Page 131 of Dirty Roulette
More videos pop up.
Other girls Brody’s taken advantage of.
The website he airs everyone’s dirty laundry on.
Even the text messages he’s sent to other guys demanding them to play his stupid game of Roulette. It’s displayed for the world to see and someone is sitting on their couch with a cold beer with all of this airing live on ESPN if they haven’t already pulled the plug.
Several Security guards race up the stairs at the further end of the stadium. Even police are all over the place, with guns lowered as they climb up the stairs.Shit. Something is wrong. Something is telling me to move now.
I burst through a set of double doors and halt. People are scattering. Running until it's empty. So empty that it’s like I walked into a different universe. These halls are usually jam-packed with people lining up to use the public bathrooms, but it's just the blaring fire alarm and overhead lights flashing off the polished floor. There is pure fear melting into my bones as I hear a raw, terrifying scream.
"Payton!" I shout, stampeding to the sound reverberating off the walls.
"Get off me! Someone help!" It echoes in all directions of the hallways.
My blood runs cold, chills prickling every nerve. My heart pumps as I jog, peeking around at every corner. Then I see it on the floor. Crimson stains smearing along the tile. I think I stopped breathing. It's smeared along a stair railing and on the walls like it's right out of a crime scene. "Payton!"
I follow the trail, and the screaming grows louder by the second. I pass the opening of the women's bathroom with shrill cries. I storm in to see Payton pressed against the wall, with both hands wrapped around Brittni’s wrist. She’s holding something sharp. Payton shakes all over, fighting to get it away from her face. They scream at each other. Payton headbutts Brittni, spinning herself around and slamming Brittni's hand against the wall.
“Help me!" Her voice trembles. "Someone! Please!” She's struggling to get a knife out of Brittni’s hands. “She’s gonna kill me!”
“Stop! Brittni, Stop!” I race over, the knife swinging in all directions, and I grab Brittni’s arm as quickly as I can. “Drop the knife!” Using both hands, I try to stabilize Brittni’s arm, but her adrenaline must be pumping with how strongly she fights back, and the knife punctures my shoulder pads forcing my back to crash into the wall, and she yanks it out with her red rimmed eyes quivering.
“No! It should have been her!” Brittni shrieks in my face. I hold her arms as firmly as I can, reaching for the base of the knife and ripping it out of her grip, finger by finger as she breaks her windpipes open.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her! You have to believe me!” I snatch the knife and chuck it across the floor, and it slides under one of the bathroom stalls. I wedge myself between them.
Brittni stumbles back into the wall, crumbling to the floor, with blood splatters on her white shoes. “I didn’t mean to!” Brittni fists a handful of her hair, her chest heaving in and out as she slams her head to the back of the wall and sobs.
Out of instinct, I cradle Payton in my arms, cupping the back of her head with my palm as we step away. Even through my football gear, I feel her heart beating. Footsteps stomp down the hallway and officers round the corner into the bathroom with guns pointed directly at all three of us.
“Suspect with a weapon has been located!” One talks into the radio hooked to his vest. “Stand up! Put your hands in the air!”
***
Tires roll along the asphalt of an ambulance flashing their lights and leaving the stadium parking lot. They managed to stabilize Mr. Clorox’s condition, but he was stabbed four times. His real name is Patrick. All this time I just called him Fatso, and a brittle regret digs deep into my lungs.
Guests were forced to leave, and the game was postponed until further notice.
Brody is loaded up in the back of a police vehicle in cuffs, and he’s kicking the metal bars inside the police car. Brittni fights against the hobble restraint as police yell at her to calm down, shoving her into another patrol car.
Payton sits on the edge of another ambulance with an ice pack resting on her lips. Officers have stood next to her, taking down notes and asking questions I can’t hear for the last twenty minutes.
I wanted them to stop hovering over her for two seconds, but a medic needed to be sure the knife didn’t puncture my skin. I told them that the padding caught the blow, but they insisted.
When police stroll back to their vehicles, Payton is alone and I finally take the hard steps over to her. My hands rest in the pockets of my jersey. A brittle ache sits in the back of my throat, tearing through the warm meaty flesh in my chest. “Hey...” I say, biting off the dry skin on my lips to the point I taste them bleeding.
“Hi Crab...” she says back, swallowing hard but not daring to look me in the eyes. She’s holding it all in.
“Je t'ai trouvé,” I say, tilting my head to the side to catch her eyes and hoping she might meet mine.
“You always find me.” Her lips tremble, and she pushes herself off the back of the ambulance and in two seconds she collapses into me. Her fingers dig into my jacket as she buries her head into my chest.
I run a hand through her disheveled hair kissing her forehead. A stench of iron stains her cheer uniform, and I can’t tell if it’s her blood or not. Mascara and eyeliner smudge down her cheeks. There are bruises under her eyes, and I can see the fingerprints on her wrist from the struggle.
“I should have gotten there sooner... I’m so sorry,” I stammer, my voice breaking like burnt skin. I stare into the darkness of the parking lot. Other team members hang around surrounded by officers.
“I didn’t think she would go that crazy!” I say and gather the courage to look Payton in the eyes, they glisten with it pooling at the rims. She uses the back of her hand to wipe her face. There is even blood on her arms. It starts to hit hard. “I love you, I'm so sorry.”
