Friday Night: Part One

Dakota is your seemingly average college student. Struggling with mixed feeling concerning his ex-girlfriend and his beautiful new pursuit, Jenna. A promising Friday night turns tragic and dangerous.

“I know a place down the road, the girls are hot, the beer is cold. It’s two for one, yeah that’s right, not just drinks, it’s girls to guys. I hear the twins are back in town from Saginaw… YEE HAW!”

Jake Owen’s voice pounds off the walls of my small bathroom as I sing along off-key to my shower radio. I should’ve skipped the chorus and rinsed the shampoo out of my hair cause now I have Old Spice Hair and Body raping my eyeballs.

“I’ve got a weekend full of nothing to do at all… YEE HAW!”

The music cuts out as my phone receives a text message.

“B*****s be blowin out my phone!” I yell in an imitated black guy voice as I furiously attempt to get the green shower gel out of my eyes. I’m so white it’s not even funny.

I’m too excited to start my Friday night to shave. Probably a good call anyways, I look like a 15 year old when I’m clean shaved. I turn off the water and reach outside the shower curtain to grab my towel as I step out into the steam filled bathroom.

The two texts are from my buddy Colin and my ex-girlfriend Britney:

Colin says, “Hey f****t. Rodger’s bar downtown. Jenna might be coming. Game face nig tits,”

Britney asks, “Sooo I was wondering if you wanted to… “Hangout” tonight?”

I allow myself a laugh, as I look straight up at ceiling. As douchey as it may seem, I like the idea that tonight I have options. Not that I think woman should be thought of as options, it’s just the jackass that lives in every male stretching his legs in the privacy of my mind.

The little d****e in my brain seems to have caused me to momentarily forget how to breathe. Laughing to myself, I use my index finger to streak, “Breathe Dakota. Breathe” onto the steam-covered mirror.

There are several things someone in my position might consider. I can either meet Colin and the boys at the bar and if I’m lucky, Jenna will be there too or I can muddy the waters of my sex life further and go have hilariously casual sex with my ex-girlfriend.

I can go see Britney any night of the week so I opt with a taste of normality and head out for Rodger’s bar downtown. Now, it’s important to remember that I’m a bit of a show-off. Because of this character flaw, I decide to take my truck down to the bar instead of walking. The truck is over twenty feet long and impossible to park but after all, I did just wash it…

I roll the sleeves up on my wrangler shirt, grab my keys, and head outside to my truck. It’s actually nice out, irregular for this s**t town but not nearly as irregular as the fact that I am, in fact, on time. I’m usually later than a jersey chaser who forgot to take her plan B.

Ok.

It’s time to go get drunk.

I turn the key in the ignition halfway. I baby my truck and always let the glow plugs heat up before turning her over. My theory with trucks is a lot like my theory with girls, you treat them right and they’ll treat you right (not so much with girls) I turn the key all the way and listen as 450 All-American horses roar to life under Irene’s hood. Oh yeah, my trucks name is Irene…she likes long walks on the beach, romantic comedies and ripping stumps right the f**k out of the ground.

My bitchy neighbor who calls the cops on me if I so much as a rip a*s after 10:00 p.m. is standing on her front porch with her arms crossed; on patrol as the self-elected neighborhood watch president. My thoughts are that if you don’t like “amplified noise beyond 50 feet”, don’t set up camp three blocks from a state university campus. I think I’ll show her exactly how I feel about the 600-dollar noise violation she prompted last weekend.

“Okay Irene, feeling up to pissing off Ms. LifeAlert over there?” I ask my mighty steed as I search for the perfect song for the situation on my iPod. I find a particularly redneck song and roll down all four window, light up a Marlboro Red and press play.

“… and if you gotta problem with that, you can kiss my country a*s!” blasts from the speakers as I drop my transmission into neutral and let the turbo engine do what it does best; make a lot of f*****g noise.

With a smoke engulfed wave to Mr. Rodger’s wife, I tear off down the street headed for downtown. The look on her face keeps me laughing all the way to Rodger’s. There is spot right out front. I have a damn good feeling about tonight. By the way, for what it’s worth, sorry for my foul-mouth, my mom hates it but even she usually always laughs.

I hold the door open for three very pretty girls as I walk into the bar. Have you ever noticed how attractive females seem to find each other and become friends? Yeah… me too. It could be a discovery channel special.

I quickly spot Colin across the crowded bar, he isn’t hard to pick out of a crowd, he’s 6’6” and built like a brick s**t house. A whiskey drinking, tobacco chewing, a*s-kicking brick s**t house.

“Hey s**t house!” I call across the bar. Many heads turn but if I’m being perfectly honest, that was the effect I was going for.

Colin turns towards the noise and a grin spreads across his face, “Look at this douchebag, on time for once huh?”

“Yeah your mom was only down for a quickie tonight, hey order me a PBR and a house whiskey, I gotta take a piss,” I timely retort.

A group of frat boys are now giving me pissy looks from a couple tables away; I don’t think they appreciated me making the girls they were with laugh. I wink at biggest one of the trio, incline my head to the girls and say, “evening ladies,” through a crocked grin.

This bar has character. It’s the kind of place where you can go a whole night without hearing some poppy bullshit off the MTV top 100 and with exception to the cream of the sigma chi crop currently looking out of place at the table I just walked past, you can typically avoid the hair gel sporting types.

The bathroom is exactly what one would expect from a college town tavern, piss covered and defaced. The smell of a hundred drunkenly spilled drinks fills the air as I walk up to the urinal. I catch a glimpse of myself in the filthy mirror that runs from the sink and across both urinals before ending at the first stall.

What the hell kind of a guy needs to look himself in the eye while he pisses? Oh well, I make several funny faces at myself while I wait for the last of the large coke I had with lunch to stream from my body.

But seriously, game face. Jenna is out there and I have to cease being my retarded self if I ever want to impress this girl. Girls like Jenna are the type who can give you a heartache from across the room, a room that if I were alone with her in, she would still find a way not to notice a guy like me. God, she is gorgeous.

“Okay Dakota, don’t be retarded, shake the snake and get out there,” I say to myself as I use my elbow to flush the contents of the urinal, which oddly enough included a Durex wrapper. Nice.

I push through the crowd back towards the bar and that’s when I see her standing there; five foot five inches and beautiful. She is smiling that smile of hers as she brushes back a curtain of wavy blonde hair from her face. The neon light from the other side of the bar plays off her porcelain skin as she raises a beer bottle to her lips. And right on queue, the heartache begins.

I have never been the kind of guy who gets tongue-tied or nervous, that is until I met Jenna. Her blue eyes start turning in my direction as I draw nearer. Ignorant to how they pierce right through everything they come to rest upon.

I’m not quite ready to make eye contact with her so I quickly slap Colin on the shoulder and call him some racial slur I myself don’t even hear: I’m such a p***y.

“Ah, look who’s back from the ladies room everyone!” Colin proclaims as he shakes my hand and smiles.

“Yeah, they were out of tampons, sorry man,”

To my amazement, when I turn to smile at the laughing group before me, I see Jenna glowing at me, a twinkle in her blue eyes as I avert my own brown ones. Keep it cool. Breathe.

I busy myself with the full glass of cheap whiskey in my hand, gulping down at least half of it in one swig. I love whiskey in situations like this where I’m in desperate need of something to calm my nerves. I can’t tell if it’s the whiskey or her smile that’s making my face feel warm.

It’s no secret to anyone of my friends that I’m hopelessly in love with Jenna, but they don’t make it awkward or push it too hard… most of the time at least. A reassuring reminder of the good company I keep.

“Hi Dakota,” I hear a timid voice call behind me.

I turn around, not expecting to see her standing there. Red alert. Is she really talking to me right now?

I have obviously considered the reality of the situation too long because on my left shoulder I feel Colin’s enormous hand come to rest as he says, “This is the part where you say hello back, Dakota,”

“Right, thanks Colin. Hey Jenna. How’s it hangin’?” I give a pathetically nervous laugh, trying to hide my embarrassment from just using the phrase, “How’s it hangin’?”

“Good! This place is cool, I’ve never been here before,” she replies, still not having as much blinked once. Her confidence contrasts my sheer panic.

“Yeah, this place is awesome,”

Okay. Wow. I am messing this up beyond the worst outcome my pessimistic mind could have ever imagined.

“Totally! So I was wondering if you wanted to do a shot with me?” Jenna asks. She is carrying me and this conversation like a hearse carries a corpse.

Thank God, the topic of discussion has been steered to more familiar waters. Even I can’t f**k up taking a shot, even if it is with one of God’s fallen angels.

“Definitely! What do you want a shot of?” I ask her, my confidence finding its feet.

“Do you like tequila?” she asks in a tone that suggests that she herself loves the satanic liquid.

Tequila and me don’t get along.

In my mind, tequila is like some jackass you hate who hangs out with your mutual friends and none of your friends understand why you don’t like him. So you give him a chance and he ends up kicking your a*s, or in this case, leaves you hugging the toilet on Sunday morning praying for the headache to go away.

“Tequila is great!” I say through the fakest smile of my life. She buys my lie.

Ten minutes of bliss passes while Jenna and I talk and the bartender ignores our entire side of the bar; that is until finally I knock my empty whiskey glass to the floor to get his attention.

When he looks over I shout sarcastically, “Hey so I know this is out of the ordinary, but could we get a couple of shots down here when you get a minute?”

Jenna giggles as the bartender comes over, ignoring me completely, he asks her, “What will it be?”

“Two shot of Patron, if it’s not too much trouble,” I say in a falsely polite voice. The facetious smile falls from my face when he turns to retrieve two glasses. I’m about to drop twenty dollars on two shots of liquid death.

“Thank you,” says Jenna politely as I pay the worthless bartender

“To the timely service!” I propose as I lift my shot into the air, bracing for the inevitable sensation of pure gasoline my mouth, throat and stomach are about to experience. Jenna giggles once more and raises her glass as well. She throws back her shot without hesitation. I quickly follow.

God that was disgusting. But I would drink tequila for the rest of the night if it meant spending time with Jenna. I feel my phone vibrate in the front pocket of my jeans but Jenna begins talking again before I can check it.

“Thank you, Dakota! I haven’t ever had Patron before!”

Her smile is literally killing me.

“Not a problem, one of many to come!” I say. What a f*****g stupid a*s thing to say.

She laughs, saving me once again. “I’m going to go to the bathroom really quick, wait for me?”

“I’ll be right here,” I say as I animatedly gesture standing completely still.

She leaves me with a smile.

“Nice work buddy boy,” say Colin’s voice from over my shoulder, “You don’t seem to be messing things up nearly as bad as I thought you would,”

I raise my glass with a cheerful yet flustered grin. The kind of look that says, “Yeah man, your guess is as good as mine.”

My phone vibrates again.

Still smiling I pull it out and see I have two texts from my friend Courtney:

“Dakota. im sooooo drunk and thiis dood is being a complete dik to me. He shoved me to the ground and im scared. can u come here pls?”

“hello?? Dakota!”

F**k s**t a*s balls f**k tits m**********r.

There is no way this is happening. Courtney is like my second little sister but unlike my blood sister, she is always in situations that she shouldn’t be in. No time to think.

“Where are you Court?” I text back, seconds later my phone vibrates again; girls are annoying fast with their phones.

“Sigma Chi. Pls. hurry Dakota, I’m scared,”

“On my way. Sit tight,”

I place my phone back into my pocket and close my eyes. Apparently I was incorrect in assuming that tonight would go smoothly. I give Colin a look and he understands instantly. He is a good friend. He doesn’t need the details nor does he want to know, but he knows that I have to leave.

Jenna is back from the bathroom now.

“So I have this retarded idea, I totally get it if you don’t wanna do it with me, but I was wondering if later you want to sing a karaoke song with me?”

Aside from the fact that this girl seems to suggest the only two things I am usually dead-set on not doing at a bar, I hate myself in this moment, knowing that her beautifully hopeful smile will soon turn to a face of disappointment.

“That sounds like a blast, but I just got a text from a friend. She is in a tight spot and needs some help,” I reply as lightly as I can.

The words fall between us like a deflated basketball.

Her face turns red as a horrified embarrassed looks sweeps her flawless features “Oh. I’m sorry, it was a stupid idea,”

“No no! Honestly, I wouldn’t be leaving if this weren’t urgent. The one chance I get to hangout with you and now I have to go…”

Uh oh… I’ve said to much…

Her smile returns instantly as she says, “You have been trying to hangout with me?”

Or have I?

“Uh well, yeah, kind of. I mean, I thought it would be good to get to know you better, you know?

No Dakota, She doesn’t know.

“I’m going to stop talking now because I don’t think I have enough room in my mouth for my other foot,” I pathetically submit as I stare at the ground. Though I stand almost a foot taller than this girl, she somehow has made me feel small.

Her smile broadens when she replies, “Well all you had to do was ask, Dakota. I was looking forward to hanging out with you too. You think I could get a rain check?”

Or does she?

I exhale the embarrassment, shame, and tension built up in my chest “Absolutely Jenna. Plus I might even be back tonight,”

“Oh good! Well I’ll be right here waiting for you if you make it back,” says beautiful Jenna.

She leans in to hug me. Then, she stands on her toes and kisses me on the cheek saying, “Good luck Dakota,”

I stand there for what feels like an entire lifetime. Staring deep into those cobalt eyes, losing myself: outside of my body.

Walking backwards, not having blinked or broken eyes, I bump into the table of frat boys and their female fellows who now look like ogres compared to the angel I had just left.

“Hey boys, I’m headed to your house to kick some a*s, want a ride?” I ask them. They have no idea what to say. I laugh as I walk towards the door, turning back once more to sneak one last glance at Jenna who, to the flipping of my stomach, is still looking at me smiling. The door closes behind me as I take a deep breath of the chilled night air. I reach into my plaid jacket pocket and pull out my pack of cigarettes and place one between my lips. That’s when I hear the laugh.

I could recognize this foul auditory terrorism anywhere. It’s a combination of a squeaky timing belt and what I can only imagine is the last thing you hear before you die. It’s my ex-girlfriend’s roommate and best friend, Joana “the b***h” Thompson, or as I like to call her, just “the b***h”

“Dakota, you coming to the bar all by yourself now-a-days?” She asks in that screeching voice I hate so much. The group of equally unattractive girls she is with laugh at her would-be cleverness.

“Joana what an unpleasant surprise, and no, not anymore. Now that I know you plan on infecting the building, I don’t see how I can ever come back… that’s of course assuming they don’t plan on decontaminating the place,” I casually reply, looking over my shoulder at the bar as if saying a sorrowful goodbye to an old friend, “So I see Blow White and the seven w****s are out on the town, hoping to gang rape some drunk guys tonight?”

The malicious smile on her face is wiped clean as fast as it had spread across her hooker-esque features.

Disarmed and furious, the only retort she can retrieve is something along the lines of, “you’re such a dick.” I wasn’t really listening; I was too busy snapping off mental pictures of the look on her face. I’ll save them for later, they’ll be like going to wal-mart, I’ll feel like a better person after.

“Have a great night fellas, I mean s***s, I mean girls. Sorry. By the way, the paper bags already have eye holes cut out of them for you, they’re on the right when you walk in!” I call after them as they file single file into the bar.

Laughing, I pull my keys out and hop up into my truck. I’ve been drinking, probably enough for a DUII but right now, I have a friend in need, not to mention I’m on top of the world at the moment. A pretty s****y excuse for driving drunk but my better logic rarely trumps the smooth talking devil on my shoulder.

The streets are busy. This is good though; the more douchebags there are driving around blaring Lil Wayne the less chance there is of me getting pulled over. I make a mental note to send them all a “thank you” card.

The drive to Greek row is a quick one, less than two songs off my country playlist. My cigarette is down to the filter so I check my rearview to make sure there isn’t a cop behind me and then with a quick apology to mother nature, I flick the ignited cancer stick out my window. The guy in the Prius behind me is shaking his head.

When we reach a red light, he pulls up beside me and rolls down his window to begin scolding me, “Do you realize how disgusting our streets would look like if everyone did that with their cigarettes?”

I specialize in pretentious a******s like this. I’m ready for this guy.

“Do you realize how gay our streets would look if everyone drove one of those estrogen-mobiles you’re currently operating?” I thoughtfully suggest.

“You think you’re cool in your big truck don’t you?” He’s pissed now.

“Well the idea that my truck could pull three of your cars up a hill with their emergency brakes on is pretty cool, do you not agree? By the way, lights green there, Jane Fonda,”

The light is still very red.

The electric engine of his tampon on wheels whines as he lurches forward before realizing he is in the middle of the intersection illegally.

As he backs up to the other side of the crosswalk, I lean out my window and ask, “Is it frustrating knowing that you bought a pencil sharpener on wheels that doesn’t even sharpen pencils? By the way, now it’s green,”

I leave him fuming in a cloud of heavy diesel exhaust. I’m going to get my a*s kicked one of these days, but today is not one of those days.

I take a right onto Greek row and see that there are at least three cop cars with their lights on. Typical. Police and my current blood alcohol levels don’t mix, so I decide to pull around to the back ally and park there. I pull into the spot reserved for the frat president. He’ll have to park daddy’s BMW somewhere else.

I hop out of my truck whistling and light up a cigarette at the back door and knock. Seconds later a nervous voice answers from the other side of the rusted door.

“Who is it?”

“This is Officer Todd O’Leary with the sheriff’s department, open the door,”

Sounded like a pretty generic cop name to me.

I hear a nervous exchange of whispered words and the door opens. Two obviously intoxicated frat boys attempting to act as sober as possible greet me. One is rather fat but is wearing a tank top in a manner that suggests he thinks he cellulite is muscle. The other is kind enough looking, just another confused pledge sucking the wangs of his “brothers”.

“You’re not a cop,” the fat one intelligently observes.

I glance down at my wrangler shirt, jeans, and boots as if surprised at this news.

“S**t, you’re right. Oh well. April fools!” I say happily as I step through the threshold of the door.

“It’s January,” the other says while laughing, at least he has a since of humor.

“Yo bro. Are you on the list?” the fat one calls after me.

“Absolutely not,” I call over my shoulder as I disappear around the corner.

This house smells like s**t. Since my first day here at college, I have rapidly built an extreme dislike for fraternities and the majorities of their members. But now standing in the filthy entryway of this horrible smelling house, I just feel bad that these guys have to live like this.

Okay.

Enough f*****g around.

I have to find Court.

There is a couple making out on the coach in the big disorganized living room. I can’t tell where the guy’s face ends and hers begins. I check the basement but she isn’t down there. My boots and me have no business anywhere near this building. I feel somewhat embarrassed that my truck might be seen parked here as I climb back up the stairs. Where the hell could she be?

My attention is once again drawn to the couple apparently trying to suck each other’s faces off on the couch. That’s when I notice that the girl of this inconsiderate couple is in fact Courtney.

The opportunities to make a hilarious scene just keep coming tonight. I walk up quietly as possible behind them and quietly whisper in the guy’s ear, “God that’s hot,”

Startled, he instantly pulls his lips away from Courtney’s, producing a noise that sounded something like a plunger being pulled out of mud.

“What the f**k bro!” he shouts, trying to regain his pose after flinching like a ditzy girl trying to catch a football with the sun in her eyes.

“Tell me about it… bro,” I respond as I grab him by the scruff of his sweatshirt and pull him up and over the back of the couch before pinning him against the hardwood floor.

“Dakota no!” Courtney screams somewhere to my right.

I’m not listening though. This lowlife laid a hurtful hand on a girl, not to mention one of my best friends. This “bro” is about to get taught a lesson in his own house.

He is an inch taller than me and bigger but I have the element of surprise. I remove the burning cigarette from between my lips with my left hand, and with my right knee, I pin him to the floor by his throat.

I hold the cigarette an inch away from the space between his eyes and say, “You think it’s cool to hit girls? Well I’m about to show you how cool I think that is,”

“DAKOATA! THAT ISN’T HIM!” Court screams as she pulls my hand with the burning cigarette away from his face.

        

“Christ Dakota! This is my boyfriend! He just drove all the way back from the city to see me!”

The kid is on the floor still, pale as a ghost and coughing to catch his breath. I feel kind of bad so I offer him a hand up. Surprisingly he accepts it and when he stands he surprises me again when he begins laughing.

“So what the f**k was that all about?” he asks, looking from Courtney, to me, back to her.

“John, this is Dakota, my older brother’s friend from high school. I told him about that a*****e who was getting rough with me and I asked him to come help me!” Courtney blurted out through frustrated tears.

“Yeah man, I’m sorry. When it comes to hearing about a girl getting hurt, I’m more of a shoot first ask questions later kind of guy, ya know?” I say, actually hoping he understands where I’m coming from.

“No I get it. I’m glad Court has friends like you to be here,” but then he stepped a little closer and looked me right in the eyes, “but if you ever lay your hands on me like that again, you won’t be shitting straight for a week, understand?”

I believe him. Now that he was standing and looking me in the eyes, I realized that he was not the type of person that any reasonable person should provoke.

I’m a smartass but even I know this is not a time for a joke or an even remotely sarcastic comment.

“Understood,” I say, looking slightly up into his now unflinching eyes.

“Good. Well if you don’t mind, I haven’t seen my girlfriend in two weeks, so unless there is anything else…” he interjects after several uncomfortable seconds.

I understand myself to be dismissed.

“No, that’ll do er’” I say as I being to make my leave.

“Dakota…” Courtney starts as I walk off.

“Have a goodnight,” I call as I turn the corner. I’m mad at her and don’t really know why. Her antics are slowly starting to smell of the boy who cried wolf.

My phone vibrates in my pocket as I start my truck once again. My buzz is hanging by a thread.

It’s Colin.

“Took too long man. Jenna’s ex-boyfriend just showed up so she went home,”

It’s official. My buzz is gone like Akon’s career.

“Well…f**k…my…a*s,” I speak the words as I type them.

Now what? I just blew a night with the girl of my dreams to go deal with a false alarm. Sweet. My old friend self-loathing is suddenly sitting in my passenger seat.

For me, there is three things I can do to make hanging out with this old pal of mine more bearable: drink more alone at home? Too alcoholic-esque. Go smoke some weed? I smoked my last joint this morning. Go have ravenous casual sex with my ex-girlfriend? And bingo was his nameo!

Whatever. What better ways to end the night than falling into the same trap I always hate myself for treading on? Plus, Britney only lives three blocks from here and she never goes out.

I back out of the parking lot and pull out onto the road. Thirty seconds later I’m stepping out of my truck. I park a block away so that Joana doesn’t see my truck and put two and two together.

I have walked this path what feels like a hundred times, and the path is called getting laid. I hop the back fence as I always do and knock on the back door softly.

No answer.

Weird.

She seems to always be hovering by the door. I knock once more a little louder this time. Still, there is no pretty smiling blonde to answer. I twist the knob slightly and see that the door’s not locked. Twisting it all the way, I step inside to a dark seemingly empty bedroom.

“Britney?” I half whisper, half speak to the darkness.

There is no reply but I hear a squeaking coming from where I know the bed is. I have no idea where the light switch is so I fumble against the wall to the left; lucky guess.

The sudden light shocks my vision as I squint, allowing my eyes to adjust. I wish they hadn’t.

Ten feet in front of me I see Britney lying naked on her back. She looks like she is asleep. Rolling off top of her, also naked, a guy who instantly strikes me as a meth addict Ashton Kutcher scrambles to cover himself with a blanket. A bucket of ice water washed over me.

If the circumstances were clearer, I would instantly be marked with embarrassment, anger, and an unjustified feeling of betrayal. But something is very wrong here. Why hasn’t Britney moved once since I walked in? Why is she f*****g this creeper? Why does he look guilty of something? My eyes jump from the guy now sitting soundlessly upright on the bed and Britney’s motionless body.

“Can I help you dude?” Kutcher asks in a falsely casual voice.

I say nothing. Just stand there. This situation is too unreal for words. This has got to be some bad joke. Maybe I’m having a weird a*s dream.

“Me and my girlfriend are trying to have some alone time here buddy, get out of our house before I call the cops!” Aston says.

He is lying and he is far from convincing me. The reality of situation hits me like freight train. A beast wells up in my chest; clogging my ears and sending fire through my veins. I take one step forward.

“You don’t live here mother f****r, and I’m going f*****g kill you,”

I ride the light to my price, covering the distance from where I stand to the bed in an instant. Grabbing him by his black ear-length hair with my left hand, I slam my right into his ear.

Having not released his hair, I plummet his thinly shaped head against the dry wall. He is off balance and disoriented now. With a muscle throbbing pull, I fling him from the bed down to the floor.

Blind rage.

A wall of red.

I turn him over on his back and send my right fist across his jaw, my left straight down on his nose, then my right again to the side of his head. I don’t know how long I hover above him striking whatever I can; all I know is that when I finish, his face is already beginning to swell.

I’m in what feels like a dream state, this cannot be reality. Fists covered in blood, I stand there over him breathing heavily in the flickering light of the lamp that had apparently been flung from the nightstand during the brawl.

Britney.

I turn on the spot and drop low to her. She has still not stirred.

“Babe?” I whisper as I lightly tap her cheek, willing her to wake up. I haven't called her that in over a year. 

I check her pulse. It is there and it is normal but she doesn’t so much as twitch an eyelid. The son of a b***h has her all drugged up.

I turn surveying the room once more, looking for some clue as what to do next. I see the now out-cold guy’s pants on the floor and dig through the pockets. I lay the contents out on the bed: a cell phone, a wallet and three pills in a small plastic bag. Rufilin.

“Ok Dakota… What do you do, what do you do?” I’m speaking out loud now.

I stare from the contents on the bed, to Britney, to the unconscious heap on the ground, to my own blood covered fists. This b*****d is going to pay and I’m not going to be anywhere around to see it happen.

In a flurry of movement I rush to Britney’s dresser and pull out a pair of sweats and my old high school football t-shirt I gave her when we were dating. I rush back to the bed and pull the clothes onto her limp body. I then open the wallet on the bed and pull out the license.

“I hope you like prison, Scott Britolas,” I say aloud as I scan his ID.

Reaching for his cell phone and dial. The phone rings only once and the voice of what I could only imagine is an overweight 40-year-old woman named Julie on the other end speaks.

“911 what is your emergency?”

I hesitate for only a moment before answering, “My name is Scott Williams Britoals, I have drugged and raped a 20 year-old female by the name of Britney McHalohan at her residence. 3091 NW Bakersfield Rd.”

Click. I hang up.

My mind is in racing but I’m focused. I make for the door, stopping only to send the heel of my boot into the rib cage and mouth of the young man named Scott one more time. I need to make sure he is still out cold by the time the cops show up, which could be up to ten minutes in a shithole town like this.

I hop the fence and speed walk to my truck. F**k the glow plugs. My truck roars to life and despite my mind screaming for me to drive like a bad out of hell, I calmly pull into traffic. In my rear view mirror I can see the flashing red and blue of a cop car’s sirens. I take a right off the main road and accelerate up the side streets back to my house.

The street is quiet and the only movement is a cat that hisses and jumps into the neighbor’s bushes as I pull up out front. I do a s****y job parking but I couldn’t care less. The front door is unlocked and the house is dark. All of my roommates must be asleep. The sound of my boots echoes off the hardwood floor and against the hallway walls as I make my way to the bathroom.

Shockingly bright light again. My mind flashes a replay of my entrance into Britney’s bedroom as hot water pours from the showerhead. Still fully clothed, I turn to the mirror above the sink and stare into my own eyes. There is a small but deep gash above my right eyebrow. My whole body aches and quivers and my clenching fingers leave a rusty residue on the white porcelain sink that even in my current state reminds me of Jenna’s soft skin.

I lift a shaking hand to my shirt pocket and remove a cigarette from its pack. My matches fall from my grip; I’m shaking too furiously to light it. I stand staring at my pale face until steam fogs the mirror, fogging everything except the words, “Breathe Dakota. Breathe”.