Year Finale

This month has been time spent reflecting on the year that has passed and what is to come. Ups and downs made me stronger, but even now I feel myself breaking from so many things. I look forward to the moment I have my breakthrough.  Then, I can look back on all these blogs and all my struggles described in each word, and laugh because it's all behind me. As of right now, I prepare for a new year where I must fight to and take the next step. Striving to never be afraid to explore, to trust in my inner god, to not fail. My goals are so much bigger than me, so I must grow to fulfill them. It's that simple. Keep moving forward.

"Don't live the same year 75 times and call it life." - source known

One Night

“Um, so you’re far more charming than anyone else I’ve met here,” I said. My voice was strained and I felt a bit confused, maybe hot and bothered? I couldn’t tell and my thoughts wouldn’t collect quickly enough. It had been such a long time since I’d felt hot and bothered by anyone but Dana.

“Quite, and I’m in town for only a short period so there is no need to be coy,” Tala swept her hand behind her towards the loft. “I’m hosting your company while I’m in town since they have produced good business with me in the past but I’ll be leaving soon. I stay too long and my ex-husband might try to convince me his cock is all I needed.”

I didn’t know how to make small talk of this so I produced an awkward response instead. “Divorced?” I asked her as if I didn’t know what the word was. Saying it made me feel tainted as if she’d poisoned me with the idea.

“Yes, years in the making,” She said watching me intrigued as I swayed uncomfortably with the topic. “My husband and I had too much in common; business, domineering personalities, and an enjoyment of women. The latter won out for me so we parted ways.”

“Oh,” was all I replied. I looked over my shoulder for Dana. I wondered if it would be rude to just turn and walk away.

Tala’s spoke loudly to gain my attention. “We don’t need to discuss that. I would much rather be discussing you. How long have you worked with the company.”

When I looked to her again Tala’s face wore a playful smile and it hit me that she’d probably done this all too often. I shouldn’t be here. I needed to walk away but I felt drawn to her.

I blurted out an answer. “I’m married.” I wanted to slap myself in the forehead when I heard myself speak. So many other ways to respond like, I’m not a lawyer but my wife is, and still I chose that.

She laughed. “You’re wedding ring tells me that,” She pointed to my hand that still held my glass of old fashioned.

“So you’ll understand when I say…” I started to reply.

“I understand this means that you’re probably trapped and in need of some freedom like I was. I can give you that.”

“Uh, excuse me I don’t need anything from you.” With that I urged myself to turn and walk away.

I returned to the mixer, unable to find Dana. I feel light headed and unfocused my heart raced. I needed a moment and searched the loft for a bathroom. I had to inquire to one of the other guest who directed me upstairs to the first door on the left.

Once inside restroom I locked the door behind me and rested the glass on the top of toilet. I took a moment to breath and I looked into the mirror, staring into my own eyes, wondering what was going on. Why was I so overwhelmed and I knew the answer, it’s because I wanted Tala. I contemplated the revelation when I heard the doorknob turn and jiggle as someone attempted to enter.

- excerpt from One Night

This idea was requested by a friend. She wanted a lesbian erotica and I like a story so I combined the two. I like sex scenes but I like them to have a purpose (in real life tthat isn' always the case and  they just happen but I'll save that for another story). In the orignal draft I played around with the idea of the characters being in a world where their marraige was always legal. This was forcing out the idea of the promiscuous lesbian and that our marraiges could not be held to the same level as heterosexual. For this draft a I focused instead on the emotional rolloer coaster of the main character L'oreal. Often times we don't share what we're going through even when it can save use from making a mistake.  For the full read go here.

Pilot Jones

This is based on the song by the same name as performed by Frank Ocean. Listening to the song I just had the image of some guy stumbling through a wet lawn as the sprinklers rained down on him and asked myself, what would cause him to be this lone man walking across a lawn? There was also this idea of colors melting off of a vase.  What and how much would you have to binge to start hallucinating something like this? In this way I played with the presentation of the idea and here is me putting it all together.

Damon could taste the bile in his mouth as soon as he woke. He felt the saliva seeping from his lips. The traces of acidic stomach content still wet. Some of it spilled down the side of the maroon comforter beneath him ending in a pool of vomit on the white tile floor. Damon pushed himself up from the bed and looked around dazed. For a moment he was displaced, unsure of where he was as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Moments passed before he recognized his own room in disarray. Its contents were thrown everywhere; drawers open, clothes on the floor, piles of empty bottles littered about. As he stood to look around his head spun, and the room shifting from left to right, like a pirate ship ride that wouldn’t stop. A wave of nausea followed by vomit finally allowed him to focus. 

Damon coughed clearing the last of it from his throat. He prepared to sit down again, clear his head, but a sharp voice called out before he reached the bed. 

“There you are, come on!” Monique walked through the door, hands on her hip, with her usual no-nonsense attitude. Damon took some breaths to steady himself, trying to obey so he could avoid the barrage that would come if he didn’t, and began to sluggishly move away from the bed. The room lurched once more, but he looked to Monique, and she became his focus amongst the moving colors. Damon took a few slow steps in her direction and the stopped spinning.  

As Damon continued to walk towards him he noted how Monique’s brown skin seemed to glow. Like she was a beacon of light, her soul unable to be contained. Then he realized it was the lamp behind her creating the false aura.

“What da fuck are you doing, did you get the stuff?” Monique’s voice was gruff and was followed with two of her fingers pushed against the side of Damon’s head causing it to tilt it to the side. She peered at him with disdain, and just like that the magic that seemed part of her appearance was gone, and reality sank in hard.

Damon tried to remember what he was supposed to collect. He vaguely recalled coming to the room to look for something, but what? Asking Monique would only result in more ridicule. Instead, he stood shakily, and began searching the messy room moving clothes and other items out of his way. It was the sight of the vase that finally jogged his memory.

“Yeah, uh, I mean no. I came into get it and must’ve laid down for a second and passed out,” Damon said moving as he talked, kicking bottles out of the way. He stopped at the table where the vase rested and reached down to pick it up, but stopped short. The colors on the vase started melting away right before his eyes. They ran down the side in long streams pooling onto the table before spilling over onto the  floor. “This – this is wrong,” Damon whispered and closed his eyes trying to block the image. Maybe it was the acid, he thought. He knew he should’ve stopped when he had the chance, but pill after pill kept appeared in his hand. Why hadn’t he stopped? Maybe he felt obligated because Monique was still going. He regretted that now.

“Awwww fuck, you threw up again!” Monique’s voice brought Damon back into focus once more. When he looked to the vase it was normal. All the colors sealed once more within the ceramic. He was relieved, but he knew he’d have to face Monique and regret washed over him anew. He turned to her and watched as she eyed the bed with disgust moving the comforter and sheets to reveal the trail of vomit he had left behind. 

“A – a little bit,” Damon turned back to the vase cautiously reaching towards slowly in case it evaporated. It remained and the band of bright colors continued to encircle as they should. He turned it upside down and dumped its contents into his waiting hand. Damon didn’t realize he was holding his breath. He exhaled all in one go turning the vase over then returning it to the shelf. In his hand two golf-ball sized baggies of white powder.  His needed to direct her back to other things.

“At least this time it’s in our house.” He said, holding the two bags out to Monique. “Look we’ll clean it up later.  Let’s just go back to the party so we can get these people out of the house.”

Monique came over to him, snatching the baggies from his hand, then pointed back to the bed. “You’re cleaning that shit up, not we. And how the fuck you mad about the people in the house? Your friends invited them and left. You could’ve kicked them out a long time ago.”

“Yea,” Damon said, despite recalling his earlier attempt and Monique’s insistence that the party continue. She was obviously too drunk to remember. “I’m done now, aren’t you?”

The question seemed stupid asked out loud, and Monique didn’t even bother to answer. Instead she sucked her teeth and turned to leave. Damon stood where he was, listening to sound of her heels receding down the hall. As they faded he closed his eyes against the light and tried to ease the headache building up by pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t sure if it was a result of the partying or Monique.

 His fingers dragged down his face and he viewed the room between the translucent trails of each one. He took the time to feel each finger as they ran over his eyelids, nose, and cheeks, finally ending at his lips. He opened his to the room again,. It was chaos much like his life. The scattered contents included bottles and a condom wrappers, the used condom not to far off. A few plates, some of which held food, littered other parts of the floor. They should’ve closed off the bedroom before the party, but this was hindsight. Damon sighed. He was fairly sober after vomiting, but he felt like his headache was going to become a permanent fixture for the night. 

He attempted to clear some of the plates, gather it all into one place at least, when he heard the sharp click of heels growing louder. 

“Now what the fuck are you doing?” Monique said as she walked back into the room and she grabbed his arm yanking him up. “Come the fuck on before…just come the fuck on.” She dropped his arm and walked away. 

Damon consented, dropping the plates he held, and forced his feet to fall into place behind her. His movement was sluggish and dreamlike as they made their way through the hallway and down the stairs. Damon watched Monique from behind as she moved. She was thick in all the right places and the motion of her ass entranced him as they continued. He could almost hear it speaking to him, beckoning him to grab it. There was once a time when he would’ve, but Monique was on a drug binge. She wouldn’t give him the time of day when she was zoned out and trying to get high. Actually, she hadn’t given him the time of day for months now, but it was especially difficult when she was under the influence, and she was nowhere near done.

As they made their way down the hall, back to what was left of the party, Damon could hear a track playing along with muffled voices and laughter that trailed down the hall becoming louder as he and Monique approached the living room. The room was poorly lit. The only source of light came from two lamps covered in red lampshades at opposite sides of the room. The mood lighting brought relief to Damo’s as they entered. He took in the rooms content. A white sectional that could sit fifteen was positioned to one side of the room. It appeared stained in the red light. It was here that their guest waited. Three bodies occupying two-thirds of the sectional.

Brandon took up only one cushion. He sat closest to the door. His face hovered over a large black coffee table in the middle of the room, a line of coke in front of him. He took a quick deep inhale as he dragged the rolled dollar bill across the table before tossing his head back to “lean” the coke in as he called it. He straightened and nodded to Damon and Monique entering the room. The other two figures took notice as well of their return.

“There you are,” Nico’s voice came out lazy and relaxed. He lay on a large corner of the sectional with his feet stretched out across the cushions while his head rested against Veronica’s massive, obviously fake, chest. Veronica herself was leaned back into a cushion behind Nico, her legs perpendicular to his body as she ran her nails through Nico’s dark curls. Veronica’s eyes lingered on Damon as he entered and he was forced to ignore her wink as he went to sit down at the far end near Brandon. Nico spoke again as Monique settled down on some cushions resting on the floor and started emptying the baggies onto the table. “You know I was really close to asking Brandon if he wanted to come with me and start a search party.” 

Both Veronica and Monique laughed at this. Brandon flashed a quick smile then snorted his next line. Nico looked smug. The corners of Damon’s mouth simply twitched. His best effort to show that Nico’s comment didn’t bother him. 

This was Nico all night, quick with a well-worded jab or two. By now Damon had trained himself to have thick skin when it came to the comments, because the music business had taught him better. Nico’s pretty face was kept clean, but his attitude and demeanor spoke volumes about how dirty he could be. At one point he would be joking, and only seconds later he’d be in an altercation with the same guest because they looked at Veronica the wrong way. Nico had a source of pride all his own, but Veronica catered to his ego, laughing at anything he said while touching him affectionately. A man like him couldn’t lose face when it came to his own. 

Veronica had made two passes at Damon, flirting with him shamelessly when she found out Damon wrote several of her favorite songs, but Damon paid her no mind. Maybe it was due to the fact that Damon was the host, or maybe it was his fame that kept Nico at bay. Whatever the reason Nico simply eyed them both, and said nothing. It was the calm silence with which he observed the exchanges that bothered Damon the most. No words, no altercation, just a hard cold stares. Now they all found themselves here, the last five, with Damon hoping the night would end smoothly. 

Brandon started a new line from the pile Monique had dumped. Damon watched him, another easy read. Brandon was either Nico’s best friend from childhood or a bodyguard. In the end he was basically entourage. Brandon said very little. He only smiled blankly at anyone that spoke to him until they let him be with whatever drug he had at the moment, usually coke. Regardless of his habits, Brandon always made sure he stayed close to Nico. The three had made themselves at home by now.

Brandon leaned over to take his hit from the new pile of coke while Nico shifted his positions. His shoes added unsightly dirt marks to the white sectional. Damon stared at Nico’s shoes, his thoughts drifting to an episode of The Chappelle Show. He recalled the phrase with ease, “cocaine is a hell of a drug.” There was more than cocaine present, however. Random psychedelics including shrooms and ecstasy, even some crystal meth, was scattered all about the table. Party favors left behind by others no longer present. Nico’s group was the only one that lingered, and they had proven themselves willing to partake in any drug available. Monique had also shown herself up for the challenge, her long binge of narcotics continuing for several hours with no end in sight. The cocaine however was the centerpiece to the dinner party and it was Monique who offered the additional cocaine when things started to run low. It was her way of keeping the party going and everyone happy everyone except Damon.

“Nah, no search needed,” Damon finally responded, his eyes on the table. It was then that he realized he must have thrown up more than he thought. Damon felt more sober than he wanted to at the moment. It was one thing to face Nico’s deranged stares when high, but sober left him on edge. Damon glanced over at Monique expectantly, watching her crush the powder, hoping to take a line soon, but she was still working on both. He then made the mistake of looking in Nico’s direction and found the man staring directly at him while leaning back with a smile that was chillingly beautiful. Damon dropped his eyes immediately landing on the pile Brandon was working on. He felt the need to explain his absence. “It was just a little difficult to find.”

Monique sucked the air in between her teeth. “I found this fucker passed out in his own vomit on the bed. He knocked out like a little bitch,” she complained as she continued to break up the piles in front of her. There was laughter again. Nico’s was loudest of all as he doubled-over, his head lifting from Veronica’s chest as he wrapped his arms around his stomach, and started rolling side to side on the couch.

“You’re a damn fool man,” Nico worked on catching his breath as he spoke. He eventually rolled to one side turning toward Damon with a broad smile. “My man, if you needed to call it quits you just say so. I’m sure Monique would tuck you in tight while the grownups continued.”

This urged another round of laughter. By this time if Damon could’ve shown a blush he would’ve. Instead he showed another meek smile, his white teeth contrasting against his dark skin.

“My nigga, you look like the Cheshire cat when it’s invisible, stop that damn smiling.” Nica commented, another round of laughter. It was a regular comedy night for Nico.

“I don’t know,” Veronica’s voice was light and flirtatious as she eyed Damon. “I would let you rest. Sleep is supposed to be good for creativity.” Veronica paid no mind to anyone else as she looked from Damon’s crotch to his face with a look that translated to not so platonic exchanges. Damon was uncomfortable and with a clear mind he saw things Veronica ignored like Nico.

Nico stopped laughing immediately and was now sitting attentively with his eyes fixed on Damon. Meanwhile, Monique looked at Veronica in disgust then rolled her eyes before continuing to break down the baggie with doubled effort. Brandon stopped setting up his third line looking from Nico to Damon as if deciding if there was anything he needed to do. It was Nico’s look that hit hardest of all however. Nico’s face and body were tense, his eyes never moving from Damon, an ice-cold look that could kill. Veronica was Nico’s after all and his stare told Damon his territory had been encroached upon. The air crept into Damon’s lungs like ice as Nico spoke.

“So you digging this Taye Diggs looking mother fucker huh?” Nico’s question seemed casual but Damon heard the cold edge in his voice. “You’re really gonna take him over me?”

“It’s not like that baby. I mean all musicians are kind of hot,” Veronica said in an unapologetic tone unaware of the growing tension. She ran her nails absentmindedly through Nico’s hair once again as he settled back into her chest. “You’ve heard his songs, it’s like he’s making love to you.” Monique sucked her teeth once more.

“He’s a songwriter, he doesn’t even perform his own shit,” Monique stated over the chops of the card into each pile. “I don’t even know how he’s still making music. All these songs about sex, and this fool hasn’t fucked me in like six months!” Monique’s voice rose with each word. Her anger came to a head when she stopped breaking down the cocaine in front of her, and stood up, pulling down her pants and flashing her ass to the room. “Who wouldn’t be inspired by this?”

Everyone in the room took in the sight and the tension was released. Brandon had a good long look then made a low whistle before returning his attention to the line that was waiting on the table for him. Veronica reached over to slap Monique’s ass.

“Yasss Girl, shake that big ole thing,” Veronica encouraged, and Monique began to twerk with her ass out. 

Nico smiled, but it never reached his eyes. Damon sat and watched quietly saying nothing. He felt his heart breaking a bit more with the spectacle that Monique put on.

“Hey Babe, I need my jacket.” Nico sat up again so Veronica could slide from behind him. “Go get it for me.”

“What do you…?” Veronica started, but she never finished the sentence.

“Just get the fucking jacket!”  Nico snapped his eyes daring her to challenge him further. She didn’t however, instead Veronica stood without another word. 

Nico reached out and squeezed her hand apologetically as she moved to obey. Veronica smiled weakly in return before walking out the room and down the hall. Damon should’ve followed. Should’ve offered to lead her through the house to wherever the jacket could be, or at least to give himself time to address his growing anxiety, but he sat dumbstruck with fear instead. Damon found Nico’s eyes watching him as the remaining four sat in silence. Monique and Brandon kept themselves occupied with the drugs spread out before them. The tension was so palpable Damon felt like he could reach out and touch it in the air.  The only sound was a quick temp song in the background. One Damon had recorded almost a year ago. This was the last song he wrote before Monique nearly overdosed, before he nearly lost her. Damon tried to lose himself in that song, and better times, but Nico’s voice came and interrupted his trip down memory lane.

“Songwriter, right?” Nico sat up and moved closer to the table. “You did that one song…uh…Upon Request ?” He took his eyes off Damon long enough to snort a line hed made from Monique’s pile, then waited for an answer as he cleaned away the residue.

“Yea,” Damon replied uneasily.

“Went platinum right?”

“Triple actually,” Damon’s mouth twitched a nervous smile.

“Triple? Well damn, that was the joint. Bet you get all the bitches with that one?” 

“No no,” Damon quietly disagreed. “I keep it at home.” 

Damon forced himself to take a line at that point even though his nostrils felt swollen shut. It was more out of reflex than need. It gave him something to do.

Nico prepared another line as he spoke. “Yeah, me too. Veronica made as honest a man out of me as I’ll ever be.” He leaned in as if to snort the line, but brought himself closer to Damon first lowering his voice as he continued. “You know outside of the occasional blowjob.”

Nico chuckled at the statement finally snorting the line that waited for him. Damon laughed, but he was so nervous it sounded like a bad case of hiccups. Nico went quiet once more his eyes penetrating Damon daring him to answer in any other way but the truth. Nico bent down and finished two more lines before speaking again.

“So, you never stepped out on your old lady?” Nico asked sniffing to make sure he received his full hit. “I mean you must have gotten all the pussy thrown at you?” He waited for an answer.

“Nah, nothing like that,” Damon said, he wasn’t sure where this was going. Did Nico want to know something about Monique or was he poking around to see if Damon would reveal some other dark secret? 

It was then that Damon dared to look over at Monique. She was still crushing the cocaine, taking tastes, rubbing it on her gums as she went. Damon realized in that moment she’d lost some of her magic and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment as he watched her obsess over her next high. Over the years the magic had disappeared from her bit by bit with each hit or ingestion of whatever paraphernalia was available. Monique was far removed from the girl that listened to him at open-mics with large doe eyes telling Damon he would be a star  some day. She was still innocent then, but now as he watched her brush her gums with more of the powder, and he realized that was a long time ago and far behind them.

Now a days he spent his nights like this, with the exception of his Nico, who was starring at him with that broad pretty boy smile of his. This continued until Veronica re-entered the room.

Nico put his arm out to her as she came closer beckoning her to join him. She handed over the jacket at arms length pushing it off to him and went to sit elsewhere, but he stood up and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her down on to his lap. He kissed her playfully on the cheek. She ignored the affection and moved from his lap and sat next to him instead.

“You still mad at me baby?” Nico pouted playfully exaggerating his pretty features into a sad look. Veronica only continued to look annoyed.

“You didn’t have to yell,” Veronica huffed pushing herself from Nico, then stood and moved to the other side of the sectional to sit by Brandon. Nico dropped his head and chuckled quietly into his chest before looking up at Damon again.

“Sometimes I wonder why we don’t build a society without bitches?” Nico asked to no one in particular then threw his head back in ruckus laughter. It took him some time to calm down again. When he did he started to speak again, while he fumbled with the jacket trying to get to one of the pockets. “You know what I’m saying Damon? These girls have our panties in a bunch because they make comments out the side of their necks and we can’t do anything but love ‘em.”

Nico found what he was looking for and pulled it out. The barrel of the revolver was long, well polished, and stainless steel. It had a black grip that Nico held tightly against the padding of his arm as he waved it back and forth before pressing the barrel into the ground. Damon didn’t have to look. The room was silent, and no one moved. Everyone waited to see what would happen next.

“You know why I carry this gun, because I’m old school. Like wild west style,” Nico announced. He cocked the gun and looked at Damon. “Kind of the same way I’m old school about my old lady.”

Did Nico think he wanted Veronica? Damon thought to himself. How could Nico think he wanted Veronica? 

Damon’s mind raced but he didn’t know what to say. He knew he was no more in control of Veronica’s behavior than he was Nico’s, but Damon didn’t know how to convince Nico of that. The room stayed quiet except for the music. Even Monique gave her attention to what was happening, finally taking her eyes of the pile of cocaine. Damon imagined her last drip trickling down her throat as she took in the scene. What was she thinking now? She’d been so eager to keep the party going.  He wondered if she considered it worth it now.

Nico let the gun swing limp in his hand so that it hung between his knees as he spoke. His head tilted to one side as he looked from Damon to Veronica and back again.

“I just don’t get it, you know,” Nico said, placing his jacket to the side. “I mean, you have guests, hospitality is a given, but how are you going to eye my old lady. That’s just plain rude my man.”

Damon opened his mouth to speak, but Nico gave him a look that advised he shouldn’t. Damon took the suggestion and stopped.

“I mean look,” Nico rubbed the barrel against his head as he spoke. “She’s not guilt free either. Over here sounding like a fucking fan girl all night, right.”

“Baby - ” was all Veronica managed.

“Shut the fuck up!” Nico screamed standing up enraged. Veins appeared on his forehead and his eyes bulged as he spoke. Then just as quickly his mood shifted and he laughed hysterically waving the gun around carelessly in every direction. “Ay look, look, I’m not trying to end the party. Nah, in fact we’re about to have way more fun.”

            Everyone watched and waited as Nico opened the chamber of the gun removing all the bullets deftly, except one. He spun the chamber and closed it, like a movie. That’s what this felt like to Damon. It had to be made up. This couldn’t be life. Yet, here he was. 

“You heard of Russian Roulette right?” Nico asked Damon. Damon swallowed hard, but didn’t answer. He could feel his Adam’s apple as it bounced up and down in this throat. He was aware of everything now. Beads of sweat on Nico’s forehead, the playlist ending enveloping the room in deafening silence, and the quiet breathes of five people waiting an answer. “Well, you know the game right?”

“Y-yeah,” Damon answered and before he could think of what to do or say next Nico pulled back the hammer aimed the gun at him, and pulled the trigger.

A moment passed where Damon stopped thinking, stopped breathing. His heart must have skipped a beat and for a moment he’d stopped living. His life flashed before his eyes. From childhood to high school to the day he met Monique and felt he could never live his life without her. Yet here he was, facing death because what was supposed to be a small gathering turned into one of her drug binges. How had he arrived here? 

It took a moment for the reality to sink in, but nothing happened, only a click and the sound of the chamber turning and nothing.

“Damn, you one lucky mother fucker,” Nico laughed as he pointed the barrel up to the ceiling. “ So I guess you’re winning so far. I want you to know this is personal. My honor has been, what’s that word…doesn’t fucking matter, but I don’t appreciate people checking my old lady out.”

Brandon spoke for the first time. “Hey man we need to just leave,” His voice came out a deep baritone, calm and low almost soothing, nut this had no effect on Nico. Damon looked over to Brandon and found that Brandon’s hands were up as if the gun were pointed at him. Brandon slowly tried to ease his way from the sectional.

“Just sit your simple ass down and shut the fuck up,” Nico pointed the barrel in Brandon’s direction indicating the seriousness of his threat, and Brandon found himself seated once again. Nico turned back to Damon. “It’s simple, the way I see it we’re playing a man’s game and what’s more manly than a gun fight to see who wins the damsel.”

“This is stupid Nico,” Veronica’s voice was shaky and only grew shakier as she continued. “ We can just leave. You know I love you. He’s just a name, you know, someone famous.”

She stood up, but Nico quickly shoved her back down to the sectional his eyes daring her to stand up again. Damon wished she wouldn’t. He could see Nico’s limits were being reached with each challenge. Damon’s unspoken prayer was answered when Veronica chose to bury her head into the pillow next to her instead and began sobbing.

“Bitches always think they run things,” Nico smiled at Damon. “But you and I know how to get them right where we want them.”

Damon wished he felt the same. Unconsciously he stole a look at Monique who sat frozen next to her pile of coke. Silent tears were streaming down her face as she starred wide-eyed, looking from Nico to Damon. When she saw Damon look at her she held his eyes pleading for him to do something. Damon dropped his gaze to the ground then looked back up to Nico. He wished he knew what to do, but it felt like it was too late for that now.

“My turn,” Nico stated, pointing the gun to himself. “Real man wouldn’t let you brave it out by yourself right?”

Veronica pulled her wet face away from the pillow and started. “Ba-.” But it was too late. The next moment was in slow motion for Damon. Just as before, Nico cocked the hammer backwards on the gun and pulled the trigger. This time the gun was placed to Nico’s head, not Damon’s, and Nico held the same crazed pretty boy smile as the hammer connected.

The gunshot was deafening leaving a ringing in Damon’s ears. Blood sprayed across the couch. Some of it splattered onto Damon’s face, more landed on Veronica. The ringing in Damon’s ears muffled the screams that followed. Damon could saw that the face of both women were in anguish, but couldn’t distinguish the volume of their shrieks. Their faces were like exaggerated caricatures from a horror movie, eyes bulging wide and their mouths huge. The scene unraveled further as Nico fell over immediately as the hand still holding the gun landing lifeless at his side. Veronica screamed anew, this time the sound piercing through the fading ring, and like a rush, life moved forward again at a regular pace. Brandon rushed to Nico’s side checking the body as if somehow he could undo the damage, but he couldn’t. Nico’s body started to tremble and shake violently causing Veronica to shriek in louder shorter bursts. She picked her feet up from the floor moving them as far from Nico’s body as she could. Damon was still in shock as the scene unraveled his mind unraveling with it. 

Veronica threw her arms over her head, collapsing into her knees as if she was trying to hide from the world behind them. Meanwhile, Brandon no longer attempted to return life to Nico’s body that lay crumpled on the floor as blood spurted out. Instead he pulled out his phone dialing 9-1-1 then began hurriedly trying to explain the situation. The irony dawned on Damon at that moment. Brandon was probably there to keep Nico out of harm, but he couldn’t stop Nico from being hurt by Nico. It’s true,Damon thought, we’re our own worst enemy.

“No, he’s not breathing. I have no way of telling how much damage there is. Half his fucking head is missing! ” Brandon had to pause for the response then looked for something catching Damon’s eyes. “The address?”

“I… I, ” Damon stuttered. He couldn’t find the words.

“What’s your fucking address?” Brandon asked again. Damon took note of his hands covered in blood as Brandon grabbed his shirt in attempts to shake the answer from him. The words wouldn’t come. Brandon saw he was getting nowhere and returned to the phone. “I don’t know the goddamn address. Just track the phone.”

“326 Schauffer, S-c-h-a-u-f-f-e-r, Avenue, ” Monique’s voice came out shaky and small but Brandon repeated what she stated and she nodded to indicate what he said was correct. Brandon’s voice faded away and Damon looked to Monique. She was still hovering over the coke pile she’d been working on when this all started. Her hands shook as she sat there and for a moment Damon saw her innocence again. She appeared vulnerable and scared which made him want to reach out and wrap his arms around her, protect her. Damon stayed in this feeling for only moments then he was reminded of who Monique was to him now.

“Fucking idiots!” Monique’s voice was shrill and her movement manic as her hands pulled at her hair. Her face was contorted with rage. She looked possessed. “You morons couldn’t just have fun, always fucking macho! Talking about bitches when your motherfuckers are more bitches than anyone. What the fuck…what the fuck…!”

Monique was a broken record for a long time. Repeating the words over and over. Suddenly she stopped wiping away her few tears and snorted loudly, probably pulling down another drip. Her face became calm, clouds of doubt and fear clearing right before Damon’s eyes. Then she stood up calmly and started scooping the cocaine back into the bags.

“Help me clean this shit up,” Monique said directly to Damon, but he didn’t move. He simply watched as Monique swiftly picked up another bag, one he hadn’t even noticed, and started gathering up the other random drugs. She looked to him again. “What the fuck are you doing? We need to clean this shit up, put it away before police arrive and start asking too many questions.” Monique’s eyes could cut. Damon was nothing to her, a tool to get what she needed, and he saw that now. Damon responded as he was told, but as he moved to fulfill her request, he was hit with a barrage of thoughts and questions. They came over and over until he could hold them in no longer.

“We could’ve told them to fucking leave?” Damon started, as he dropped what he was holding into a bowl.  “Fucking, why did we even do this? Why didn’t we just tell them to leave?” He grabbed Monique asking her, but the person looking back was a  complete stranger.

“It’s done, unless you know how to turn back fucking time,” Monique responded pulling away from him. Her voice was cold and commanding as she continued. “Right now what we need to worry about is getting our stories straight and making sure none of the drugs are here.” She sniffed and wiped her nose again. 

“Why are we here?” Damon asked to no one in particular. He turned to look at the scene. Brandon was still on the phone with paramedics while he screamed at Veronica to press the jacket Nico’s head. Nico’s head now lay in her lap, the curls matted with blood and inner parts of his human anatomy. His shirt, and the couch, were stained with the blood from his wound.

“Get this shit the fuck out of here,” Monique yelled grabbing the items in his hand and pointing him to some others. A man bled out in their living room and she was only worried about the cops. How could he explain this to the cops? He couldn’t. Damon tried to remember how he and Monique had arrived at this point; The parties, sex, and most definitely the drugs. They had made their choices and Monique revealed herself to him every time. Damon realized he had also unveiled himself. They were both different people, and not a good kind of different. He didn’t like the change.

“I can’t,” Damon answered. None of this made sense to him. He needed to find a way out.

“Can’t what?” Monique sounded exasperated. Damon didn’t answer. He felt jittery as the adrenaline pushed it’s way through his veins. Then a thought fell into place, he didn’t belong here. Not with Monique not with any of them. He needed to get out, get some fresh air.

Monique spoke to him again as he stood there. “What the fuck Damon, are you going to be a fucking statue all night?”

“I don’t know,” Damon finally replied. His feet began to move backwards, moving him away from the room, away from Nico’s body, which grew colder by the second. Then, he simply turned, and walked out, while Monique continued her Easter egg hunt for any drugs that may have been lost in the couch cushions. Brandon still tried to save his dying friend and Veronica cried. Damon had had enough of all of that. He didn’t know where he was going, but he had to get away. He was halfway down the hall when he heard her.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Monique’s accusing voice traveled down the hall. Damon didn’t want to stop, he didn’t want to look, but he did anyway. Her face questioned him. She looked at him as if he were less of a man for leaving, as if he was abandoning her. How could he tell her that they’d gone their separate ways long ago?

“I can’t do this any more,” Damon spoke but it felt surreal. He could hear his voice and felt the vibrations as the words worked their way across his vocal chords, but it didn’t feel like him. “I don’t even know who we are to each other.”

Monique’s mouth fell open in disbelief.

“What are you talking about?” Her voice hissed, an angry edge to her words, as she started walking towards hi, and as she came closer Damon moved further away, matching her speed to keep the same distance between them. She stopped, her eyes widening with rage. “We don’t have time for this!”

“We ran out of time years ago,” Damon’s voice came out dead and his throat felt tight as the words made their way out his mouth. He turned at that point and started to walk away again. He could hear her footsteps falling again as she followed behind him trying to catch up. He reached the door before she could, but hesitated when she spoke again.

“Don’t you dare,” Monique growled through clenched teeth. “What about me, what about us?”

Damon didn’t look back. He didn’t want to keep looking back anymore.  “We nothing more to say.” 

He turned the knob and opened the door preparing to walk out.

Monique screamed her last belittling efforts at his back. “You know what, fuck you Damon, FUCK YOU! GO FUCKING FIND YOURSELF! I WON’T BE HERE WHEN YOU GET BACK. ” Damon paused, only a second, only a moment to let the hurt sink. He was unsure of where to go, what to do next. Maybe he couldn’t find himself out in the world anymore than he could here with Monique, but they’d been lost for so long something had to change. It was the blind leading the blind.

“Yea,” was all Damon mumbled in response to her threats, then he stepped through the door, closing it behind him, and began walking across the lawn of their house. He saw that the sun was starting to rise, pink hues playing across the sky as it crept into place over the tree lines and homes. He kept walking heading nowhere in particular. He needed to walk. He needed to get away and figure out how to start over.