
Standing in her rope with no undergarments, Kenny’s mom angrily asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Kenny didn’t respond. He just stared at her with his unblinking, intense eyes.
She scoffed and asked Bobby, “Do you have your rent?”
Bobby didn’t respond. His eyes looked down at the ground, like he was ashamed to talk.
“What the hell’s wrong with you both? Can’t either of you talk?!” She grabbed Bobby with her stumpy hands. “What the hell are you doing hanging out with him?!”
Again, Bobby didn’t answer.
She slapped Bobby’s face with a heavy hand. “What kind of shit did he put into your - ”
Kenny slapped his mom across the face with an open palm, sending her tumbling down to the trailer’s dirty floor. Seeing her hit Bobby was the tipping point.
Let her taste her own medicine.
He grabbed her hair, hoisting up her heavy frame. She screamed as he forced her to her knees. Her lip was split from the slap and beginning to bleed.
“He won’t pay you another fucking cent!” Kenny yelled. “You junkie fucking whore!”
She began to sob, though no tears followed. “What kind of son would do this to his own mom?”
Seeing through the manipulation, Kenny slapped her mother again, still holding her by the hair to keep her from falling down. “How dare you call yourself a mom! You have no fucking right!”
Again, he slapped her. This time tears did come as she began to cry. The emotion caused Kenny some hesitation as he prepared to slap her again. A bit of sympathy crept over him, but it was short lived as he remembered Tobey slapping him with his penis.
The bitch knew.
He slapped her again, breaking the skin on her cheek. Kenny was prepared to rain down more, but his brother caught his hand.
“We don’t need to - ” Bobby briefly paused as he took in his older brother’s furious look. Calmly he finished, “I think she gets it.”
Kenny pushed his mother to the ground, sending her into the box of cat turds. “Let’s go then. Grab your shit. You’re not staying another night here.”
Bobby nodded and quickly began grabbing his belongings. Kenny stared at his mother, watching her struggling to get out of the litter box. Seeing tears slide down her face as she brushed off car shit and litter almost made him laugh.
“He’s a monster, Bobby,” she pleaded. “He’s just like his father.”
Kenny towered over her as he yelled in her face, “Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth!”
She cowered in fear, hiding her bruised and bleeding face. Kenny couldn’t help, but feel strange knowing that he was now in the same position as the men and dates who hit her. Despite the years of abuse, only now did he truly understand why one would.
“You know what kind of mom you were,” he said. “I’m not giving you anything worse than what you gave me.”
Kenny could see in her eyes that she knew what he meant. Even though she seemed ignorant to her behavior, Kenny could sense she had some kind of conscience; something beneath the surface that recognized more than it gave off. She turned her face away, hiding her shameful expression.
Yeah, she knew.
Bobby came out of the bedroom with a sports bag in one hand and a pillow and blanket in the other. “Ready.”
Kenny eyed the sparsity of his brother’s belongings. “That’s it?”
Bobby nodded. Then Kenny did too. Kenny gestured to the door and they both left, leaving their mother still crying on the trailer’s floor.
Driving back to his apartment, Kenny felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The violence he committed didn’t shock him or leave him with regret. The truth was he had been waiting to do it for years.
She’s not my mom, he rationalized. She’s nobody.
Kenny put his arm around Bobby’s shoulders and kissed the top of his brother’s head. “You’re with me now. I’ll take care of you better than her. Like always.”
There wasn’t a lot of humility left inside Kenny. The cruelty of his world and upbringing had seen to it that his innocence was destroyed early on. But there was always one person he had a soft spot for, a boy he would do anything to protect.
“I love ya, Bobby.”
“Love ya too, Kenny.”
Kenny drove his BMW off into the night, unknowingly crossing past what was left of Frank’s dilapidated house.
For a night filled with violence, disappointment and trauma, love could still be found. It could be in the act of a boyfriend committing murder to the attempted rapist of his girlfriend, an older brother beating his mother to protect his younger brother, or a girl feeling remorseful for cheating on her partner who she had fond memories with. The love came from scars and the scars came from love. In a way, it was love’s purest, most honest form.