ALIEN INVASION (7 page)

“Yeah, that’s a big problem. Another is how at home I feel on my back in the ring. I think I spent most of my professional career in this position.” I waited for a laugh. I didn’t get one. “That was a joke.”

“I know it was a joke. I chose not to laugh. I’ve had enough of the pity party.”

“It was just a joke.”

“I don’t care. I’m drawing a line through this way of thinking. You’re a great teacher, you’re a great guy, and things will turn around for you, if you let it.”

“If only it was that easy.”

“I’ve been talking to some of the girls at work. I convinced four of them they need your expertise. That’s what I wanted to cheer you up with.”

I turned my head to face her. “Thank you.”

“Get the holes fixed, Brad. Someone is liable to pull a muscle it’s so cold in here.” She turned to face me. “I’ll help out anyway I can, you know? I know a graphic designer that could do flyers for you, cheap too.”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?” I hadn’t had any help for just about as long as it had been since a woman had touched me without trying to either intentionally, or accidently, hurt me.

“Because I’m freezing. Fix the damn holes.” She looked back at the roof and nodded at one of the problems.

“I’m afraid I have more important stuff to spend the money on.” I bit my lower lip and breathed out a slow breath.

“Like what?”

“I owe some people … the wrong kind of people.” I didn’t know if I should tell her or not, but I needed to talk to someone about it. I needed to unload.

She turned back to me, a anxious expression on her face. “Who?”

“Me!”

I bolted upright and climbed out of the ring. I could hear Sara behind me, climbing down too. “Bobby, how are you?”

Bobby was standing in the doorway to the gym. He was massive. He must have been almost double my size. He was wearing a large jacket and had his hands in his pockets. I didn’t like that. He could have had anything in them.

“I didn’t come here to share spit.” He took a step forward. “You need to keep this place warmer, Brad.” He faked a shudder. “You have a cash flow problem or something?”

“Could you come back later, Mister, I’m in the middle of my lesson.” Sara was at my side. I shut my eyes for a moment and prayed she wouldn’t say anything else.

“Aren't you a sexy one? It’s good work if you can get it, isn’t it, Brad? Having a cute, little lady like that running around in shorts. I bet you get her to do heaps of jumping exercises, to see her bounce.” He moved a few steps closer.

“Excuse me,” that was from Sara. “I don’t like you talking about me like that.” She went to walk to him. I held my arm out to my side and she stopped when she hit it. She looked at me, I could see her in the corner of my eye, but I didn’t break my stare from Bobby.

“I don’t give a fuck what you like. What I do give a fuck about is the amount of money this drunk owes me.” He spat on the floor and snorted as he took a few more steps.

“I think we all need to stay calm,” I said as I tried desperately to think of what to say or do next.

“I think you need to pay up.” Bobby stood in front of us both, sucking through his teeth.

“I will. I don’t have it here … yet. I’ll have it tomorrow. Come back then and we’ll sort it all out.” My arm was still in front of Sara. I hooked my hand so it was on her hip, hoping she’d understand it meant to not move or speak.

“That’s not good enough. You’ve had chance after chance. No more.” He spat again, this time toward Sara’s feet.

“You pig,” she said. “Watch where you’re doing that.”

He looked at her. “You need to shut this bitch up, Brad.”

“Hey, watch your mouth.” I knew as soon as I said it that it was a big mistake. The story of my life, really.

Bobby slowly turned his head back to me, his mouth slightly open, his tongue licking his teeth. “What did you just say? You’ve got to be the dumbest motherfucker I’ve dealt with, and that’s saying something. In my line of work I deal with dumb motherfuckers every minute of every day.”

Sara tried to move my hand from her; I fought against the action the best I could. “I think you need to leave now, or I’m calling the police.”

“Ha, okay, sweetie, you do that.” He didn’t move his eyes from mine. “The police won’t come here. Even if they were stupid enough to do that, I have enough money to pay them off. I already own most of those sorry bastards anyway.”

“I have some money in my bag, it isn’t much, but you can have it,” I said.

“That’s not good enough. I need it all, today, not tomorrow. I have a reputation to uphold. If I’m soft on you, some other loser will think he can get the same treatment, and that just causes me a heap of headaches. I don’t need any more of those. My doctor told me I need to de-stress.”

“I don’t have it though. If I did, I’d give it to you.”

He smiled. “Then you’re fucked … unless … unless this whore has some cash I can take. If not, maybe I could take her. I’m sure she’d be worth a lot to someone, tits like that and all.”

Sara managed to break free. She lunged at him. He pulled a Glock from his pocket. He whacked her in the face with it. She fell to the floor. I moved toward him. He whipped the weapon in my direction. I stopped and raised my hands.

He just stared at me; his teeth closed tight, the bottom and top row grinding over each other. I looked to Sara. She was on her side, holding her head, crying. I turned back to Bobby. My chest started to rise and fall. My body started to shake.

“That was a mistake,” I said as I grabbed the wrist of his gun hand. I twisted it so the gun was pointed at him then pushed his hand toward the floor. I heard the wrist crack, him scream, and saw the Glock fall from his grasp.

I stepped into him, placed my hip as close to his body as possible, and flipped him over. He landed on his side, his wrist still in my hands. I stomped my foot down into his face. The crunch was gut wrenching. It wasn’t enough to stop me.

I stomped down again. His nose got spread over his face. Blood was running freely. I stomped again. His neck bent at an angle it shouldn’t. I stomped again. There was another crunch.

Rage was surging through me. I was animalistic. I could feel hate pumping through my veins. My heart was beating like a war drum. My teeth were clamped shut. My eyes, wide. I wish I could say it felt horrible, that it disgusted me, but that wasn’t the case at that moment.

Sara grabbed me from behind and pulled me from him. I tried to fight from her grip. When I saw his sunken face I stopped. I dropped to my knees. “I’m … I’m … sorry.” I was. Not about what I’d done, yet. But I was sorry Sara had to see it.

Sara knelt next to me and placed her arm around my waist. She pulled me into her chest with her other hand. “That was so … so … romantic.”

ZACK

I placed my backpack in the corner of the room with the other students’ belongings, coats, books, and anything else that wasn’t needed for the drama class. I wasn’t studying drama; it was an after hour’s course at the college I was attending.

I was studying business, but I was very shy, and my parents thought those types of societies, as they called them, would help to bring me out of my shell, which I was told I very much needed to do if I was ever to survive in the cutthroat world of business.

There were only two boys in the course, one gay and one black. I was the black one. The rest were girls. All white. The college was pretty much a Caucasian dominated zone, but every once in awhile I’d pass someone else who wasn’t white, while I was walking from building to building. We’d almost always share a nod, just to let the other know they weren’t alone.

Being one of only two guys in the class, and being black, made me feel even more of a minority than usual. The gay fella was less conspicuous than I was, and he was the most flamboyant person I’d ever met. Inside the walls surrounding a drama club though, he was merely part of the furniture.

There were two groups of girls that always hung out together, during and after the class. In one corner of the room were the geeks, the girls that loved the plays, and playwrights, of days long gone by. They’d sit around all day reenacting their favorite scenes if time would have allowed them; in fact they were reading a scene from an Oscar Wilde play on that very day.

The other group was the look-at-me type, drama just another way to be center stage. Every one of them had perfect hair and make-up. They only wore the latest in expensive fashion, many of them accessorized with the most sought after jewelry.

They were all daddies’ girls; able to twist their father around their fingers just as easily as they could do with the guys in college. They’d most likely never had to buy anything for themselves their entire life, education was just a fun way to fill a few years of their existence before they got to spend their millions.

That’s not to say my family wasn’t wealthy, they were. In fact, they were millionaires at that time, on their way to becoming billionaires. It was the same for most of the students, even the geeks reading Dorian Grey, they might have been wearing baggy and ripped jumpers with tatty-looking jeans, but it would have been a mistake to let that fool you, their parents were just as rich as the rest of ours.

Like me though, they seemed to come from families that made you work your ass off in order to acquire your share of wealth, whether that wealth was family owned or acquired by yourself.

The look-at-me group would never have to work. Most, if not all, already had a millionaire boyfriend. They would just go from millionaire father to millionaire husband like their mothers had, living a life of luxury, dining out, and dressing up a body that had been paid for by bitchy hissy fits.

I said, “Hi,” to the gay fella and went and stood next to the geeks. I wasn’t part of their group, but they always smiled at me and didn’t seem to mind working along side me in whatever the class was tasked with performing. The look-at-me group was not as accommodating.

Even at that moment, standing across the room from them, a few of them gave me evil stares, looking up from their compacts or cells for the first time since I’d entered the room. If they’d managed to tear their eyes from those, I was either highly honored or highly despised. I think it was a combination of both.

Now, as much as I hated them, and I did, with a passion, it has to be said that there were some very beautiful girls among them. That was part of what made it great when we put on shows and all of what made me thankful for taking the class.

We all shared a massive changing room, and they’d just get dressed into their costumes in front of me, without a care in the world, no covering up, or hiding the nice bits.

I’ve lost count of the amount of erections I had to hide in those situations. I couldn’t control the arousal though. They all had killer bodies; I guess everyone does when you have the money to pay for a personal trainer and the most beautiful of fitted underwear.

The hottest of them all was Cynthia. She had long black hair that ran all the way down the striking arch in her back. It was long enough to caress the top of her buoyant and curved butt. It would swing from side to side when she walked, tickling the top of her rump, which itself moved with such sultry grace.

Her breasts were perhaps a little too big for her height, but the perfect size to stand tall and proud, enough of a ways out from her body to highlight how flat her stomach was. They had enough jiggle to be hypnotizing. It didn’t matter if she was in perfectly fitted underwear or loose fitting clothing; they worked their magic on me no matter which way they were adorned.

She had skin that was tanned impeccably and looked to be silk to the touch, when lit by the bulbs around the mirrors in the changing room. The faultless hue of her body was able to cast a glorious glow in any light, though. She had the cutest of faces too, all her features sized to form a magnificent balance of everything that beautiful should be.

It was such a crying shame she was a massive bitch.

I think she was the one that hated me the most out of that particular group of girls. Even the way she looked at me on that day, I knew I disgusted her. I’m not sure why though, just like the others I had a personal trainer, I was in great shape, if I do say so myself.

Sure I was shy, but that didn’t seem enough of a reason to obviously, and overtly, hate me. I wasn’t poor, so the only thing I could put it down to was the color of my skin. To be honest the idea of that being the reason made me desire her even more.

Once, when we were all in the changing rooms, I was able to indulge in an extra long stare at her. She had her back to me, was standing on her own, as was I, and she was wearing a white panty and bra set that I hadn’t seen her in before. The color of the underwear being offset from her own natural tone only served to validate how sexy she was.

She was bending down slightly, at the knees, preparing to pull up some stockings, which I knew would make her even more irresistible. The curve of her butt was stunning; it looked photoshopped, airbrushed to something close to velveteen.

We had a good twenty minutes until I was due on stage, and I was already in costume, so I took myself off to the bathroom and played out a fantasy in my head, based on what had just happened, while I stroked myself to completion in record time.