Page 20 of Dirty Chorus

“I’m not part of Mötley Crüe getting so shit-faced I throw televisions out of hotel windows and fuck every girl who throws herself at me. This one seems pretty cool,” I say, and the buzzing continues.

“Amy threw herself at you and we both know how that went.” He presses hard against my neck. I bite my bottom lip, waiting for my brain to tell every nerve in my neck to stop feeling and go numb. “You haven’t been here all week to work on the demo, and now you've got a new girl wanting your dick.”

If only getting my therapy session of ink didn’t require me to actually talk about my demons. I close my eyes and take a strained breath before saying, “I’m not avoiding it.”

“Who’s the girl?” Omen asks.

“A chick from the church... the one vandalizing the bathrooms... and she also hit my truck. Actually, it was her friend... but she's kind of in a nasty breakup. I thought her getting out might be good for her.”

The buzz of the needle stops, and he grabs a cloth and wipes my neck. “So you don’t plan on sneaking off to fuck her behind the dumpster?”

“No. She’s just a friend,” I say.

“I already know where this is going before I even meet her. You're going to end up using her as a distraction to forget about everything. Aren’t you?”

Getting this tattoo should be a distraction, and this tattoo should be more painful than this conversation, but he’s right. I’m digging my grave. There’s already a warning inside my chest not to play with fire, and Trouble is already holding the match. But something tells me she needs a real friend other than the group she was around. There’s temptation there, and I know I’m reaching for the forbidden fruit, but I just can’t resist it.

“Is this going to turn out like Amy?” Omen asks.

“I was really horny, dude... like fuck. I was drunk, she was drunk. It just happened. I thought it was a one time deal.”

I fucked her silly for what seemed like hours, and I didn’t even have a happy ending. I never really finished with Amy anyways. I think it’s guilt. I shouldn't have let her approach me in that way. She’s decent looking, but skinny with no curves. I like dark hair and light eyes, but I just feel absolutely nothing for her.

“You're fucking dead man!”

“I ended it. I’ve been ending it every time she tries to hook up with me”

“Yeah right...”

I lay back and let Omen finish his work. When he finishes, I stare in the mirror, admiring the serpent. It’s sleek and emerald green. It coils around an apple with its scales catching the light. The apple is a tempting crimson with leaves so crisp and realistic. I don’t usually use the word, but it’s beautiful, and reminds me I’ll be judged one day, but this is a momentum of my own bad decisions.

Tony and Vince show up at the house. Both of them are rather quiet and only give Omen a look. It’s the one where they might tie my hands up, shove a sock into my mouth, and toss me into the van to make sure I don’t disappear again.

By the time we finish loading up the van with our equipment, my neck starts bleeding. It’s raw and oozing, and I regret letting my ego get the best of me because my skin is on fire. Omen also didn’t hold back. His frustration with me really caused him to stick that needle into my neck.

Tony climbs into the driver’s seat and turns on the van. He leans an arm along the headrest and glances back at me. I’m in clear danger. He’s quiet, licking his chapped lips, and he tilts his head down, making the dark circles under his eyes deepen. Omen, who is sitting next to me, smirks, restraining the amusement on his face. Vince is using his index fingers to tap against the glove-box, with no clue in the world as to what’s going on.

When Tony reaches for the volume knob, I can feel the pang in my chest. I’m sweating as the display screen shows him turning up the sound. Britney Spears comes on. Full blast. Hit me Baby One More Time.

Tony starts lip singing to the lyrics.

“You got to be shitting me!”

“Enjoy it because it’s going to be on repeat!” He shouts.

Chapter 14

Charlie

“Sorry, I can’t let you in.” The bouncer scans my driver’s license, even putting a UV light underneath it to make sure it’s real. “You’ve gotta be twenty-one to enter.” He hands it back wedged between two fingers.

I smack my gum and stare at the line of bodies reaching the far end of the sidewalk. It’s safe to say I missed the memo that there’s a dress code to attend one of these bar concerts. Most girls are wearing black fishnet stockings and red plaid skirts. The gothic girl behind me taps her combat boots.

I’m tempted to ask if her date brought her a leash because that spiky dog choker has to be from the pet shop. Let’s not mention her friend caked in black eyeliner. She could be mistaken for a raccoon, but I’m sure they have nice thoughts about the preppy bitch holding up the line. I’m out of place. Out of all the girls I see, I’m sticking out like a sore thumb wearing a cream-white mini pencil skirt and a dark-blue crop top infested with flowers. At least the guys here look normal with jeans and plain shirts.

“Please! Pretty please.” I lace my fingers together. “I know Noah. He invited me...” I point toward the doorway with the flickering green neon sign spelling out Bar.

“Nice try. I hear that all the time.” He crosses muscled, tattooed arms. There are even faded stars along the side of his shaved head and some sort of number on his neck. Is that his prison number or something? “Ex-Convict” is written all over the permanent frown ingrained on his face.