Shark Out of Water (Grab Your Pole, #3) (58 page)

I was possessed with a madness like none other and I was no longer responsible for my actions. I don’t know what I was yelling or who was trying to save the life of evil because I couldn’t think about anything past using my bare hands to flay the skin from his skeleton and tear open his chest so I could rip his organs out and then force feed him his bowels,
and
, that there was a fucking octopus keeping me from getting close enough to him for me to accomplish any of that…

We are Borg ~ Pete

This has happened before. When we sync, when we’re
just
about to lock, Tristan and I become, for lack of a better way to describe it, dyslexic. Normally we find it kinda funny because it doesn’t actually affect anything; it just causes us to pause and look at each other in confusion. Like we’re asking, “Come again? Did I see that right?” But there wasn’t a single fucking thing that was funny about it this time.

redruM.

That’s the only word I saw flash in Tristan’s head when I looked up and saw him standing there. Thanks to Stephen King, I automatically turned it around and read Murder. It was followed in frightening speed by grotesque visions of lunacy and cannibalism. I think. Because, well, you know, the dyslexia combined with the insanity part kinda made it all muddled, but regardless, what I saw was bloody and it was flat out repulsive. I had absolutely no time whatsoever to be sickened by what was going through his head, though, because if he wasn’t stopped immediately, what I saw would become reality.

All I had time to do was holler,
“TRISTAN, NO!!”
as loudly as I could and throw myself at him, hoping the other guys would hear me as well as join me in doing the Great Ape. I heard several different voices all shout something similar and I started thanking God when I realized just about every guy present had lunged at him too. Now, I’ve been in fights with him before, so has Jeff, Conner and Keith, so we’ve all had a little experience seeing what happens when Tristan puts his height and weight to work for him, and of course, Zack’s been the recipient of Tristan’s anger before, but, none of us have
ever
seen him as crazed as he was. Brandon and I each had a shoulder wedged against the front of Tristan’s rib cage and as we dug in with our feet, pushing him back with the help of Jeff and Conner, who had his arms pulled behind his back with one arm and their other arms around his shoulders and neck, Brandon looked at me and through clenched teeth he said, “Fucking Christ, the fuckstick’s gonna die one gruesome death if we don’t bring this fucking tank to a stop.”

I saw Brandon’s eyes darting all over the place and then land on Zack who was holding onto Scott, whose eyes were like saucers, and then he hollered, “Dude, take my place!”

“But, the gu—” Zack started to say when Keith stepped up and said he’d make sure Scott wouldn’t go anywhere.

Brandon and Zack made the switch and then Brandon took his dress shirt off again. He stood right in front of Tristan and said, “Tristan bro, I’m sorry, but I gotta do this.” Then he pulled his arm back and just as both Camie and Melissa screamed their protests, Brandon began to not punch, but slap Tristan across the face. The fourth or fifth time was really pretty hard if the sound and jerking movement of Tristan’s body were any indication. Camie was hardcore bawling, but, it worked. Tristan wasn’t straining as hard against us anymore and I heard Brandon sigh and then mutter, “Finally…are you gonna stop now or do I have to actually knock you the fuck out?”

“I want him dead. I swear to Christ, you guys, get me the fuck away from him or he’s dead…”

I felt Tristan’s body relaxing little by little as he mumbled and muttered, talking himself down. We all started to slowly release him and when he was free, I took a step back so that Camie could get to him. He held her tight to him but he also had to turn his back to Scott. Being that Tristan was basically back in control and had Camie in his arms as she stroked his face and hair, which did wonders for keeping him calm by the way—seriously, talk about Beauty’s ability to sooth her Beast—I blew out a breath and walked around them to the drinking fountain and saw Jillian as I bent and turned my head to get a drink.

She still looked just as radiant as when I saw her for the first time at Melissa’s tonight, even after everything that’s happened. I wanted to reward myself for a job well done and stay hunched over for a lot longer so I could look at her, but, I didn’t. When my thirst for fluids was as quenched as the meager flow from the fountain would allow, I straightened and turned to see Tristan looking at me. The dyslexia and nastiness wasn’t quite gone, but the sheer madness definitely was and I cocked my head to the side when I thought I read something like, “devil what to the are up you.” But, just as I did, the tilted angle of my head let me catch sight of Scott who’d somehow managed to squirm out of Keith’s grasp and who was in the process of raising the fist of the hand that had been handcuffed. He had the unlocked side of the cuffs wrapped around his fist like a pair of brass knuckles, about to strike Tristan from behind. Then, in less than a millisecond, it all clicked, becoming pristinely crystal clear. Tristan had asked, “What the devil are you up to?” and then I saw him push Camie from him at the exact same time as he turned and swung…all
before
he ever actually moved.

That’s why I was able to catch and steady Camie as she went stumbling backwards and still have
juuust
enough time to shift to the side so I could see Tristan’s fist slam into the side of Evil’s head. I can’t even explain how satisfying it was to watch that piece of shit’s eyes roll back into his head as his unconscious body fell to the ground with a thud. It all happened so fast though and Jeff and Conner had grabbed Tristan by the shoulders and neck again, but it was unnecessary. Tristan was standing over Scott’s “sleeping” body, fuming, yes, but not with murderous intent anymore. He shook his shoulders in a “shoo fly, get off of me” way so I looked at them and said, “Let him go, he’s cool.”

Then he looked at me.

“We. Are. Borg,” we said simultaneously in our ritualistic celebratory bumping of fists and knuckle knocking.

“Jesus, you guys, come on, have some pity for God’s sake…I’m still kinda drunk, I’ve had the shit kicked outta me by my ex-girlfriend’s almost famous rockstar boyfriend who I still pretty much don’t like at all even though I totally deserved the ass kicking he gave me, I’ve puked twice, then Camie’s date, who obviously has a death wish and who’s apparently gonna get arrested for something I don’t even wanna know about at this point, elbows me in my already bruised maybe cracked ribs so he can get knocked the
FUCK
out, and I can follow all that, really, I can, but, what the fuck is we are borg?” Keith whined while shaking and scratching at his head, looking like he was about to cry over his confusion.

I opened my mouth to give our standard explanation, but then started laughing when Sasha walked up to him, gently put her hand on his shoulder and said, “We are Borg. It’s a reference to the Borg Collective from
Star Trek
, well,
The Next Generation
that is, but it means they have some kind of mental connection with each other that allows them to like, communicate telepathically…you know, like read each other’s minds.”

Everyone just kind of looked at her in surprise, but Zack had an ear-to-ear smile on his face when he said, “And
that’s
why you rock, Sasha.”

I looked back at Tristan with a raised eyebrow and he responded with a head-shake and a look of “I dunno, I’m done,” as Camie moved in front of him and got his attention.

“Can we go now, please?”

He looked at her and sighed while wiping tears from her cheeks before saying, “I’d love nothing more.” But when he said his goodbyes, nodding to everyone and then looking at me for the last time tonight, what I read was, “I don’t wanna do this…I feel like I’m about to commit Hari-kari without a sword.”

I sighed as I watched the two of them walk down the hall towards the lobby when my Spidey sense started tingling, telling me I was being watched. I turned around and scanned the faces of everyone milling about and then my gaze came to rest on Jillian. She was staring at me. I stared back, thinking to myself that because of Sasha’s shockingly correct interpretation of Tristan’s and my little inside joke, Tristan wasn’t the only one who will be coming clean tonight.

However, I think someone might be doing my ritual disemboweling for me…

Chapter 22

Saturday (Just Barely), Week 4

The Main Event ~ Tristan

I was sitting there, looking down at the blanket, my feet, my hands, my fingers, my fingernails, the palms of my hands, pretty much everything else—
anything
else—except her. In my avoidance of meeting her expression, I looked at the underside of my wrist and saw the time. 12:39.

By the time we made it out to the lake, it was closing in on midnight. I brought her out here because when we got to the bus and climbed in, we saw police lights pulling into the parking lot which sorta ignited my temper again and Camie said she didn’t want to be there anymore or stay the night in the hotel. I couldn’t blame her. Word of what happened would spread like wildfire and everyone would be rabid to hear the details. But even if she were up for story telling, she was in no way up for partying. And really, it’s not like I was gonna complain about getting her as far away from that guy who is honestly lucky to still be alive, however, I
was
getting a little sketchy and nervous again about talking to her, so I suggested that maybe we should just talk tomorrow after she got a good night’s sleep. She looked at me like I’d lost my mind…again. So, I drove us, in silence, out here. Out to the peace and quiet of the lake where no one would bother us, where I could confess all my sins and, consequently, be justly punished for them.

Earlier, I’d been planning on sleeping out here, not in the house but on the bank of the lake under the stars. I had myself all set up and that’s where I’d been when I made the spontaneous decision to drive to the hotel. When we pulled up, I was thinking we’d talk in the house or maybe on the back porch, so when we walked in, I went to the fridge to get us both something to drink, and as I did that, she went out back. However, I stuttered to a stop with a cup in each hand after walking through the glass doors myself, noticing she was nowhere to be seen. I looked around the porch that wraps around three sides of the house and came up empty handed. I was about to call her name, but a small fire down by the lake sparked to life and caught my eyes. Looking out to the gas fire pit where I’d left my makeshift campsite, I saw her sitting on the blankets, staring out over the water.

As my eyes adjusted to the stark darkness barely being broken by the firelight, I watched her for a few minutes, wondering if she was remembering what I had earlier which had prompted me to write that letter to her. Then, thinking to myself that it wasn’t gonna get any easier the longer I put it off, I walked down and joined her. Setting our drinks down and kneeling, I adjusted the gas knob nestled in the grass so the fire was just a little higher. I pushed back up to my feet, but as I did, I noticed the duffle bag that I always keep packed with my essentials and my eyes automatically went back to the fire. Feeling the already rising warmth it was emitting and thinking it would be wise to move the bag away from the heat so the can of shaving cream that I’m sure is in there doesn’t get too hot and explode all over my clothes and the other crap that’s always in there, I picked it up and tossed it towards the head of my “bed” before sitting down next to but not close to Camie. Then, finally handing her one of the two plastic cups, I downed what was in the one still in my hand like a shot, hoping the tart sweetness of it would bolster my courage somehow.

She looked at me, took a sip from her cup and then choked in surprise. “How come you get liquid courage and I don’t?”

“As much as I feel like I’m gonna need it tonight, I’m not drinking ever again, Camie. I—I quit. That was straight cranberry juice, just like yours…”

“Oh. Well, huh…when did you quit?”

That was roughly thirty minutes ago…

I used her question as my starting point and asked for her patience to just let me get it all out without interruption because I was afraid if she stopped me at any point, I might not be able to finish or, God forbid, if we started to argue, we’d end up with more third degree burns. She was more than accommodating but I’m not sure if that was because she was simply shocked, or justifiably appalled at what she was hearing because there were very,
very
few points during the whole of my brutally honest tale in which I looked at her. In fact, I don’t think I really looked at her a single time after I answered her question of when I’d quit drinking.

So that’s where I was, tossing little pieces of twig or grass into the fire and staring at my ankle and a piece of frayed denim, doing anything to keep from looking at her when she asked, “Are you done?”

I nodded and started to pick at the tattered hem of my jeans.

“Will you look at me please?”

I knew that looking at her would be the end and I still really wasn’t ready to close the book on our story, but I also knew I couldn’t avoid it forever so closing my eyes on a shallow, soundless sigh, I turned my face to hers and opened my eyes. In the light of the flames, I saw that her eyes were burning into me and all I could think about was wanting to drown again, just not in water. I wanted to drown in her eyes and I totally could. I could die in her eyes and die happy but I felt my breath catch when the inevitable happened.

She stood up to leave.

She didn’t say anything and she didn’t have to. I knew this was coming so momentarily looking out at the lake; I tried to remind myself that I’d prepared for this. So, blinking back the tears threatening to come, I stood up and checked my pockets for my keys, intending to follow her and thus drive her home for the last time. And I’m pretty fucking sure I was less stupefied last night when I found out I’d fallen in love with Camie when I was two than I was right at that moment.