Page 59 of Dirty Roulette
“Shit, that came out good.” Omen wipes a cold cloth over my arm. The skin is raw and pink around the edges of the ink. I glance in the mirror along the wall and see etched lines of perfection. Omen digs around for a camera and shoots several pictures of it before wrapping it up and giving me a quick rundown on how to let it heal.
We come out of his dungeon of tattoos and into the kitchen. It’s dark outside and Charlie’s eyes glimmer and gush. She takes my fingers and pulls me over.
“I thought you were sucking him off in there. That looks hella sexy on you.”
“Yeah,” I say, ogling down at it from my angle.
“Okay, well I’m getting drunk, you’re only getting lemonade!” She giggles.
I pound four cups of pink lemonade with nothing else in my stomach. It doesn’t take long for everyone else to get a buzz, and get infected with the giggles. We are all chatting about music and the different songs they are writing. Their band is called Wolves In Sheep’s Skin. I listen to Noah sing, as they practice and him laughing when he messes up his own lyrics.
They tell stories of people in the mosh pits at their concerts – the pushing, shoving, crowd-surfing. They have over fifty thousand followers and are climbing fast.
After my fifth cup of lemonade, I realize my bladder threatens to betray me. I need to take a piss.
I hurry down the hallway to the bathroom at the far end. When I plop on the toilet, my cell falls out of my back pocket to the tile floor. It stares at me with its sinful temptation. As gallons of piss rages out of me, I hold down the side buttons watching my screen light up.
Crab:What’s with the comment?
Crab:Can you call me back?
Crab:I have to work tonight. Message me, please.
There is a voicemail and the transcription of it sends a violent storm to go rampant in my chest. Sirens announce in my brain to the world we now have a category-six hurricane.
“Hey... I’m not sure what’s wrong, or if I upset you. I’m swamped. We have an away game and leave on Friday and Coach is pushing a second practice on us daily. I know I said I’d call you to hang... I... I do want to see you. I’m sorry. Just call me when you can.”
Screw it. Let me play the same game. I flush, wiggle up my leggings, and stare into the mirror. It’s vintage and rustic here. I dig the vibes and set up the phone to capture a picture of all my imperfections and the one thing that’s without flaw on my body. I post a selfie with my gorgeous tattoo, type nothing but black hearts, and toss it all back at them.
Chapter twenty
Ryder
Adelivery order minutes before closing is a dick move. It’s the worst sound in the entire store, especially when it's been quiet for the last thirty minutes. I swept and mopped the damn floors, scrubbed the dishes overflowing in the sink, and even washed out the trash bins I'm sure someone vomited in. I did it all to keep Karen at bay.
“You gotta be kidding me!” She snaps.
“Oh, here we go,” I say. She is on a roll again, storming over with hands fisted at her sides. She’s better at creating raging headaches than she is at creating a damn pizza. The non-stop bitching is worse than the stench of our ovens smoking like we’re cooking tar. She rips the receipt from the machine, licks her chapped lips, and grumbles. “To hell with these people. They got a hundred-dollar order.”
“Fuck me.”
“You’re in luck. They paid with a card.” She tosses the order to the kitchen staff.
I run a hand over my eyes, lean on the counter, and throw off the stupid hat. Everything in my head is all over the place. Vibing with Jared and Nick this afternoon wore me out, and taking on another shift thinking I’d be good wasn’t the best decision, but Mom called earlier – bills are starting to pile up on the counter again, and I’m barely breaking even again.
She’s out of leave, so there is no buffer in order for her to keep the roof over her head. I’m not sure what else to do or how long I have until the bank wants us to foreclose on the house. My stomach is swirling with dread that the letter is coming soon.
“Can I clock out and just deliver the pizza? I’d like to call it a night.”
“As long as you don’t rat me out.” She counts the stacks of bills in her hand. “You know how the owners are about using your own vehicles.”
“You know I’m not like that. We’re cool.” I toss her my deposit. The order doesn’t take as long as I thought, and I’m out the door fifteen minutes before twelve. When I get into the Jeep, I light up a joint, starving for a hit – and bad. The ache for a buzz claws at my skin. The pinch of lemon and sweetness envelopes the Jeep and burns into my lungs. I can’t wait another second and soak as much of it in as I can. It hits fast and eases into my veins, numbing everything.
When I check my phone. Brody sent me half a dozen messages. I haven’t had the chance to look at them, and I’d rather not deal with him. There have been a few missed calls, and his name rolls on my cell like some sixth sense told him I’m off work.
I place the cell to my ear. “What do you want?” I take in another drag. Smoke pools out of my nose as the ashes fall to the asphalt.
“You’re avoiding me.”
