A Bite Of A Bittersweet Sin

Two: Spider Dance

I remember the days before everyone knew my name. Before everyone knew who I used to be, the person I hate to remember but everyone refuses to forget. I remember a time when no one knew about the bindings around my chest, and everyone just called me Max. Not Fury, my birth name. Not girl, or young lady, or female. Just Max.

But all that had to stop.

"How'd you like the movie?" Cheedo asked, taking a bite out of her cheeseburger.

"S'okay, I guess," I nibble on one of her fries. I can't enjoy the memory of the film because of them; my old mates from our school soccer team. I spotted them coming out of the theatre, while Cheedo and I shared a biri and again when we came to this diner.

Their eyes are as hard as diamond and their lettermen's gleam like blood in the dark. It's like they knew we would be here, followed us here. Our captain, my ex-captain, Jarrett, is brutal; I can still feel the breath rushing from my lungs as he exercised savagery on the field, grabbing fistfuls of my hair and shoving my face in the dirt until I did something right with his 'lieutenants' standing around us.

The other four boys, Justin, Peter and Joe, were below him, in rank, expertise and severity, the lowest being the only sophomore of the five, a tall, ruddy punk by the name of V. Just V. He always hung close to Jarrett like a ghost hangs over a shoulder, his eyes blank and his mouth agape.

The five were huddled in a corner table where the light couldn't reach them. We were in plain sight, but Cheedo mustn't have noticed as she kept licking chocolate syrup off her spoon. I slunk down in the booth until she finished all the food and we trundled to the side of the street to catch a cab.

"You okay?" She asks. She holds her lighter to her lips and a blows a stream of smoke out her nostrils. I glance behind me, catching a look at the group of boys. Contention seems to have risen, as they argue among themselves. V and Jarrett seethe at each other and after a minute V comes outside, Justin and Peter grasping his arms.

Something in me twists apprehensively. I look on as Jarrett and Joe walk out, totally ignoring the boys as they beat the living shit out of V. From here I can hear every punch that lands on him. I watch as V takes more and more body shots, Justin and Peter pushing him to the ground and delivering deep kicks to his chest, throat and face. Piercing howls carry to the road. Cheedo surveys the situation and asks, "Should we do something?"

"I don't know," I turn around, but I can't ignore my old mate's groans. "We'll wait till they're done. Then we'll go see if he's okay."

After a few more kicks, the shallow breaths of the thugs approach us and brush past. We walk over to V. I kneel over him, not sure what to say.

Blood spurts from V's nose, his hands pressing into his abdomen. At our arrival, V's red eyes flicker up to us. A round of coughs erupt from his mouth and clouds of red flow from his lips as he rolls onto his side. My heart jumps. In the background, I can hear Cheedo pulling out her phone, but not making a call.

"What do we do?" She queries. "What if there's internal hemorrhaging? He could die."

"Then why aren't you calling an ambulance?"

"I don't have money to pay for an ambulance. Besides, I thought these guys hated you. You don't owe him any favors."

A wheeze slithers out of V's mouth and his eyes roll back. It brings back memories of our soccer drills, how hard it was to breathe while carrying a backpack full of soccer equipment while everyone else ran free. How I could hardly stand, let alone walk, always ready to piss myself from exhaustion after a day of practice but still had to go to work at the factory after school.

"Make the call," I mumble without thinking. "Do it!" She quickly dials and I hear the operator's questioning voice and Cheedo answering back. Everything dulls as I move V's hands away from his stomach to view the damage; dark purple splotches creeping from his midriff to his chest. Skin breaks on his chest stain the shirt black. I pull the fabric down again.

"We should get out of here," Cheedo huffs. "I don't want to be questioned or anything."

"Is that safe?"

"We'll run across the street if you're so eager to watch him."

I run the idea through my head and come to a conclusion. The sky is pitch black, the lights from the diner are dimming, and V's suffering seems to be plateauing. As we hear the sirens approaching, we look to each other and take to the streets, hoping silently that we won't be seen.

END