Against the Tide (2 page)

We head for our usual table in the VIP area. This is the first time we’ve been here in a month and you can guarantee we’ll be greeted with the same faces as usual. Damien has been away with the boys for three weeks, he also takes care of some ‘business’ while he’s gone, whatever that entails. I have a pretty good idea, I’m not stupid, although I don’t ask. Drugs. Money. Whatever, it’s all illegal. I would rather not know the ins and outs, I can’t lie if I don’t know the truth. All I know is I’ve had three weeks of bliss. Quiet time, movies, PJ’s and no one nagging. I’ve worked, been to the gym, shopped with my best friend Jamie, and maxed out my credit cards (all of which will be cleared by Damien as he feels guilty for leaving me for so long) and I’ve danced around the house like no one’s watching. It’s been liberating, but I try not to admit to myself that I’ve also felt lonely and isolated. Damien is all I have. I’ve pushed away anyone I was ever close to because of him, because he didn’t like to share my affections with anyone else, because I naively believed that he was all I needed. But as much as he annoys the shit out of me and I sometimes wish he would disappear, I love his smooth, arrogant self in a strange fucked up way, I think.

“Get me a drink, babe,” Damien orders, which instantly makes me stiffen. I throw it off by taking a deep breath and reminding myself that he’s been away, probably been waited on hand and foot, and it’ll take a few days for him to settle back at home. It will also take some time for me to adjust to him being around all the time again.

“Sure,” I answer flatly, holding out my hand for him to give me some cash. He pulls out a folded wedge of notes, peels off a fifty and hands it to me. Flashy bastard. I snatch it out of his fingertips and ask, “What do you want?”

“Sweetheart,” he says patronisingly, placing his fingertips under my chin and pushing my gaze up to his. “I can’t have been away so long that you’ve forgotten what I drink. Do I ever have anything different?”

“Well, no, but−”

“Jack and coke, not too much ice, and easy on the coke.” He looks at me with cold amusement daring me to argue. “Please.”

I smile smoothly, but it’s not a genuine smile and he knows it. I roll my eyes at him so he knows I’m not impressed with his cocky attitude toward me, never the less, I don't argue. It's not worth it, but he knows I'm not happy with him especially as he left me for weeks on end to sun himself on a ‘deal’. He thought a diamond studded Rolex was going to win me over? Wrong. It’s been a long time since I’ve been impressed by money or gifts. They mean nothing to me any longer.

I turn to go to the bar but I obviously don’t move fast enough and before I can step away, he grabs my elbow, pulling me sharply to him and catching me in his lap as I lose my balance.

“Baby. Why don’t you just tell me you’re pissed off? Yell at me, tell me what an asshole I am. Just get it out of your system. I know I left you, and I’m sorry. But you also know I had to do it. How do you think I can afford to give you the platinum cards, and the jewellery and the exotic holidays? I’m doing it for us, baby. ” He searches my eyes desperately trying to find a weak spot in my armour. “Kiss me,” he instructs, tilting his chin up. I give him a quick peck on the lips and pull back but his hand grabs the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my hair and holding my face just millimetres from his. “No. Not like that. Kiss me like you missed me. Kiss me like you love me. Kiss me like you want to fuck me, Megan,” he demands against my lips, pushing away my resistance.

A CRAZY buzz works through my veins.

I love it.

I hate it.

It makes me nervous, but strangely liberated too.

The conflict of emotions ramps up the anticipation of how I’m going to feel once I get safely through these doors and past the bouncers that stand almost half as tall again as me, and twice as wide. I’m well and truly in the shit if they find it. Not for the first time do I question why I am doing this. It’s a buzz that I can’t get from anything else. It’s an oblivion that I crave, to take me away from my own head and let me have some respite from reality every now and then.

The line of people waiting to enter The Cabin is long, and although we haven't been standing here for long, my anxiety makes it feel like hours. It’s our usual Saturday night out with the boys, and Kyle, Harley and Marc all queue in front of me, laughing and joking, with no idea of the conflict of emotions going through me. Kyle knows though. He doesn’t understand it, but he knows. They get patted down one by one by the gorillas on the door, it's usual practice but my heart jumps, and my nerves jolt even more when I see the bouncer hover at Kyle’s shoes and run his finger around his heel. Shit, they’re being thorough this evening.

Kyle shoots me a look over his shoulder. He’s aware that I have a couple of E tabs wrapped in a cigarette paper, nestled uncomfortably under the arch of my foot. I’m hyper aware of them now that I know they’re inspecting so closely. I curl my toes then stretch them out again as if the action will magically make them vanish.

Just breathe. Act normal.

By trying to act cool, am I drawing attention to myself? Do I look like I’m trying not to get caught?

I lift my arms, stand with my feet shoulder’s width apart, and wait.

He’s taking longer with me than he did with the others, isn’t he?

He pats down my left leg, sticking his finger down the side of my shoe before moving to the right leg and doing the same. As he touches my ankle bone it takes all my self-control to stop my leg from twitching and pulling away from him.

He stands up, nods and slaps me on the back to go through.

Panic over.

Same feeling, different weekend.

“Whose round is it?” I yell to try and make myself heard above the thumping beat of the music. I clap both my hands on Harley's shoulders as we approach the bar, “Harl?”

“Your round, my friend. After my shitty week at work, I need a good few drinks.”

We all know what it means when Harley has had a shit week. He’s a police officer, old bill. A bloody good one at that, and when I think about how hard he works and how dedicated he is, I get a stab of guilt for my intended actions this evening. In fact, I feel it every weekend that I manage to get through the doors with those pills. Harley is also my house mate, my best mate too. If he knew … But he won’t, and he doesn’t need to.

Everyone puts their order in with the cute bar girl that Kyle already has his eye on. He’s such a ladies’ man. Always chasing the skirt, and with his pretty face and honed body he usually gets what he wants. I order beers and a round of vodka chasers just for good measure. It doesn’t take long for the boys to grab up their glasses and slam them back without a second thought. I wince at the burn that trails down my throat, I should have had a couple mouthfuls of beer to ease me in but, who cares? Tonight I’m gonna get trashed and have a fucking good time.

“I need a piss,” I announce to no one specifically. 

“That’s nice,” Harley replies sarcastically, “needed to know that.”

I ignore his comments and push my glass toward him. “Watch my drink.”

“Come on, man,” Kyle pleads quietly over my shoulder as I turn to walk off. “You’re not honestly thinking about dropping those pills with Harley out with us, are you? You don’t need that shit. Let’s just have a few more shooters and feel the buzz from there, yeah?”

“Quit with the lectures, mate. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself,” I retort, grabbing my crotch to prove my point. Fuck it, I’m being a cocky asshole and I know he’s right. I know I shouldn’t do it. But that makes me want to do it more. It’s the rebel in me. I can’t help it. Or maybe it’s the weakness in me. I’m not strong enough to fight the urge and I don't want to. It won’t fucking kill me, it hasn’t yet anyway.

“It doesn’t make you big or clever, Finn,” Kyle comments, shaking his head as he turns to walk away from me. He doesn’t normally voice his opinion to me. He’s the guy that just lives and lets live. The one that is a lover, not a fighter. He’s made sure I’ve gotten home safely on many occasions when Harley is on nights and I’ve had a heavy session, and he rarely makes his thoughts known. This time I see the disappointment in his eyes. I
feel
his disappointment and it hits me deep in the gut. So I concede.

Marc calls for more shots right about the same moment I scan the VIP area and my eyes lock on to
her
. After three weeks of not being around, she’s here. The girl that’s got me all kinds of flustered. Always with
that
guy who looks like a total wanker with his floppy hair and pretty boy face.

Who is she? Why can’t I look away? 

I’ve been waiting to see her since the last time she was here. I've looked for her. I’ve wanted to feel the electricity that fires off her when she holds my gaze, and every week that she’s not been here, I’ve been disappointed. We haven’t spoken, haven’t even exchanged smiles. There’s just something there. It’s like we seek each other out and I don’t know why. It’s turned in to a habit I like more than the ecstasy I take.

“Hey Finny boy, tequila, you in or you going for a piss?” Kyle calls out behind me loading his question with the silent search of my intentions for this evening.

I glance back at him, answering mindlessly, “Yeah, man.” When I look back, she’s still there. Looking. Just looking. No smile. No scowl. Just looking at me like there’s something compelling her to do so. The light catches her lip ring and my eyes roam the length of her body like a hungry man that’s been starved for weeks, no, months. She gives off something that makes my hormones run rampant, like an unbalanced teenager. Only I’m fully aware that I’m a grown man and I know exactly what I want to do to her. God, what I would do to her. She’s dressed in a little black dress, and I mean, little. It’s simple, but the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. It hugs her tiny, perfect waist, and only just covers her arse. Her legs, her perfect legs, which, even though she isn’t tall, look just long enough to wrap around my waist …

“Here.” Harley nudges my arm and hands me a shot of tequila. I take it mindlessly, all the while still locked on to the enigma on the other side of the room. Then she does something that floors me. She nods, winks, and raises her glass to me across the room. For a second, I’m stunned at the action. We’ve been watching each other for weeks, no words, no actions, just the silent knowledge that we both know we are looking at each other. Now she’s broken the silent pact, what does that mean?

Not really knowing what else to do, I nod my head in acknowledgement, then throw back the tequila. The burn doesn’t register this time. She smirks like she knows what I’m thinking and turns away, taking another drink from the blond guy that she’s with.

“You just need to do her already,” Kyle comments, making me turn in response. I am met with smirks from Kyle, Harley and Marc, who clearly all think it’s highly amusing that I’m so taken with this girl.

“What?” I answer sharply. I don’t like that they saw us looking at each other. It felt like it was just the two of us, everyone else faded in to the background and for that moment it was just us, in our own world, getting in each other’s heads. Which is a ridiculous notion in a nightclub full of people. If I got in to her head, would I find the same thoughts as mine?

“You and that chick. You’ve been eye fucking each other for weeks. She goes away, wherever, whatever, and now that she’s back, you’re both at it again, but this time, it’s more intense, man. You gonna make a move or not?” Kyle’s observations are right on the money. He might be a man of few words, but he sees more than I give him credit for.

“Not,” I grunt, pushing past him to get to the bar.

“Oooh, tetchy. That means you like her,” Kyle teases.

“How fucking old are you, Kyle?” I snap, turning back in his direction.

“Hey man, no harm.” He holds his hands up at my sharp reply. “All I’m sayin’ is, you’re twenty seven years old and you haven’t taken a girl home in, how long? How long has it been since you dipped your wick?” he asks nonchalantly with a chuckle, encouraging a chorus of laughter from the other guys.

“Look,” I answer, stepping toward him, “just because I’m not sleeping with half of Brighton and being the local manwhore, doesn’t mean I’m not getting any. It just means I’m not advertising the fact that I’m a slut like you, sweet cheeks.” I smirk and tap him on the cheek before taking a swig of my beer. The guys around us are quiet while they assess the possible situation that’s unfolding. They know I can be a moody bastard and they make allowances for that and ignore my moods half the time, but the fact that Kyle hasn’t answered me yet makes me wonder if I’ve gone too far this time. I’ve been pushing and pushing him lately and I don’t know why. My subconscious tells me it’s because I’m jealous of the intimacy he shares with all the girls he takes home. It has been a very long time since I was intimate with anyone and I don’t mean sex. Meaningless sex is easy to come by, even though I’ve not looked for it recently. All I seem to do is work, eat and sleep. The Saturday nights out with my boys are the highlight of my week and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t craving a deeper connection with someone, sometimes. I open my mouth to voice an apology and Kyle starts to laugh, hard. He grabs me around the neck with one of his big ropey arms and crushes me to him.