Restraint is Useless Here

If there was ever a perfect way to distract oneself from a horrible breakup and persistent incoming calls from a psycho ex-boyfriend, it was experiencing an Avenged Sevenfold concert.

As the show neared its end, the band’s energy never dwindled. The lights lowered and the band walked offstage, leaving cacophonous applause in their wake. The haphazard cheers crescendoed into two distinct chants.

“Sevenfold. Sevenfold. Sevenfold.”
“We want more. We want more.”

After several moments of darkness, the backdrop exploded with light, geysers of flames erupting from every direction and illuminating the riotous crowd. The band walked back out onto the stage, launching into their final song.

The air grew thick and heavy as the evening progressed, exacerbated by the thousands of sweaty, musty bodies bouncing and shoving to their favorite songs, but Anna didn’t care. She could’ve watched Brian forever.

With a voice that complementarily soared just above Matt’s, he sang a beautiful tenor harmony. Watching his fingers expertly speed over his guitar as if they had a mind of their own, her jaw fell slack. Arrogant as he was, Brian undersold himself. He was so, so painfully talented. He seemed to feed off the crowd’s energy, sticking out his tongue as he nailed each riff and playfully interacting with the fans closest to the stage. She and Maria were about 50ft from the edge of the stage, and Anna tried to suppress the sliver of envy of the fans in the pit—how they loved him, how they screamed for more, reaching to him in hopes of grasping his hand. She thought she saw his eyes searching in her direction a few times, but chalked it up to wishful thinking. The stage was his playground, these fans his kingdom.

She didn’t stand a chance.

********

After Maria had departed and Anna had arrived at Johnny’s Saloon—Val and Anna took her Corolla while Brian’s dad picked up the guys to go get Jimmy’s Suburban—Anna felt like an entirely new person. The concert atmosphere, the music rush, and riding the surrealistic wave of hanging with this entourage had all but erased Jack from her mind. Naturally, Val had asked about his absence upon the girls’ arrival to warm-up, but Anna casually explained that she and Jack were taking time apart so he could focus on med school. She breathed a sigh of relief when her friend didn’t press further, Val’s type-A personality was quick to redirect itself to minding the Ps and Qs of pre-show duties.

A thrill energy of energy jolted through Anna’s veins from top-to-toe as she strolled down the sidewalk toward the bar’s entrance, her arms looped with Val’s. She felt a happiness so all-encompassing that nausea struck her, like her body didn’t know how to process the sensation of joy. Anna loosed her arms from her friends’ as she strode ahead, stiletto heels clicking against the concrete as she pirouetted forward again and again with arms arched delicately above her head as she twirled.

“I never want this night to end,” she exclaimed in sing-song. “Tell me it doesn’t have to.”

“It doesn’t have to!” Val laughed loudly. Never to be outdone, she joined in with her flawless pirouettes. She and Val continued dancing and giggling drunkenly despite the fact that neither had touched any alcohol yet. The girls hadn’t seen each other in years and still fit together comfortably, like an old sweatshirt—albeit half of it was primly coiffed and rhinestone-studded with killer lipstick.

“Okay, one last thing,” conceded Val. She crossed her arms and turned to Anna. “Grand jeté or bust, Sinclair. Let’s see those ballet chops.”

Anna’s finger shot out at Val, her expression bursting with wordless agreement that this was the best idea ever. Removing her shoes, she planted her forefoot onto the cool cement with the opposing foot pointed behind her. Feeling light as a feather, she took two steps before bursting into a mid-air split—and felt the roll of her ankle as she landed, scattering the contents of her purse across the concrete.

With a disbelieving gasp, Val rushed to pull Anna to a seated position. “Oh my God, I was kidding. Are you okay?”

“Man, this takes me back,” Anna croaked through clenched teeth, torn between howling in pain and laughing hysterically as she cradled her ankle. “I did spend a lot more time on my ass in ballet than you did.”

Val’s tightened her lips as her eyebrows stitched together sympathetically—it was common knowledge that, between the two, Val was far and above the more talented dancer, though she never owned up to it. If Anna didn’t excel equally at something, Val wanted nothing to do with stealing the limelight. Anna felt the warmth of nostalgia in her chest at the gesture.

As they collected Anna’s scattered belongings, the crunch of gravel and the whirr of a rolled down window caught their attention. Johnny stuck his head out the backseat of a large black truck, eyes widened suggestively. “Both times I’ve see you two together, it’s like someone spilled sexy Neopolitan ice cream, minus the chocolate.”

Jimmy reclined the driver’s seat to look out Johnny’s window, the head rest colliding with his friend’s head. “Yes, where is the hot fudge, Annie?” An obvious allusion to her dark-haired friend.

Pressing a palm to her chest and feigning heartbreak, Anna stuck out her bottom lip. “You wound me with your fleeting affections, James. Maria had to get back home. She’s a hard sell, but who am I to stop you, if you’re feeling amorous. And extra ballsy.”

“My balls are always amorous,” Jimmy replied mischievously as he began to pull away, finally obliging with the rest of the guys’ requests to park the car. “Get in there and order a round of shots. Tell Johnny to open up The Rev’s tab indefinitely. It’s gonna be a long night!”

*******

Johnny’s Saloon was divey and far from upscale, nothing like Diamond, but felt more like home than Anna could imagine. The building doubled as a pizzeria and the scrumptious scent of fire roasted cheese made her stomach growl. Neon Budweiser signs cast a reddish glow to the haze of cigarette smoke filling the air and, in contrast with the green Jameson bottle chandelier, it looked like Christmas in late April. Fortunately, the air conditioner was functioning just fine at Johnny’s and it was a welcome reprieve from the thick heat of the concert venue.

The group divvied up, reclaiming their old haunt. Matt and Jimmy launched into a expletive-filled game of pool, fighting over which of them would use the “lucky stick,” while Zack, Brian, and Johnny exchanged jokes and laughs with the heavily bearded owner, the saloon’s namesake. Val assumed the position of Huntington Beach’s sweetheart. She bounced around the bar, chatting up the bartenders and being tugged aside by patrons, yet always made her way back to Matt or Anna, touching the home bases from very different phases of her life. Adaptable seemed to be the name of their game; this group fit in everywhere they went. That’s what happens when you run with world-famous rockstars.

Insecurity gnawed at her insides as Jack’s taunt echoed through her mind: She’ll leave you in the dust. Her skin prickled with goosebumps. Whether from the blasting air or because terror was simply the default reaction when it came to Jack, she wasn’t sure. She shook away the thought. It didn’t matter now. For far too long, she calculated every step taken, every word spoken. She woke each morning never knowing which version of Jack she’d face. In the later months, everyday became one of those “Choose Your Own Adventure” books, except her only choices were pain suffered at his hand or hollowness in the pit of her stomach from keeping up the charade. Whatever she had endured up til then, the fact remained that she had broken free before getting seriously hurt. The bruises would heal, but still—they were only bruises. She owed him nothing.

“Annie, settle this debate for us.” Long fingers wound around her forearm as Jimmy pulled her toward a high top table where the guys had gathered. She inhaled the astringent smell of vodka—Grey Goose, by the aroma. “Who is the ‘Brian?’”

By way of response, Anna‘s eyes met his quizzically, before glancing at Brian and back to Jimmy.

Jimmy rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated that she couldn’t piece together his completely non-contextual question. “You know, like of our band. All boy bands have stereotypes. there’s the pretty frontman—the ‘Nick Carter.’ That’s obviously Shadows.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Matt said with a grin, raising his glass. His dimples drove home his prettiness. Val giggled at his side, pressing a kiss to one of them.

Jimmy reeled Anna’s neck into the crook of his arm, their heads nearly touching, and he waved two fingers across the table at Zack, as if beholding a skittish doe in the wild. “Then you have the ‘Howie,’ the sensitive backup crooner with soulful eyes that melt panties.” A nod toward Johnny. “And the obligatory weird one. No one’s really sure what he does, but we keep him around anyway.”

“Don’t listen to him, Anna.” Johnny narrowed his eyes at his friend. “One of these days, I’m gonna strike back and you guys’ll be sorry.” He dragged a finger across his neck in promise.

Anna disarmed his offending finger and placed his hand onto the table, patting it warmly. “You‘re the best bass player I’ve ever seen, Johnny.” To which he shot a smug look at his drummer.

Zack gave her A Look. “Isn’t this your first rock concert?”

“Shut up, guys. This is serious,” Jimmy commanded, slicing his hand through air to signal the end of any other conversation. “So, that leaves Gates and me.”

Reaching across Anna’s body, Jimmy pulled Brian toward them so each of the men flanked her. She sucked in a breath, realizing this was the first time she’d touched Brian’s bare skin other than a handshake. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt and it surprised her that his tattoos were smooth. She wasn’t sure why she expected them to be textured, but she’d never felt one before. And they looked so real. His forearm was warm and enticing pressed up against her cool shoulder. She wanted to nudge her way under his arm, to curl into him.

“You make the call,” Jimmy said, snapping her back to reality. “Who is the bad boy who’s probably kinky as fuck with a drug problem? And who is the dreamboat and arguably the veritable prodigy of the entire ensemble?” Anna felt an elbow in her rib cage during “veritable prodigy.” Jimmy was fishing.

Anna was familiar with the Backstreet Boys and, while she mostly agreed with Jimmy’s assessments of the other three—poor Johnny—she didn’t quite know how she’d categorize the remaining two. Especially because Brian—the real Brian—was the personification of dreamboat. Still, it was obvious Jimmy felt passionately about his progeny status. Who was she to take that away?

Reaching up, she smooshed Jimmy’s chin and lips between her fingers and thumb. “I can’t think of anything dreamier than this face, James. Or should I call you ‘Brian?’”

Slamming his hand on the table top in victory, Jimmy exclaimed, “I’m the ‘Brian!’ I’m the talent of this operation; I’m the brains. Better mosey on over to the social security office and officially hand that shit over, Gates. There can only be one!” With that, he placed his large hand on the small of Anna’s back as he dipped her backwards, planting a wet smooch on her cheek and leaving her giggling and flushed. “Thanks, Annie. You’re my favorite friend.”

With Jimmy, Anna found, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly when he crossed over the line from sober to shit-faced—regardless of blood alcohol level, everything was over the top. But it was okay because around Jimmy, sadness was impossible. He loved life, loved his friends, would do anything to make them smile. She wanted more than anything to have a reason to smile.

After Jimmy unsteadily meandered toward the jukebox, two beers in hand, Anna took the empty seat he’d occupied and ordered a water to sip on. A strange longing filled her chest as she replayed Jimmy’s words in her head: you’re my favorite friend. Val was right—Anna had not genuinely enjoyed a night out with friends in probably close to a year. She barely had friends. As deprived of companionship as she was, maybe it was weird to call them “friends” so soon, but God, how she wanted to be. In this crowded bar, with Val and this rock star entourage—though they didn’t feel so star-like offstage—she felt a sense of belonging.

“So, I guess that makes me the kinky bad boy?” Brian leaned in as he slid into the stool next to her.

The intoxicating mix of cigarette smoke and cologne addled her brain and her mouth watered—actually watered—like a freaking dog to a bell. The exact moment she’d transformed into a teenage boy or a science experiment, she wasn’t sure. “Scorching” wasn’t typically an adjective she’d use to describe a human being. Perhaps a bonfire on summer night or an actively erupting volcano but good Lord, if she didn’t feel 30 degrees warmer by his proximity.

You’re cool, Anna told herself. Be a fucking cucumber. She shrugged, untangling a curl from the gold hoop earrings Maria had lent her. “By default, I guess it does. But don’t forget the drug problem.”

“By default, of course.” He wrapped two fingers around the neck of his beer bottle and took a swig—almost concealing his smugness, but his eyes shone with amusement. “And the drugs? Nothing too serious.”

Matt excused himself for a cigarette, with Zack and Johnny following suit, leaving Anna and Brian alone at the high top. Her stomach flip-flopped as they fell into an awkward, tension-filled silence. Strange how she felt more confident with Brian when surrounded by their friends, using an audience as a safety net. She needed more alcohol.

“We should take a celebratory shot,” he suggested, and she wondered if she’d unintentionally said it out loud. “In honor of the last show on the tour and your first Avenged concert.”

She nodded her agreement, grateful that he had spoken up instead of her fumbling over her words.

“Speaking of the show,” he continued. His fingernail scraped at the label of his beer bottle, which he suddenly found fascinating. “What’d you think? Did we deliver?” Genuine curiosity without a hint of arrogance. Did he actually care what she thought? Was this uncertainty?

There’s no way she could undercut it: they were incredible. Anna tried to rein in her enthusiasm, but found it increasingly difficult to bite her tongue. She began spouting off uncontrollably, gushing over the production as a whole, how comfortable and interactive they were as performers, and the music and lyrics—she felt them. She was raving like a lunatic and she wasn’t entirely sure any words were coherent at that point. As she looked up, she was shocked to find Brian with a peaceful, contented expression. No longer fidgeting with the label, he rested his chin on his palm, listening intently. He hadn’t said anything in well over two minutes. Why wasn’t he saying anything? She shifted in her seat and her knee brushed his. Warmth burned in her core from the contact—accident or not.

Anna cleared her throat, redirecting herself. “I’m just... I’m happy for you. Getting to do what you love for a living. It’s inspiring.” She began picking her cuticles once she realized how cheesy she sounded. Wasn’t alcohol supposed to make you smooth? Feeling her cheeks burn, she tried for levity. “Plus, it must be nice to feast your eyes on so many screaming fan girls—topless ones, considering the amount of lingerie on stage.”

“Nah,” he replied with a chuckle, looking down at his hands. “I was really only looking for you.”

He said this with the same matter-of-fact tone that one would remark about the weather. A puzzled look crossed his face, like he didn’t realize the words were true until they left his mouth—and without a hint of sarcasm or ironic flirtation. Like it was just...fact.

Anna was rendered speechless and tried to offer a polite smile, but her lips probably resembled a sideways question mark more than anything else. Fitting. Meanwhile, her insides crested the peak of a roller coaster, uncertain of what lay beyond the fall.

Too serious. Too intense.

After about 30 seconds of watching the condensation on her water glass cascade down the side while Brian busied himself with the strands of his ripped jeans, the bartender arrived with two shot glasses. Anna had never been more grateful for vodka’s divine intervention.

Brian slid one to Anna and he held up his glass in a toast, his once-again casual expression mirroring her gratitude for alcohol. “To Anna Sinclair’s first rock concert—the first of many, if we did our job properly.”

“Bottoms up.” Anna clinked her shot glass to Brian’s and raised it to her lips, closing her eyes as the liquor burned her throat. She’d lost count of the number of shots she’d taken, but she’d drunk enough that she no longer cared.

She felt warm and happy.
And confident.

He had looked for her. They hadn’t discussed the location of her seats, so he must have asked about her. What does this mean?

It shouldn’t have mattered what it meant, because she was merely 6 hours out of a damaging relationship, with literal and emotional bruises to boot. It shouldn’t have mattered because he was Val’s friend and co-worker and there’s no way she wanted to complicate things for them. But in that very moment, none of that mattered either, because alcohol and bad decisions tended to go hand-in-hand.

She opened her eyes slowly and cocked her head, considering Brian as if looking at him for the first time that day—which was false, of course. “You didn’t wear a v-neck today.”

Brian’s eyes dropped to his shirt, like he had no idea what he was wearing.

“I guess I didn’t,” he said, confirming what she already knew and disappointed her more than she’d care to admit. His gaze rose to hers, a playful glint in his eye and he arched one eyebrow high, a cartoon villain zeroing in on the helpless damsel. But a seriously delicious villain by whom she’d probably let herself be captured. Definitely. “Are you disappointed you can’t properly objectify me?” He tugged down the collar of his shirt an inch or two as his mouth twisted into a playful smile. “That better?”

“No.” Driven by booze and the surge of confidence, Anna hooked her fingertip around the collar, nudging his hand aside and dragging the neckline of his shirt further downward until it rested mid-sternum. Her blue eyes peered up at him. His lids lowered as she held her finger there for three heartbeats, baring the hard muscle of his chest. Her finger stutter-stepped as his breathing hitched, but Brian never broke eye contact, nor did he remove her hand. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “That’s better.”

The heady tension between them thrummed, her heart slamming against her rib cage as she took in the weight of the moment. His hooded eyes made their way down, drinking in her every curve, every hollow. Yes, she’d been in a relationship for the past two years, but she knew that look. It stripped her and laid her bare, which is probably what she’d be if they were anywhere but here. She felt the warmth of his fingers, calloused but tender, as they grazed the length of her forearm from elbow to wrist, his hand flattening her palm against his chest. Holding it there.

The whole bar and everyone in it could’ve gone up in flames and she wouldn’t notice because of her hand on his skin and his hand upon hers.

“Boo!” Two arms creeped around Anna’s waist from behind and squeezed tightly. Any previous sexual tension or confusion shattered as rational thought shut down. Dizzied with rising panic, her vision vignetted with crimson. She gasped and clawed at the arms around her torso, effectively throwing them off. She spun away in defense—only to find Val, a mixture of shock and concern on her face as she held up her arms in surrender.

“Anna?” Val asked, taking an uncertain step toward her, palms up.

Immediately sobered, Anna raked her clammy fingers into her hair, willing her heart to slow and wracked her brain over how to explain her reaction in the least embarrassing way. She came up empty. “Wow, that was a serious overreaction. I’m so sorry, Val.”

Val’s eyes shot to Brian, lips tight. Snatching up his glass, Brian glanced toward a table in the far corner where Matt, Johnny, Jimmy, and Zack were manhandling 3 very large, very greasy pizzas.

“Oookay, then,” Brian said, his voice strained and a little awkward. “I’ll leave you girls to it.” Backing away from her and Val, he raised his beer bottle in salute before striding toward his friends. It was a shame, Anna thought, that he lacked a tail to tuck between his legs. Val’s eyes followed Brian until he had taken a seat on Zack’s lap, practically knocking him off his stool.

Val turned back to her, gently placing her hands on Anna’s shoulders, grounding her. “You’re shaking. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting you.”

“It’s a good thing you still gnaw these things to death,” Val joked, picking up Anna’s hands and inspecting her pitiful fingernails. “You would’ve torn my arms to shreds. That said, I cannot allow your fingers to look like this in my presence. Mani/pedis. Tomorrow. You and me. A girl always needs a sharp set of claws to sink into someone new after a fresh breakup.

“Speaking of which,” Val continued, drawing out the vowels as if the thought had just occurred to her, instead of being the entire reason she'd come over in the first place. Anna knew what Val was going to say before she said it. “Did I interrupt something? Was Brian hitting on you? I knew this was going to happen. The guy can’t help himself.”

Anna forced a laugh, though it came out sounding more like a groan. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just enjoying the newfound freedom. Plus, you know how flirty I get when I’m drunk. Remember spring break senior year?”

“Oh my God, that’s right!” How easily Val was ushered down memory lane. As Val excitedly recounted the girls’ last hurrah as high school students and the ridiculous adventures they had—in which Anna had sworn she would elope with their beautiful 32-year-old Mexican bartender and, in her blacked out state, had literally proposed to him. Somehow, that paled in comparison to the humiliation she felt now. She feared she’d drown in it.

Val meant no harm by calling Brian what he was, of course. He’s a celebrity, and he definitely wouldn’t be the first to use it to his sexual advantage. He hadn’t even needed to—she dangled right in front of him.

Anna’s heart rate had just regained its normal rhythm, but erratically shot back up when she realized how desperate she must have looked. Did she cross a line with him? What did Val think? Jesus, she practically threw herself at Brian, didn’t she? After being out of a relationship for not even half a day, apparently seducing a rockstar was the classy thing to do. As far as Brian knew, she was still dating Jack. Moral code and relationship status probably didn’t cross his mind when she was feeling him up—she may as well have “groupie” tattooed on her forehead. Worse, a groupie who hadn't even listened to Avenged Sevenfold before that night. She couldn’t even sing along as she watched them.

As Val waxed nostalgic, Anna nodded and smiled when appropriate, only half listening.

She doesn’t give a shit about you. None of them do.

Anna's stomach lurched. However many shots she'd had, it was one too many. Even as the frigid current of air blasted from the vents above, the nausea and heat pricked her skin. Saliva pooled on her tongue and she couldn't swallow enough to keep it at bay. Her throat constricted and burned. She was going to vomit.

Excusing herself and leaving a bewildered Val mid-sentence, her feet rushed her unsteadily to the bathroom.

Empty.
Thank God.

Anna pushing through the stall door, dry heaves punching her gut just as her knees slammed against the cold tile floor. Pressure built behind her eyes, and she wasn’t sure if it was from retching or the tears threatening to spill. Whatever it was, she feared her eyes would explode from their sockets. With every echo of Jack's torment screamed through her brain, she retched again. Nothing ever came up, which was somehow more disappointing than if she had thrown up.

I am not what he made me. I am not what he made me. I am not what he made me.

After several moments, the nausea finally subsided. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Anna pushed off the toilet and rested her back against the stall. Turning her head to the side, she rested her face against the wall, welcoming the feel of cold steel on her damp cheek.

Coming out tonight was a terrible idea. In no position to drive, Anna would need to call a cab to get back to Maria's for the night. Her hand reached to her back pocket to grab her phone, but came up with only smooth leather in hand.

"Fuck," she breathed, banging her head against the stall as punishment for multiple poor decisions that day. She'd kept her phone in her purse because Maria's leather pants were too tight. And her purse was out at the high top with Val. With a deep sigh, she told herself it was going to be okay. All she needed to do was grab her purse, explain she wasn't feeling well, and make her getaway. She'd face Val again once she got her head on straight.

Exiting the bathroom, she was met with Val and Jimmy's worried faces blocking her path.

"I'm fine," she assured before they could say anything.

"You sure?" asked Jimmy. His normally smiling eyes were wide, a deep crevice between his brows. He was actually concerned for her. That same happy ache from earlier gripped her heart. "I saw you shoot across the room like a bat out of hell and I either figured you were gonna puke or Val pissed you off. I wouldn't be surprised. Cold-hearted bitch, our Valary is." He slung his arm around Val and hip checked her.

"You scared me, Anna," Val said, reaching forward to intertwine her fingers with Anna's. "You're scaring me. Is everything okay? Is it the breakup? Talk to me, please. Or don’t. Just tell me you’re okay.”

"Breakup?" echoed Jimmy, eyes darting to Anna, perfect circles of shock as his fingers drummed a rapid beat on Val's shoulders. "Uh, you broke up with Jack? Is he cool with that?"

"Jimmy, shut up," Val snapped, smacking his arm.

Anna squinted at Jimmy's odd question. She shook her head, deciding to dismiss his question. She didn't need to occupy herself with anymore thoughts of Jack tonight.

"Honestly, you guys. I'm fine. I got a little overzealous with the shots, I think. It's just been a crazy week and I need to decompress a bit. I'm gonna call a cab and head back to Maria's for the night." Pulling Val close for a hug, breathing in her fresh, floral perfume. "Thank you for always forgiving my craziness. We're still on for manis/pedis tomorrow though, right?"

"Of course," Val replied softly, running a hand over Anna’s hair.

"Of course," replied Jimmy, even softer.

Anna belly laughed at him as she snuggled into his chest for a hug. She couldn't give up these friends. Even if she was in emotional limbo. Even if she had made herself an idiot with Brian. A few days by herself and she'd be as good as new. Or as good as refurbished. "Oh, Jimmy. Thank you for coming to check on me. I'll just grab my purse and head out." Val held up Anna's bag, always having exactly what she needed.

Glancing over to the table where the rest of the guys sat, Anna raised her hand into a little wave. They all returned her goodbye except Brian. Wordlessly, he flicked his palm and two fingers upward, like saying “what the hell,” his face scrunching with some emotion she couldn’t peg. Maybe irritation, maybe disappointment. Right now, she didn’t have the headspace to psychoanalyze.

Pushing past the desire to stay, to dive face first into greasy pizza, conversation, and alcohol—maybe not the alcohol—she let herself out the exit. Cool air pricked the fine hairs on her arms and she shivered as soft raindrops darkened the pavement. The moon was barely visible behind the increasing clouds.

Thankful for the small awning covering the walkway, Anna leaned against the building and began rifling through her handbag.

Chapstick. Mascara. Driver’s License.
Her purse was painfully devoid of cell phone.

Shit. As if the night couldn't get worse, her phone must have gotten lost when she dropped her purse. Anna walked toward the streetlight, hoping it was lying somewhere in plain sight. Up the block a bit more, there was an alley just out of the diameter of the streetlight. As if it knew she was looking for it, the screen lit up and the familiar melody of her ringtone sang. Equally relieved and concerned about water damage, she strode toward her trilling phone, bending down to pick it up.

The tiny square of her flip phone depicted tanned skin and a handsome, thousand watt smile that still gave her pause—except now she paused and recoiled.

Suddenly, her phone skittered across the sidewalk into the street and she was yanked upward by her hair. Follicle by follicle, she felt the strands ripped from her scalp. A large, clammy hand sealed her nose and mouth tight, while the other arm dragged her body deeper into the dark alley. Her legs thrashed, kicking as hard as she could muster, but only connecting with air. She felt the heel of her stiletto snap as she smashed it into the pavement. Black dotted her vision. Jesus Christ, she needed oxygen.

Someone would hear her if only she could scream.
She needed to scream, but she needed to breathe to scream.

Muscles straining, her puny fingernails clawed at the hand as white hot fire filled her lungs. Her fingers slid underneath her assailant's hand just enough to pry them away from her nose. Her intake of fresh air through her nostrils was a welcome relief, but still not enough. Crushed against her attacker's chest as he struggled to gain control again, his scent hit her.

The lingering scent of week-old laundry detergent.
The familiar sting of hand sanitizer from a long day at the hospital.

The need to escape overwhelmed her, squelching her fear of him and what he was capable of, and driving her to wriggle free just enough to clamp her teeth onto on his finger. The taste of copper hit her a split second before her body was hurtled into the side of the building. The brick carved fresh abrasions into her elbows as she sunk onto the ground, her hand drenched in puddles of rainwater. She scrambled backwards frantically, the fractured heel of her left shoe slipping against the slick asphalt.

“Fuck, Anna!” Jack spat before bringing his finger to his mouth. He considered her for several moments, observing as her eyes flicked erratically to the mouth of the alley. He strode five paces toward the sidewalk, positioning himself between Anna and the exit. When he turned back to her, his black eyes seemed to glow victoriously in the faint lamplight. His shoulders relaxed and he dropped his gaze to his bleeding finger. Jack’s lips twisted in dark amusement. “You just had to add injury to insult, didn’t you?”

Every muscle in Anna’s body tightened as he took a step in her direction, extending a hand to her. When she didn’t take it, he loosed a harsh chuckle. “What? I’m not going to bite. I‘ll leave that to you, apparently.”

The entire interaction seemed foreign and contradictory. Did he not just drag her into this alley? Were violence and lighthearted banter now interchangeable? Anna tried to shake away the nonsense and fear clouding her logic, but they persisted. “How did you... what are you doing, Jack?”

“I was invited, wasn’t I?” He shrugged, withdrawing his hand. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. They settled on intertwining behind his head, taking a moment to relax after a long evening of stalking and assaulting.

Anna wished she were shocked by his reply, as a breakup seemed like a pretty solid disinvitation, but past experiences taught her better. Jack Marino didn’t understand rejection; he’d never had to up until that day.

As the only child of a cardiothoracic surgeon and a psychiatrist, Jack’s parents were the driving force behind his affluent existence. Anna had met them once before—The Drs. Marino lived in Seattle, but owned a condo in Los Angeles—and she knew how they fawned over their son. He wanted an E-Class Mercedes for his 21st birthday? Chump change. Wanted them to pay rent on a 3 bedroom apartment in downtown Long Beach? Without further question. Wanted admission into one of the most prestigious medical schools in California? Done. Just as long as he stayed the course of the Marino family legacy of medical doctors, the world would belong to him.

And, until earlier that day, she did,too. She’d allowed him full-throttle into her life, her heart, her bed, and anything else he demanded.

Now, he balanced a fraying tightrope between composed and unhinged, teetering 100ft in the air without a net. She hadn’t the slightest idea how to respond.

“I had to make sure you were serious,” Jack continued. He shifted his weight to the other foot and ran the back of his hand across his nose, sniffling. Peering down at her with sad eyes that only thinly veiled something more sinister, he spoke to her almost mockingly. “After two years together, breaking my heart over the phone seemed pretty callous. Maybe you’d had a bad day. Maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction. Can you blame me for wanting closure?”

“No, I guess I can’t.” Tread lightly, Anna urged herself. Placate him. His demeanor was eerily calm, save for the restlessness of his posture, and it was difficult to know what to expect. It had been at least 30 minutes since the last smoke break the guys had taken. All she had to do until then was bide her time and keep him talking. And not poking the beast. “Sorry you had to drive all the way out here.” This time, when he offered his hand to help her up, she took it. Her stance was uneven from the broken shoe, so she had to keep her left foot flat. It was fitting, given how small she felt in that moment.

“Don’t mention it.” Jack shook his head, dismissing her apology. He sized her up from toe to head. The doctor was always assessing, always diagnosing. But his eyes seemed to pause on the tight-fit of the now-ruined leather pants on her hips, the way the curve of her breast protruded from beneath her halter. He let out a half-breath/half-whistle as his top lip twitched into a sneer. He shoved a hand into his pocket and Anna felt her pulse quicken.

“I guess it’s worth it,” he continued, his voice cracking. “To see what I’ll be missing. What a vision for the world-famous Avenged Sevenfold, am I right?” A step closer. His hand withdrew from his pocket and curled into a shaky fist to match its counterpart. “I’m sure Synyster Gates would love to toy with you just like he toys with that Schecter of his. Maybe The Rev would like to pound you instead of that drum set. Or a threesome with Shadows and that pinup-looking bitch. Except you’ve never been so good at the seduction, Anna. That’s why Gates ran away from you when you threw yourself at him in there. I saw it all. It was like a comedy routine, really, watching you fail so miserably. But it sure didn’t take you long to try and fuck someone else.”

Anna’s arms snaked across her torso, shielding herself from the rain and his intrusive glare. She cursed herself for thinking it would be that easy, for assuming he would just let it lie. The marks on her neck were evidence enough that this man’s limits were nonexistent. The cadence of the rainfall picked up as a car careened down the street. Jesus, what she wouldn’t do to run after it. She wished the brick wall that was grating the skin of her back would crumble, crushing her and crushing him and crushing any potential for him to lay a hand on her. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, no?” He whispered menacingly, now close enough to feel his breath on her face. Close enough to slap or punch or kick except he towered over her, her meek stature to his six-foot-three. His hand reached forward to brush aside the drenched hair that stuck to her cheek, running his thumb over her bottom lip as gently as he used to. But as he tipped up her chin, forcing her to look at him, his eyes were a black hole. Spittle collected at the corner of his mouth as he hissed, “Then what’s it like, hmm? What’s it like to know that you’ve fucked me up beyond repair? That you’ve humiliated me? What’s it like to know that you’ve driven me to fucking insanity? Driven me to this?”

He uncurled his fingers where a small white bag lay in his palm. He dipped a wet finger in to the bag, coating it with powder and dragging it back-and-forth across his gums. He smirked conspiratorially, like she was in on it. “Not as good as a bump, but it’ll do.”

Anna’s jaw slackened and the world tipped in that moment. Everything made sense now. The deteriorating apartment. The roller coaster mood swings. The off-the-walls insomnia. The abuse. He was going to ruin his career, ruin his life over this addiction. Her heart cracked a little in her chest, but the fact remained that she was in a dark alley with an coked-out abusive ex-boyfriend who had a hell of a vendetta. Fuck, why weren’t the guys smoking yet.

DEFUSE. DE-ESCALATE.

Gripping his arms, she pleaded with him. “Jack, please. I-I can help you. I can get you help.”

Jack’s eyes softened for a split second before his massive hand was on the back of her neck, knotted into her hair. He spun her around and shoved her face into the brick. He had her arm twisted behind her. Her muscles and bones and tendons burned at the unnatural flexion. His breath was sour as he pressed his body against hers from behind, smothering her. “You’re the one who needs help now, Anna. Thing is, no one gives a shit enough to look for you.”

Notes