Ambivalence

One: Mercy

Chapter One

MERCY

Miranda sped up and drove us to an old record studio, around 7 kilometers away from the school grounds.  The car wheels were screeching, smell of smoke belching from the car muffler. She imprudently parked her classic BMW 10 meters across so we’d come unnoticed.  The dusk was breaking and the city lights began to flicker.  Miranda took out a pack of cigarette in her glove compartment, just as soon as she switched off the car engine.   

“Three left,” she swore after pulling out one cigarette from the box. While unbuckling her seatbelt, she jolts Allie in the left shoulder.  Allie staggered from her slumber; she sat up straight and handed Miranda a lighter she stole from the convenience store nearby.

“Damn it.” Miranda accidentally scorched her finger while igniting the stolen lighter. Allie quickly pulled Miranda’s hand over to mend her wound with an antiseptic.

“Feel better?” a lethargic Allie asked.

“You suck.” was Miranda’s sarcastic and sour grapping comeback.  

Miranda glared at me from the front seat. She bit her lower lip and raised an eyebrow. She tossed a sealed box of cigarette onto my lap. Astonished, I chinned up and met her eyes. She looked wasted, but was still beautiful; her dirty blonde hair was messy and all tangled up from her fast driving, her eyes were deep and restless, and her lips were mauve from cigarette smoking. Miranda smirked at me and snickered out loud. I averted eye contact, lowered my head while sweeping my fringe aside. Holding on to the cigarettes, I opened my mouth and bashfully told them, 

 “I don’t know how to smoke.”  I scrunched up my eyes as I offered the cigarettes back to Miranda.  Miranda sighed, shook her head, snatched the cigarettes out of my hand, and went out of the car—followed by Allie and Jackson.

I managed to get out of the car through the door right next to me. Jackson, however, grabbed on to my shirt from inside the car and dragged me back in.  I fell in my back into the car seat with my shirt pulled halfway over.

 “Ow!” I cried.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Jackson apologized. “I just wanted to make sure if you still got all my records in your rucksack.” He pulled me up, invasively unzipped my backpack, and salvaged the vinyl records he possesses. While scavenging for more, he started humming to Arctic Monkeys.

“What the hell are you still doing inside the car, Jackson? Get your ass out here in the streets now. And bring that girl with you.”  Allie called out from the sidewalk.  Thwarted by Allie, Jackson rests his forehead on my left shoulder. Then, slightly lifting his head off my shoulder, he whispered to my ear the words,

“Looks like we’ve got to go now, new girl” Jackson fondled me in left arm. I was flushed all over, shivers down my spine.  I could see Miranda glaring at me again—this time, through the windshield. I could read her lips; she’s taunting me. Jackson draped his arm around my shoulder, escorting me out of the car and into the streets. 

I fixed my shirt and swept my fringe away from my face once more. Miranda rolled her eyes and turned about. I hid my face with the palm of my hand to her liking. She pointed out the old studio, which was 10 meters through the narrow alley. Miranda casually sneaked us in.

Street lights were dim and cold air was blowing on that evening.  I could hear sirens from the police cars just meters away. The narrow road I am crossing right now resembles what I aspire the Purgatory would look like.  Miranda and Allie were walking way too fast; I couldn’t catch up with them in this freezing cold ambiance. Jackson found me freezing and rolled up like a ball. He grabbed both of my hands insisted that I wear his hand-warmers. He pulled me up and draped his jacket over my shoulders. We walked together and both got through the alley in one piece. We crossed the pedestrian lane and arrived at our destination.  There outside the studio were Miranda and Allie.

Chimes rang from the top of the entrance as Miranda opened the door and brought us inside the studio. A girl of Irish and American descent approached our direction and came face to face with Miranda.

 "Cara" Miranda denoted.

“Hey, Miranda” she spoke with insincere. They both gave dirty looks at each other. Cara saw me from the corner of her eye.

 “Who’s she?” she asked.

“A newcomer” Allie answered.

Cara approached me, striding her feet. She held my face with both hands, plumping up my cheeks. “She looks pretty enough to eat.” was her flattering remark.

"Hands off our bait" Miranda sneered as she told Cara to back off. Cara backed away raising her hands.

"I was only trying to be friendly" she said.

"Well, darling, you're trying too hard." Miranda countered.

Before an irritated Cara was able to make a comeback, Charlie, a woman twice my age, interrupted their cat fight.

"Real mature, ladies." she said. "Allie, dear, would you mind if you bring our guest to the control room?"

"Ugh, actually I do mind," Allie complained. "I'm tired. And I hate being ordered around all the time." She mumbled and shook her head but hastily grabbed me anyway, leading to a jacked up control room.

The room smelled of ash, musty, worn-out clothes and alcohol.

“Take a seat.” Allie switched on the lights while dragging out an old beaten bean bag.

 "Welcome to our cave, my dear. Make yourself at home; it’s going to be a long night.” Charlie bid welcome. I politely sat down and wandered my eyes all around the room. It was dusky and the atmosphere was suffocating.

“Would you like something to drink?” Charlie asked.

Swallowing my saliva, I replied “A drink would be nice.” Only soon did I realize I was stuttering.

 "Just an advice," Charlie said. "Enough with the formalities, you've got to loosen up.  Chill out, we don't bite." She lifted open the stay-tab of a can of Heineken and handed it over to me.  

"Sorry, I’m not very keen with alcoholic beverages." I refused.  

"You've got to be kidding me!" Allie exclaimed. "Charlie, can you believe this girl? I'm seriously disappointed."  

"Allie, don't be ridiculous, we all have our differences." Charlie explained. She subsequently faced me and asked "So, Mercy, tell us…"

"Huh?" I questioned.

"What's your story? How’d you ever wind up in this studio in the middle of nowhere?”

"Let me begin by correcting you with a few things. First of all, my name's not Mercy; it's Marci..."