Page 84 of Dirty Roulette
“Thanks...” I mutter. People swarm in here, indulging themselves in whatever they can paw their hands on.
The crowd erupts in a deafening roar, and the first cord strikes on the guitar. Drums and bass pound. The singer’s guttural growls hit the mic. I head over and stare out into the pit where the group of people are pushing and shoving. I walk down the flight of stairs leading to the stage with flashing lights and towering amplifiers.
Fans scream the lyrics with the singer who roars the song at the top of his lungs. Drums shake the concrete as I get closer and find my way to the pit. My tongue is cotton on the roof of my mouth, and sips from the beer only make my mouth dryer. The band goes through four songs and I’m pressed against a railing made from rusty pipes. A surging crowd squishes and packs me tight like saran wrap.
The singer goes into a speech about how happy they are for everyone who came out, and something settling at the bottom of my stomach tells me to turn around. When I swivel my head to the staircase, my heart drops to the floor.
Brody burns into my retinas as the singer cues the band to play their final song. I watch the Antichrist march straight to the mosh pit where skinny dudes are kicking and pushing without care. He’s like a troll stampeding through them with his stocky muscles glistening in the multicolored strobe lights. My imagination manifested the illusion of him chopping up my body parts and stuffing the remains into a suitcase.
Watching in the crowd, I spot Charlie, and he’s a magnet picking her out. A thousand needles pour down my throat. I push and shove through the crowd with my beer high up above my head. I’m stomping on toes and snaking around people. Body heat envelops me, and I’m sweltering in an oven within seconds. My eyes don’t leave Charlie and when she’s inches away, I snatch her wrist.
“Let go!” She yanks her arm back and swivels around, but the second her eyes lay on me I read her lips saying, “Oh it’s you.”
“Brody is here!” I yell straight into her ear.
Her gray eyes flood with concern. “Who?”
“Brody!”
I push a couple of unruly strands of hair away from my face and chug down the cheap stale beer in my hands.
“You have to be kidding me!” She shouts over the music.
“No!”
“You realize I’m still mad at you?” Charlie waves her freshly manicured fingers at me.
“I don’t care, he’s a sociopath!” I holler over the roar into her ear.
“That doesn’t change the fact that my best friend of almost fifteen years lied to me! I need to go talk to him.”
“No, don't!”
She shoos away the comment and snakes around the crowd to meet up with Brody.
I throw my red cup to the ground and stare at the thick gold texture and foam spreading around my feet. I kick the damn cup with my brain in overdrive. I want to pull out Charlie’s hair, spit in Brody’s face, and wallow in self-pity all at the same time.
I don’t know how I feel anymore, but something tells me not to leave her alone with him.
Blue streaming lights beam off different faces. I’m sick to my stomach, watching hands thrown up in the air, and everyone’s in sync with the beat. The lights flash on Brody and I squeeze through the mob.
My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach, watching Charlie wrap her arms around his neck, giving him a light hug.
“Oh look, it’s Trash!” He hovers over me. I catch him linking hands with Charlie. He licks his lips and leans into Charlie’s ear. “Let’s get some drinks!”
Something feels off.
“Sure, I gotta pee, and I’m thirsty.” She agrees, and I’m dumbfounded enough my mouth drops open.
“No! Charlie, wait!” I push and shove through thick bodies to catch up with them. But they’re gone.
Chapter thirty
Ryder
Acid sloshes a blistering trail up my throat, as I can’t peel my eyes off Payton’s pictures. They are trending on Brody’s website. My stomach churns like spoiled meat. Her phone number. A map to her dorm room. Where she lives off campus. All of it is there.
I dump myself in the driver’s seat of my Jeep. My hands turn clammy as I scroll through the comments of thirsty guys. There’s not a damn thing I can do. I can’t stop anyone from blowing up her phone. It’s a done deal. I want nothing more than to spare her the agony of playing Dirty Roulette. But I’m reliving my own nightmare from freshman year thinking I was done with this drama.
