I was just about to relax a tad when someone shoved me hard in the back, my bat-beaten back. Again with the pain of great magnitude. I took a couple of steps toward the fire and turned around and immediately dropped into a fighter position. Standing there was a bleached-blonde idiot about my size, staring at me. "You think you're a badass?" the guy asked.
You have got to be kidding me. Was I seriously about to have another scuffle?
This dude looked ridiculous. This guy wore a Danzig shirt and had several
piercings on his face. One punch to his face would tear him to shreds, not to mention ruin about five hundred dollars worth of jewelry.
"No," I said. "I'm just hanging around like everyone else."
The bleached-blonde guy got up in my face. "I don't like you."
"Back the hell off, Otello!" Randy shouted.
"Why? If this guy is so tough, then let's have him prove it."
"Otello, you're tanked. Trust me, you don't want anything to do with this
guy," Randy insisted.
But Otello didn't listen. He took a swing at me, and I instinctively ducked.
When you fight, you always go by instinct. You also have to account for your surroundings, and especially friends who might have your back. Hopefully, have your back. I had Dera, a friend. But a mere girl. As far as these other hinky guys, who knew if they would be friends or foes in a fight?
In this case, I knew that I couldn't strike this guy or I might have dozens of guys on me. Punching out friends always has a way of getting other friends riled up. But friends will let a fight play out if it goes to the ground. Of course, what happens after that is anyone's guess. I had many fights under my belt, street, and pro, to know that until someone is down and doesn't come up again, and the friends walk away in the closure, the fight isn't over.
Time to meet the challenger. I knelt and shot my shoulders straight into his legs. In one smooth motion, I picked him up and threw him hard to his shoulders, pinning him down on his back, while holding down both his arms.
A perfect takedown.
I was particularly careful not to touch his face. Had we been alone, he would already have been knocked out.
"I don't know you!" I said to Otello. "I have no problem with you! You need to calm down!"
"All right, man, get the fuck off me."
"Are you going to be cool?" I insisted.
Then, without warning, Rubidoux turned his head and puked all over the rocks. I jumped back as the dumbass wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
As I stood back, Randy did a whooping warrior scream at the top of his lungs. When he was done acting like a crazy man, he pointed at me and shouted,
"I knew this guy wouldn't disappoint!"
Everyone yelled and cheered and many mimicked his ear-splitting rebel yell.
I was caught up in a Goth pep rally, in my honor.
"On second thought," I said to Randy. "Give me some of that."
I walked around the fire and over to him. He grinned and handed me the wooden container. I sniffed the contents and almost lost my lunch and dinner. It smelled like dead fish and dead everything else. But it was too late to turn back. Everyone was watching me. Holding my breath, I downed the disgusting contents as if it was water.
Yeah, it was the worst thing I had ever drunk.
I tried not to puke. But I was fired up. As I pulled away from the wooden jug,
I yelled at the top of my lungs-the same Braveheart warrior yell that Randy seemed to prefer-and everyone immediately cheered.
And as they bellowed and whooped and hollered, I could only think: What the
hell have I gotten myself into?
Everyone went back to partying.
The music got cranked up louder, and insanity seemed to fill the air. I went
and sat on a giant log next to the bonfire. I looked over at Dera, who was still standing with Randy. For once, he didn't have his arms around her. She caught me looking at her, and gave me a look that suggested I had somehow been accepted.
Did I even want to be accepted by these people?
That putrid drink was pretty powerful. I had a buzz going almost instantly.
Redheaded Kyla walked over to me. Damn, she looked terrific. Her black lace dress looked pretty spectacular on her, too. That Otello character had gotten my testosterone raging and now Kyla's outfit was sending my hormones through the roof.
"You had quite a night," she said, sitting next to me. She sipped a bluish
drink in clear glass.
"Whatcha drinking?" I asked. My voice, I noticed was slightly slurred. It also sounded distant, too, as if I had spoken from about ten feet away. Weird, I know.
"Oh, it's my peculiar blend. I call it 'Sex On the Beach and Everywhere
Else, Too."
"Is that a joke?"
"If you want it to be."
I looked at her. God, she was a bright light in all this Goth doom and gloom.
She smiled at me. I smiled back. I wanted to kiss her until I reminded myself that earlier tonight I had watched her drink from some guy's neck. I said. "You know, you guys are going to have to give me back. Kidnapping is illegal in this state. And all other states, for that matter."
"I'll take you back any time you want. Do you want to leave?"
I thought about that. The party was raging around me. Bodies dancing around the massive bonfires. There was a sense of excitement, of freedom, of hungry passion. The hungry part, admittedly, made me a little nervous, but other than that, this was a pretty cool party.
"I guess not," I said, shrugging. "At least, not yet."
She smiled knowingly as if she already knew what my answer would be. She said, "We figured those guys would have thrown you under the bus once the cops came. You were probably looking at about ten counts of attempted murder.