Grey Gods

Chapter Twelve - Speechless

Angel:

I haven't been in a very good mood lately.

Camila has been bugging the hell out of me, calling me all the time, but I don't know how to be assertive and tell the chica to leave me alone. If I hadn't made her come over and over again, I don't think she'd be so obsessed. I was thinking of Lana the whole time, imagining myself pleasuring her, and the night got away from me.

I don't even know the girl, but she's possessing my thoughts like a goddamn witch. The fact that I think about her as much as I do, and we've barely spoken all but a few words to each other, is scary.

I blame her for my foul mood.

I don't know how many times I've thought about walking down that stairwell and knocking on her door, but I'm hardly every sober, and if I were to do that, I know I'd have to be stone cold sober to keep up. Even so, the idea terrifies me for some reason.

"Hey, man. You okay?" Saint nudges me from where I stand in his kitchen. I nurse a glass of chilled whiskey and stare at the line of coke on his kitchen table.

"Yeah." I jerk my chin up and lie to his face. "I'm great."

I hate coming here. Saint and Santos live in the same apartment building I used to live in, with Tito. Coming here makes me think of him. The thing about death is I don't handle it very well, so I do my best to block out the memories and try to forget him. As sad as that is, it works for me. It's how I deal with it. But whenever I come here, I can't help but think about the kid I met in kindergarten, and how he's no longer here.

When I'm in this building, his memory haunts me. His death. Everything. It feels so heavy I drown in it.

I throw back the whiskey, snort the coke, and rub what's left across my teeth, burying my thoughts of Tito somewhere deep.

"Where's it you said you wanted to go tonight?"

"Estrella Rose. They're doing two dollar beers after eight o'clock."

"Alright. Where's Ramey? Thought he was meeting us here."

Saint cuts a line of coke for himself and snorts it with a rolled-up bill. He coughs once, and says in a strained voice, "He just texted me and said he'll meet us at the bar. He's helping his mom clean out her garage today for a yard sale or something."

I pour myself another shot, throw it back and set my empty glass in Saint's sink. The liquor warms my body and takes the edge off my thoughts, massaging the layers of my overworked brain.

I light a cigarette when we're outside and follow Saint to our bikes. The nicotine rush infuses with the coke and alcohol, causing a real smile to tug across my face.

The sun set is bright red tonight, melting over the horizon like a bloody flame. I admire it as I finish my cigarette, then I strap on my helmet and start my bike. I'm ready to pound some beers and listen to some good music, maybe dance with a sexy girl if I see one.

Warm air breezes over my face, but as that red sky burns out, the air gets colder. The moon appears high in the hazy clouds as we pull into Estrella Rose's crowded parking lot, gaining many curious looks when we drive around the building once to find a parking spot.

I find Ramirez's bike, and park beside it. He's waiting for us up by the front doors, smoking a joint, his foot propped up against the brick building.

He gives me a small smile and pushes away from the wall, handing me the joint when I take off my helmet.

"Gracias, hermano."

Music thumps from inside, the bass pleasantly pulsing across the ground and into my bloodstream. I hand Saint the joint and exhale a cloud of smoke, my untied boots scuffing against the sidewalk.