charisma

aerosmith and shaved head

"Hey there, sweet cheeks. You tryna start somethin' or just clumsy?" The Aerosmith shirt guy sneered. The name ''sweet cheeks'' made me want to scream, though I didn't dare. I knew how dangerous the gang was. Desperate to fight, yes, but when they did find an excuse to mess someone up, they messed them up. The fact that these two men could probably toss me around like a ragdoll and break my bones like twigs was just enough to stop me from blurting out something I'd regret.God, I hate the way they're looking at me. The two of them snickered, not taking their eyes off me. It was like they were a pair of wolves and I was just a piece of meat. I couldn't stand the way they stared at me, like I was just an object. Or an animal. I wouldn't stand to be objectified by these ugly, pathetic excuses for men. Without thinking, anger taking control for just that fraction of a second, I muttered, "Not as clumsy as you, drunk-ass." (A/N: in 70s probably woulda been a bigger deal for girls to be so brash. trying to be of the times)

Shit, I thought. My mouth had been getting me in trouble my whole life. I was the kid that always had to suck on a bar of soap for talking back. Aerosmith's smirk faded to a death stare. I smelled alcohol on the guy with the shaved head's breath as he leaned in to say, "How'd you like to be even clumsier after tonight?" I wasn't sure exactly what he meant by that, either they were gonna beat me up, violently or violate me, also violently. I would have given anything to disappear on the spot, but the fire in me just wouldn't quench. 

"I was scared for my life. Truly. This was every  girl's worst  fear. When you're in such a situation, and you're so scared and unsure, you wanna get out in your mind. My, um, "escape" was mouthing off, I do it when I'm anxious."

"That's very interesting... Like a coping mechanism?"

"Kind of. I get scared, I throw up my metaphorical fists. I was also just so angry, I despise people who think the world's theirs, or that they can just walk up and be creeps to girls. That's fucked. So it was a whole thing then where I was terrified and super pissed and... yeah."

Well, I was officially dead. Might as well be as much of a bitch as you can, said a nasty little voice in my head. They deserve it for being so-- No. I wasn't in the mood for an internal conflict. I bit my lip to silence myself, but then the same little voice piped up with the perfect comeback. "Did that have an innuendo?" I heard myself say. "Cause the answer's no. Neither of you really get me going like tha-"

Shaved Head's eyes narrowed in anger, Aerosmith's widened. The dirty blonde looked like pure evil, a piggish grin stretching across his face. "Don't knock me til you've seen me, baby." he drooled, earning a disgusted look from me. Shaved Head elbowed him. "You can stop the sass now, sweetheart. Or, you can answer to this." He pulled a large knife out of his jacket pocket. I gasped- the blade was probably seven inches at least. Absurdly, a line from "Do You Love Me" popped into my head: "You like my seven inch leather heels and coming to all of the shows." You like your seven inch pocket knives, and jumping girls after KISS shows, I thought to myself. I imagined Paul Stanley singing my twist on the lyrics, and was unable to suppress a giggle. 

"Something funny?" Shaved Head brandished the knife at me, resting it under my chin. My eyes grew wide, as did Shaved Head's smile. Perfect timing, stupid, my common sense screamed at me. This'll be how I die... I reasoned. Or maybe I'll be one of those people who gives speeches at high schools about their trauma. Hi, kids I'm (_____)/(_____), and I got beat up at a KISS concert... Fucking hell, I'm screwed. Then, an arm wrapped around my shoulders, and a rough, deep voice said "Hey, baby. Lost ya for a sec."