Page 6 of Bazooka
“It’s called being fashionably late, Wagner.”
“You’re full of shit, Luz.”
After they drove off, I opened the app, but the reception was shit because my phone was even bigger shit. I headed across the dark, half-empty parking lot, waiting for more dots to appear. I’d almost reached the nearby park when I finally got a signal. Then, I heard a voice behind me.
“Yo, birthday boy. Having fun yet?”
Shit.
I turned around, only to walk into a fist. When my vision cleared and the birdies stopped flying around my head, I was lying on the floor. I was dizzy as fuck, and I could taste the blood in my mouth. When I saw four pairs of sneakers around me, I realized that I’d fucked up. One foot connected with my stomach. The other one made me throw up all the cake I’d eaten earlier. The third foot hit my ribs so hard that all breath left me. The next one hit my nose, producing a weird crunching sound. A rain of blows descended on me from several directions at once so swiftly my brain couldn’t process it. I curled into a fetal position, trying to shield myself with arms and legs, but all I could feel was agonizing pain. When a foot slammed into my liver, I let out a startled cry and rolled over onto my stomach. At that point, I couldn’t see anymore, because my eyes wouldn’t open properly. I covered my head with my arms, trying to protect my face when another vicious kick found my ear.
I was five seconds from blacking out when I heard a snigger.
“How do you like me now, birthday boy?” The toothless asshole asked me, crouching next to me.
“I… I…” I croaked, wheezing.
When he lowered his head so he could hear me, I spat out blood and used the last of my strength to answer him.
“I detest every inch of you, you dickless coward.”
It was the wrong thing to say, but keeping my mouth shut was never my strong suit.
“Dickless, huh?” the asshole said, standing up. “We’ll see about that. Guys, I want him on his knees.”
His three goons made me move into a kneeling position, which caused so much pain I thought I would faint. Through half-closed eyes, I could see my vomit on the ground, colored with blood. I tried to inhale but my ribs hurt so much I considered stopping breathing.
“Do you have a condom?” The asshole behind me asked his pals.
His words made me gag, and I started crawling toward the bar when a sneaker slammed into my face.
“Not so fast, birthday boy. I didn’t give you a present yet.”
“Come on, Riv.” One of the goons said in a hushed voice. “Aren’t you taking it too far?”
“Just give me the fucking condom!” The asshole bellowed.
“Why are you even hard? If I didn’t know you, I would have thought you liked this turd.”
Someone pulled my pants down my hips, along with my boxers. The vicious tug made me pass out, and the last thing I could remember was cold air on my bare ass and then nothing.
When I came to, I had a gap in my memory, and I was alone. I could hear the police sirens in the distance heading in the opposite direction, so it wasn’t what saved me. Was I saved? The assholes were gone, so something must have scared them away.
I raised my head, blinking to clear my vision, because everything was blurry and distorted. My ass didn’t hurt, so that toothless bastard probably didn’t have time to rape me before he and his goons fled. I was still bare-assed, though, so I pulled my boxers up my hips. The movement caused such agonizing pain that I decided my pants weren’t worth the bother. I couldn’t move without hurting, so I gave up on that, too. My eyelids felt weird, as if they were glued together or some shit. I coughed and spat out more blood, feeling around for my phone, which I’ddropped earlier. When I found it, I blindly dialed a number, not even knowing who I’d called.
A gruff voice answered after the first ring.
“What happened?”
I smiled despite the pain. I knew that voice. Smooth, sexy, and mostly uninterested in talking to me.
“It’s you,” I whispered, feeling dazed.
I didn’t know if it was destiny that I dialed Bazooka’s number, but I knew why he answered despite never returning my texts. It was because in all these months I’d never called him. Not once. I texted him dozens of times, but I never dialed his number, so he knew something was wrong.
“Where are you?” he asked me. The initial silence on the other end of the line got replaced by the sounds of traffic. His breathing quickened as if he were running, which my stupid heart interpreted as: he’s coming to save you. I heard someone shouting at him, “Watch where you’re going, asshole!”, and then more honking ensued.
“Luz, where the fuck are you?” Bazooka said, sounding alarmed. “Can you hear me?”
