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Chapter One of my original story, Bloodlines.
This chapter is mainly for exposition, and introduces the main characters, Sam and Diane, as they enjoy a night in the city. The story picks up proper in the next chapter. Big changes are on the horizon...
Thanks to
juniperskunktaur for editing and reviewing!
<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>
Everything was pain. My entire body was suffused with terrible pressure. Sweat clung to my skin as I doubled over on the ground, writhing in agony. With trembling movement, I fumbled for my phone on the coffee table, only to knock it away as a muscle spasm coursed through my arm.
I crawled on my hands and knees across the floor toward the spot where it landed. Searing pain flared all over my body as I struggled forward with herculean effort. My chest felt like it was bursting open. My ears felt like they were being torn from my head. A crushing vicegrip tugged on my tail bone as if someone were trying to pull it off my spine, and every other part of me was buzzing with strange, uncomfortable energy. Ragged gasps escaped my lips as I finally closed the distance to my phone, and with shaky fingers and tear-filled eyes, I navigated my contacts and pressed the call button.
“Please pick up,” I choked. “Please…”
After a tense moment, a cheerful voice came through the speaker.
“Hey, Sam, what’s up?” it said. “Happy birthday!”
Tinkling chimes rang above me as we entered the diner. Rows of cheaply upholstered booths lined the perimeter, surrounding a central area with scattered tables and chairs. Red and white paint adorned the walls, trying for that retro 50’s look. It was nearly midnight, and the place was clearly being run by the bare minimum of staff. Standing near the door was a hand made sign that read: “Sit anywhere, we’ll be with you soon!”
“That was probably the best fucking concert I’ve ever been to in my life,” my best friend Diane said as she swept past me, making a beeline for a booth in the corner. For years, this diner had been our go-to spot to wind down after a concert in the big city near our hometown.
Apart from the two of us, the place was nearly empty. A group of four sat at a table in the middle, all wearing sharp, black outfits bristling with studs, spikes, and fishnets. Their faces were decked out in pale, white make up and black lipstick, which might have looked out of place if Diane and I weren’t similarly dressed. It was a good bet they had just come from the same show as us.
I followed her to the booth, and we both sighed with relief as we sat down for the first time in hours. Diane took off her jacket and draped it over the seat next to her as we settled in. The skull and lighting bolt logo of our favorite metal band, Agent of the Grave, leered up menacingly from its place on the back of her jacket. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she undid her bright red ponytail, letting it fall behind her, and handed me the tie, which I used to do the opposite with my long, jet black hair. After hours of headbanging and dancing, I was happy to have it out of my face.
“Easily one of the top five, even among Agent of the Grave shows,” I agreed, loosening the spiked bracelets around my wrist.
“I can’t believe they played Lich’s Touch,” she said. “They hardly ever play that one.”
“True. And is it just me or was Chain Lightning, like, extra good this time?” I asked.
“Oh, dude, it was mythic,” Diane agreed. “And the part of Animated Dead with the fucking zombie dragon shooting fire?”
We both made the devil’s horns sign with our hands and belted out a few lyrics, which earned us a cheer from the other table as they joined in. I could feel the color rise to my face as I suddenly remembered we weren’t the only ones here, and quickly stopped singing. Diane had no reservations, however, and happily shouted lines about undead monsters with the fellow fans. Once they had passed the chorus, they applauded, waved and went back to their meal.
“Oof, I shouldn’t have done that,” Diane said, rubbing her throat. “I’ve done enough screaming for one night.”
“I feel that,” I said, my own voice raspy as well. “Totally worth it.”
“Oh yeah, for sure.”
“Still no Death Clutch, though,” I said with a forlorn frown.
“Dude, they’re never gonna play it.”
“Someday,” I said. “They’ll play it someday, just you wait. And when they do, it’ll hit so good.”
“Keep dreaming, Sam.”
We continued our excited conversation about our favorite highlights of the show until a tired looking middle-aged woman in an apron swung over to the booth with two glasses of water and some paper straws in her hands. Without looking up, she placed the cups on the table.
“Evening, ladies, sorry for the wait, we’re a bit short tonight – Oh! Oh, I’m sorry,” said the woman as she took a closer look at me and noticed that I was not, as she said, a lady. “Sorry, it was the hair, and the make up, I didn’t mean –”
“It’s fine,” I said flatly as color rose to my face.
The waitress looked at me apologetically. “Uh, anyway, what can I get you to drink?”
We both ordered our traditional post-concert milkshakes: a chocolate banana for Diane and a strawberry for me. The woman jotted down our order and spun away toward the kitchen. I stabbed at the ice cubes in my water with a straw, and noticed Diane smiling at me over her glass.
“What are you looking at?” I huffed.
“You still get embarrassed so easily,” she said casually.
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do. I can see you turning red, even under your make up.”
“Stop teasing me,” I said.
Diane grinned. “Are you upset the waitress thought you were a girl?”
“No. Not upset. But it’s been happening a lot lately. That’s like the third time this month. It’s weird.”
“It’s probably just the long hair. And the make-up. And the fishnets.”
“No, it happened in my day to day clothes, too,” I said. I stirred the ice in my drink around like a whirlpool. “Do you think I look feminine?”
Diane squinted her eyes and scanned me up and down. “Hmm, maybe a little. You do seem a bit different, now that I look at you closely. You get a haircut or something? Shave your beard?”
“I don’t grow beards, you know that. Too scratchy.”
“Well, something seems different,” Diane said as she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “You are kinda short and skinny. I guess I could see why someone would think you’re feminine, but only like, at a distance, or a very quick glance. It’s a bit of a stretch, though, if you ask me.”
“Really?” I said, staring at my hands. “Huh. Maybe I should work out, try to build some muscle?”
Diane scoffed. “Why?”
“Maybe I’d look more masculine if I bulked up a bit.”
“I mean, sure, I guess,” she said. “Is that something you care about?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Not particularly.”
“Does it bother you that you’re a bit feminine?” she asked.
“No, not really.”
“Then what’s the problem? Just do you, don’t overthink it. Besides, you’ve got great hair and pretty eyes. You’re a cutie just the way you are,” she said with a wink.
Once again, I felt my face flush. Diane noticed, too.
“Heehee, you’re getting all embarrassed again,” she teased.
“Oh, shut up,” I said, throwing my straw wrapper at her.
“You know,” she said, deflecting the paper ball with ease, “A lot of girls are into the ‘pretty boy’ look. That chick with the blue pigtails at the concert was totally checking you out.”
“No, she wasn’t,” I said dismissively. “Was she?”
“Oh, definitely,” Diane nodded. “I told you the skinny jeans were a good choice. Your ass looks great in them.”
I took a moment to reevaluate my fit. I was wearing a pair of fishnet sleeves under a black t-shirt featuring a skull and crossbones with a fox motif, as seen on the art from Agent of the Grave’s third album. Below that was a studded belt and a tight pair of gray jeans that were peppered with strategically placed holes. I had worried that the holes were too excessive and showed too much skin, but Diane had convinced me to wear them anyway. Around my neck was a chain necklace with a golden pendant in the shape of a lightning bolt. I fiddled with the charm idly as I contemplated Diane’s words.
“Thanks for recommending them, then, I guess,” I said. “What about you? I thought for sure you were gonna go home with that girl you were dancing with. She was basically drooling over your tits.”
“I know, right? They look good in this, don’t they?” Diane beamed. She gave her sizable chest a pat, sending little ripples through her soft skin. They looked as if they might burst from her corset at the slightest provocation. I averted my eyes and tried not to stare, much to Diane’s amusement. “Haha! I’ll take that as a yes. But believe me, I tried. Turns out she was straight.”
“Huh,” I said. “Go figure.”
“Yep. Maybe I should’ve sent her your way.”
“She wasn’t my type. Besides, I probably shouldn’t be dating right now,” I said.
“Why not?”
I hesitated, and swirled the ice in my glass. “I don’t know,” I said. “There’s some stuff I gotta work through, I think.”
“You wanna talk about it?” Diane said.
A lump formed in my throat. “No, it’s fine. Just some… personal stuff.”
Diane frowned and looked at me thoughtfully. “Okay, well, keep an open mind, Sam,” she said, “If the right girl comes along, take a chance. You never know what could happen.”
Her gray-blue eyes seemed to see straight into my soul as she reached across the table and gently took my hand. For her, it was the most casual thing in the world. Light glittered off her glossy red lips, her scarlet hair swayed gently around her face, and she looked at me with an easy, natural warmth. She looked so cool, so carefree and… God damn it. I was blushing again. My heart rate spiked, and an uncomfortable tightness formed in my chest. Emotions rose up in me as I stared back at my friend, dangerous emotions that I shouldn’t entertain.
“Agh, sorry again for the wait!” an energetic voice said. “I had to cash out the other table. Here are your milkshakes.”
Startled, I jolted my hand away from Diane’s. The waitress raised an eyebrow and looked back and forth between the two of us.
“Sorry if I’m interrupting,” she said.
“You’re perfectly fine,” said Diane with a smile. “Thanks for the shakes.”
“You know,” the waitress said, “If you two are, you know, together, we’re having a discount on the basket meals. The owners of the diner are celebrating their 20th anniversary, so they’re giving twenty percent off for couples.”
“We’re not a couple,” I said quickly.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to assume anything,” she said. “If you want the discount, you can just say you are. I don’t care if it’s true.”
“We’re good, we have food at the hotel. Thank you, though,” Diane said with oozing politeness.
“Suit yourself.”
As she left us alone at the table, Diane raised her milkshake in a toast.
“To us, and to an awesome night,” she said.
I smiled and clinked my glass against hers.
The walk back to our hotel from the diner was going to be a long one, but it sure as hell beat taking a cab. Between the cost of the concert tickets, the room, and the train ride to and from the city, Diane and I were flat broke, so we resigned ourselves to the trek through the downtown area.
“That really hit the spot,” Diane said, massaging her throat. I nodded in agreement. The cold temperatures of the ice cream had done wonders for our swollen vocal chords, and had the added benefit of being really fucking tasty.
It was pretty late at night, but the city was still lively. Loud, reverberating bass notes pulsed from bars we passed, accompanied by a veritable obstacle course of people in various states of sobriety. Most of them were lost in their own revelries with their companions, and those that we spoke with were generally friendly. A group of college students, only a few years younger than us and quite clearly inexperienced with alcohol, complimented our concert attire, and convinced us to share a round with them. I was keen on getting back to the hotel to lie down, but the drink prices at the venue had been absolutely atrocious, and a night cap honestly sounded great, especially since our new friends were offering to pay. Diane and I were generally on the same page about things, thankfully, and I knew we could trust each other not to get carried away.
Several drinks later, we parted ways with the students, who turned out to be a group of dorky film majors who were very interested in the various pyrotechnics and special effects we described from Agent of the Grave’s performance. Diane and I walked back through town, and gradually, the crowds around the pubs and bars disappeared as we made some distance from the city center.
As we stumbled down the sidewalks, a huge pickup truck rolled slowly past us. It was the kind of giant, overpriced vehicle a douchebag might use to compensate for something, complete with blinding LED headlights and huge off-road tires that had probably never seen anything rougher than a gravel parking lot. Red light glowed from its rear as it slowed down, matching our pace as we walked. The window rolled down, and fittingly, the kind of man who might drive a big truck to compensate for something leered out of the driver seat.
“Hey baby,” he said, directing his slurred voice towards Diane, “How you doin’?”
“None of your business,” she said coldly.
“You look hot. I always wanted a big titty goth girl,” he continued. He looked me up and down and scoffed. “Why don’t you ditch that twink and come ride with me? I promise you won’t regret it.”
“Fuck off, asswipe, I’m not into men, especially not you,” Diane said venomously. “Go find a telephone pole to crash into and die alone.”
I flipped my middle finger at the drunken man in support, and his face contorted with rage.
“Fucking bitch,” he muttered, and drove away, erratically swerving through the lanes on the road.
As we watched the truck disappear into the night, Diane and I exchanged looks of relief and laughed.
“What a fucking prick,” I said, anxiously releasing the breath I hadn’t noticed I was holding in until now. “Thank god he didn't try to fight us or something.”
“We’d have kicked his ass,” Diane said and flexed her modest bicep. We both laughed again and leaned into each other to support our alcohol-impaired balance. When the moment passed, I realized just how close our faces were to each other, and how Diane’s arm was wrapped around my waist. I straightened myself out and backed away, and continued toward our hotel.
Diane trotted behind me to catch up. “What do you wanna do when we go back home tomorrow? Our train is pretty early, so it should still be daytime when we get back.”
“I think I’ll just chill and recover. Spend some time alone if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, no problem. We can meet up again in a few days for your birthday,” she said. “Got anything you want to do? That dumb horror movie with the monkey is coming out soon, wanna go make fun of it?”
“Actually, I have a surprise for you.”
“For me? Why? It’s your birthday, not mine,” she laughed.
“I found something cool I want to show you.”
“Huh. Alright then, sounds good. I’ll meet you at your place in the afternoon?”
“Rockin,” I said, giving her the devil horns sign with my hand.
“Rockin,” Diane said, and flashed the sign back.
From there, we walked the rest of the way back to the hotel in silence, letting our sore throats rest and enjoying the quiet of the night.
<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>
This chapter is mainly for exposition, and introduces the main characters, Sam and Diane, as they enjoy a night in the city. The story picks up proper in the next chapter. Big changes are on the horizon...
Thanks to
juniperskunktaur for editing and reviewing!<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>
July 2nd, 2:26 PM
Everything was pain. My entire body was suffused with terrible pressure. Sweat clung to my skin as I doubled over on the ground, writhing in agony. With trembling movement, I fumbled for my phone on the coffee table, only to knock it away as a muscle spasm coursed through my arm.
I crawled on my hands and knees across the floor toward the spot where it landed. Searing pain flared all over my body as I struggled forward with herculean effort. My chest felt like it was bursting open. My ears felt like they were being torn from my head. A crushing vicegrip tugged on my tail bone as if someone were trying to pull it off my spine, and every other part of me was buzzing with strange, uncomfortable energy. Ragged gasps escaped my lips as I finally closed the distance to my phone, and with shaky fingers and tear-filled eyes, I navigated my contacts and pressed the call button.
“Please pick up,” I choked. “Please…”
After a tense moment, a cheerful voice came through the speaker.
“Hey, Sam, what’s up?” it said. “Happy birthday!”
June 28th, 11:46 PM
Tinkling chimes rang above me as we entered the diner. Rows of cheaply upholstered booths lined the perimeter, surrounding a central area with scattered tables and chairs. Red and white paint adorned the walls, trying for that retro 50’s look. It was nearly midnight, and the place was clearly being run by the bare minimum of staff. Standing near the door was a hand made sign that read: “Sit anywhere, we’ll be with you soon!”
“That was probably the best fucking concert I’ve ever been to in my life,” my best friend Diane said as she swept past me, making a beeline for a booth in the corner. For years, this diner had been our go-to spot to wind down after a concert in the big city near our hometown.
Apart from the two of us, the place was nearly empty. A group of four sat at a table in the middle, all wearing sharp, black outfits bristling with studs, spikes, and fishnets. Their faces were decked out in pale, white make up and black lipstick, which might have looked out of place if Diane and I weren’t similarly dressed. It was a good bet they had just come from the same show as us.
I followed her to the booth, and we both sighed with relief as we sat down for the first time in hours. Diane took off her jacket and draped it over the seat next to her as we settled in. The skull and lighting bolt logo of our favorite metal band, Agent of the Grave, leered up menacingly from its place on the back of her jacket. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she undid her bright red ponytail, letting it fall behind her, and handed me the tie, which I used to do the opposite with my long, jet black hair. After hours of headbanging and dancing, I was happy to have it out of my face.
“Easily one of the top five, even among Agent of the Grave shows,” I agreed, loosening the spiked bracelets around my wrist.
“I can’t believe they played Lich’s Touch,” she said. “They hardly ever play that one.”
“True. And is it just me or was Chain Lightning, like, extra good this time?” I asked.
“Oh, dude, it was mythic,” Diane agreed. “And the part of Animated Dead with the fucking zombie dragon shooting fire?”
We both made the devil’s horns sign with our hands and belted out a few lyrics, which earned us a cheer from the other table as they joined in. I could feel the color rise to my face as I suddenly remembered we weren’t the only ones here, and quickly stopped singing. Diane had no reservations, however, and happily shouted lines about undead monsters with the fellow fans. Once they had passed the chorus, they applauded, waved and went back to their meal.
“Oof, I shouldn’t have done that,” Diane said, rubbing her throat. “I’ve done enough screaming for one night.”
“I feel that,” I said, my own voice raspy as well. “Totally worth it.”
“Oh yeah, for sure.”
“Still no Death Clutch, though,” I said with a forlorn frown.
“Dude, they’re never gonna play it.”
“Someday,” I said. “They’ll play it someday, just you wait. And when they do, it’ll hit so good.”
“Keep dreaming, Sam.”
We continued our excited conversation about our favorite highlights of the show until a tired looking middle-aged woman in an apron swung over to the booth with two glasses of water and some paper straws in her hands. Without looking up, she placed the cups on the table.
“Evening, ladies, sorry for the wait, we’re a bit short tonight – Oh! Oh, I’m sorry,” said the woman as she took a closer look at me and noticed that I was not, as she said, a lady. “Sorry, it was the hair, and the make up, I didn’t mean –”
“It’s fine,” I said flatly as color rose to my face.
The waitress looked at me apologetically. “Uh, anyway, what can I get you to drink?”
We both ordered our traditional post-concert milkshakes: a chocolate banana for Diane and a strawberry for me. The woman jotted down our order and spun away toward the kitchen. I stabbed at the ice cubes in my water with a straw, and noticed Diane smiling at me over her glass.
“What are you looking at?” I huffed.
“You still get embarrassed so easily,” she said casually.
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do. I can see you turning red, even under your make up.”
“Stop teasing me,” I said.
Diane grinned. “Are you upset the waitress thought you were a girl?”
“No. Not upset. But it’s been happening a lot lately. That’s like the third time this month. It’s weird.”
“It’s probably just the long hair. And the make-up. And the fishnets.”
“No, it happened in my day to day clothes, too,” I said. I stirred the ice in my drink around like a whirlpool. “Do you think I look feminine?”
Diane squinted her eyes and scanned me up and down. “Hmm, maybe a little. You do seem a bit different, now that I look at you closely. You get a haircut or something? Shave your beard?”
“I don’t grow beards, you know that. Too scratchy.”
“Well, something seems different,” Diane said as she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “You are kinda short and skinny. I guess I could see why someone would think you’re feminine, but only like, at a distance, or a very quick glance. It’s a bit of a stretch, though, if you ask me.”
“Really?” I said, staring at my hands. “Huh. Maybe I should work out, try to build some muscle?”
Diane scoffed. “Why?”
“Maybe I’d look more masculine if I bulked up a bit.”
“I mean, sure, I guess,” she said. “Is that something you care about?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Not particularly.”
“Does it bother you that you’re a bit feminine?” she asked.
“No, not really.”
“Then what’s the problem? Just do you, don’t overthink it. Besides, you’ve got great hair and pretty eyes. You’re a cutie just the way you are,” she said with a wink.
Once again, I felt my face flush. Diane noticed, too.
“Heehee, you’re getting all embarrassed again,” she teased.
“Oh, shut up,” I said, throwing my straw wrapper at her.
“You know,” she said, deflecting the paper ball with ease, “A lot of girls are into the ‘pretty boy’ look. That chick with the blue pigtails at the concert was totally checking you out.”
“No, she wasn’t,” I said dismissively. “Was she?”
“Oh, definitely,” Diane nodded. “I told you the skinny jeans were a good choice. Your ass looks great in them.”
I took a moment to reevaluate my fit. I was wearing a pair of fishnet sleeves under a black t-shirt featuring a skull and crossbones with a fox motif, as seen on the art from Agent of the Grave’s third album. Below that was a studded belt and a tight pair of gray jeans that were peppered with strategically placed holes. I had worried that the holes were too excessive and showed too much skin, but Diane had convinced me to wear them anyway. Around my neck was a chain necklace with a golden pendant in the shape of a lightning bolt. I fiddled with the charm idly as I contemplated Diane’s words.
“Thanks for recommending them, then, I guess,” I said. “What about you? I thought for sure you were gonna go home with that girl you were dancing with. She was basically drooling over your tits.”
“I know, right? They look good in this, don’t they?” Diane beamed. She gave her sizable chest a pat, sending little ripples through her soft skin. They looked as if they might burst from her corset at the slightest provocation. I averted my eyes and tried not to stare, much to Diane’s amusement. “Haha! I’ll take that as a yes. But believe me, I tried. Turns out she was straight.”
“Huh,” I said. “Go figure.”
“Yep. Maybe I should’ve sent her your way.”
“She wasn’t my type. Besides, I probably shouldn’t be dating right now,” I said.
“Why not?”
I hesitated, and swirled the ice in my glass. “I don’t know,” I said. “There’s some stuff I gotta work through, I think.”
“You wanna talk about it?” Diane said.
A lump formed in my throat. “No, it’s fine. Just some… personal stuff.”
Diane frowned and looked at me thoughtfully. “Okay, well, keep an open mind, Sam,” she said, “If the right girl comes along, take a chance. You never know what could happen.”
Her gray-blue eyes seemed to see straight into my soul as she reached across the table and gently took my hand. For her, it was the most casual thing in the world. Light glittered off her glossy red lips, her scarlet hair swayed gently around her face, and she looked at me with an easy, natural warmth. She looked so cool, so carefree and… God damn it. I was blushing again. My heart rate spiked, and an uncomfortable tightness formed in my chest. Emotions rose up in me as I stared back at my friend, dangerous emotions that I shouldn’t entertain.
“Agh, sorry again for the wait!” an energetic voice said. “I had to cash out the other table. Here are your milkshakes.”
Startled, I jolted my hand away from Diane’s. The waitress raised an eyebrow and looked back and forth between the two of us.
“Sorry if I’m interrupting,” she said.
“You’re perfectly fine,” said Diane with a smile. “Thanks for the shakes.”
“You know,” the waitress said, “If you two are, you know, together, we’re having a discount on the basket meals. The owners of the diner are celebrating their 20th anniversary, so they’re giving twenty percent off for couples.”
“We’re not a couple,” I said quickly.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to assume anything,” she said. “If you want the discount, you can just say you are. I don’t care if it’s true.”
“We’re good, we have food at the hotel. Thank you, though,” Diane said with oozing politeness.
“Suit yourself.”
As she left us alone at the table, Diane raised her milkshake in a toast.
“To us, and to an awesome night,” she said.
I smiled and clinked my glass against hers.
June 29th, 12:35 AM
The walk back to our hotel from the diner was going to be a long one, but it sure as hell beat taking a cab. Between the cost of the concert tickets, the room, and the train ride to and from the city, Diane and I were flat broke, so we resigned ourselves to the trek through the downtown area.
“That really hit the spot,” Diane said, massaging her throat. I nodded in agreement. The cold temperatures of the ice cream had done wonders for our swollen vocal chords, and had the added benefit of being really fucking tasty.
It was pretty late at night, but the city was still lively. Loud, reverberating bass notes pulsed from bars we passed, accompanied by a veritable obstacle course of people in various states of sobriety. Most of them were lost in their own revelries with their companions, and those that we spoke with were generally friendly. A group of college students, only a few years younger than us and quite clearly inexperienced with alcohol, complimented our concert attire, and convinced us to share a round with them. I was keen on getting back to the hotel to lie down, but the drink prices at the venue had been absolutely atrocious, and a night cap honestly sounded great, especially since our new friends were offering to pay. Diane and I were generally on the same page about things, thankfully, and I knew we could trust each other not to get carried away.
June 29th, 1:22 AM
Several drinks later, we parted ways with the students, who turned out to be a group of dorky film majors who were very interested in the various pyrotechnics and special effects we described from Agent of the Grave’s performance. Diane and I walked back through town, and gradually, the crowds around the pubs and bars disappeared as we made some distance from the city center.
As we stumbled down the sidewalks, a huge pickup truck rolled slowly past us. It was the kind of giant, overpriced vehicle a douchebag might use to compensate for something, complete with blinding LED headlights and huge off-road tires that had probably never seen anything rougher than a gravel parking lot. Red light glowed from its rear as it slowed down, matching our pace as we walked. The window rolled down, and fittingly, the kind of man who might drive a big truck to compensate for something leered out of the driver seat.
“Hey baby,” he said, directing his slurred voice towards Diane, “How you doin’?”
“None of your business,” she said coldly.
“You look hot. I always wanted a big titty goth girl,” he continued. He looked me up and down and scoffed. “Why don’t you ditch that twink and come ride with me? I promise you won’t regret it.”
“Fuck off, asswipe, I’m not into men, especially not you,” Diane said venomously. “Go find a telephone pole to crash into and die alone.”
I flipped my middle finger at the drunken man in support, and his face contorted with rage.
“Fucking bitch,” he muttered, and drove away, erratically swerving through the lanes on the road.
As we watched the truck disappear into the night, Diane and I exchanged looks of relief and laughed.
“What a fucking prick,” I said, anxiously releasing the breath I hadn’t noticed I was holding in until now. “Thank god he didn't try to fight us or something.”
“We’d have kicked his ass,” Diane said and flexed her modest bicep. We both laughed again and leaned into each other to support our alcohol-impaired balance. When the moment passed, I realized just how close our faces were to each other, and how Diane’s arm was wrapped around my waist. I straightened myself out and backed away, and continued toward our hotel.
Diane trotted behind me to catch up. “What do you wanna do when we go back home tomorrow? Our train is pretty early, so it should still be daytime when we get back.”
“I think I’ll just chill and recover. Spend some time alone if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, no problem. We can meet up again in a few days for your birthday,” she said. “Got anything you want to do? That dumb horror movie with the monkey is coming out soon, wanna go make fun of it?”
“Actually, I have a surprise for you.”
“For me? Why? It’s your birthday, not mine,” she laughed.
“I found something cool I want to show you.”
“Huh. Alright then, sounds good. I’ll meet you at your place in the afternoon?”
“Rockin,” I said, giving her the devil horns sign with my hand.
“Rockin,” Diane said, and flashed the sign back.
From there, we walked the rest of the way back to the hotel in silence, letting our sore throats rest and enjoying the quiet of the night.
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Category Story / TF / TG
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