5: The Price of Friday

He steps off me and sinks into the bed.

I glance over to look him in the eyes.
“Let him up.”

He smiles wide—teeth bare, dimples—cute in a way.

The men release their grasp, as they stand simultaneously, though over me still.

I tik and tilt my head. An audible “CLICK” from the left side of my mouth fills the room.

My left hand grasps the folded knife on my chest.
Finally-something metal.

We smile.

I stand—slow, casual.

My body aches as I rise, the knife still closed in my left hand.

Right.
Left.
Right.

I feel the weight. It’s lighter than Blue was.
I don’t like my new friend.

I flip the lock with my pinky and flick my wrist.

The men, arm’s length away,
I feel them-overconfident.

Adrenaline surges.

an extra pause here

I click as I kick.

My foot snaps forward—
a wet, breathless sound.

The dog crumples to the floor grasping himself.

My left hand rises on instinct, shielding my face.

The second man—clumsy—swings, wide and telegraphed.
Slow.

I dip beneath it, the air tearing past my ear.

He's big.

Don't fucking touch me.

My new friend lightly kisses the clumsy man's throat.
He freezes.

Hands in the air.
Open.

I wince heavy.

My leg hurts?
Sharp.
Hard to stand.
Candy.

Shit. The dog in the floor.

My shoe mashes its nose as if he were a disobedient pug.

The big clumsy man reaches for my seductive friend at his throat.
Too slow for us.

My only friend finds an intimate line across the second man’s hand.
He stumbles back.

My right leg spikes again.
Sharp.
Inner thigh.
He’s climbing me from the floor.

We click.
Candy.
Pain.

The bed laughs hysterically.

My new friend lifts the dog's chin with its edge.

“It’s intent,” I say.
“Calm it. Sit.”

I click.
"I love dogs."

The bed laughs—calm, mocking.

"Was this necessary?"

My eyes shift slightly, still watching the dogs.
My peripheral spots the psycho now lying in the bed.

"We're going on a road trip." The bed speaks feigning casual.

I'm annoyed.
"Why?"

"Friday." The bed says, not so casual this time.

He motions the dogs to lick their wounds beside him.

"That's not what I asked." Omission never sits well with me.
I can tell something's off.

and I love games

"Friday." he reiterates seemingly flustered.

He's not having fun anymore.
He doesn't want to go?

"Where are we going? These two stupid fucks aren't coming" I say smugly.

"I'll let you know."

He was always vague, and there were unfamiliar people present so I didn't expect any real answer, but this isn't his tone, he's not sadistic, just ... desperate?

Pain shoots through my right leg.

I limp backwards to fall on the doorframe and keep the men in sight.

One on the bed licking his wounded hand,
the other still in the floor.
It smells, and there is a weird pile of something he’s dragged himself through,
probably vomit.

Holding my friend firmly I take inventory of myself.

Down at my leg, my pants are bloody, I need a new shirt, and my bottle has broken in my pocket during the chaos.

I growl softly as I notice pencils sticking in my knee and upper thigh.

Broken, what feels like below my skin.

How does he expect me to drive if he's just going to let them fuck up my legs?

"You don't know anyone else for this? These jerk offs just fucked up my leg, and I got hit by a car today. What makes you think I can do anything now?"

I'm frustrated, that usually makes him happy.
Not today.

“Other people will be coming.” Almost reflective. Unusual.
“You’re coming, I trust you.”

I squint, frustrated intuition wells in my mind as I search for answers.

I see the broken light bulbs on the floor again, guitar haphazardly thrown by the closet I didn’t notice before despite the “music.”

The dogs have relaxed, both on the bed with him now.

“I need someone to drive me now because of your idiot games.”

“I’ll go, please …”

I hear a soft feminine voice come from the doorway of the room behind me, precise enough for only me to hear.

I click quietly.
“The girl can drive me.”

“The FUCK she can, she stays here! Take him!”

Sitting up abruptly, he shoves a man off the bed.

“I wasn’t really asking. Besides, he smells.”

“No,” angry, raspy, pretending not to be cornered.

“Look, you want me to drive? Without context?
The girl takes me.
She will have my car, and she will pick me up on Friday to meet with you.
That’s the way this happens or it doesn’t happen at all.
If she doesn’t pick me up on Friday, alone, I report my car stolen.”

Awkward silence fills the room as he contemplates losing control of the conversation.

“Plus, your assholes broke my bottle.”

My new friend holds my other hand as I pull the container from my pocket to throw it on the floor in front of him.

“I’m empty. I have about 2k she can bring back to you. Replace my courage. We all win.”

He fights a small grin forming from the corner of his cracking mouth.

Money … means more ... I catch his glimpse to the broken light bulbs ...

"Take the girl, be ready by noon Friday. In the nightstand there is another bottle."

He gets louder, anticipating she hears likely.

"She returns with money, untouched, or not at all."

I click. Static.

My eyes narrow with hatred

"Has she been, untouched here ?"

The dogs look at each other and smile

"I'll see you Friday." The bed says

I reach into the nightstand and retrieve one of many bottles, I also palm a bag, lucky me. The dogs will get blamed for this likely. As I shove them both in my pocket.

I walk backwards out of the room.

These men aren't dogs though, they're hyenas, ravenous and immoral, scavengers. Everything they touch is poisoned, even me. I should know, I've been touched too much already by their kind.

Still slowly limping backwards down the hallway, my new friend firmly holding my hand, I stop at her door.

"Lets go, you first."

No more words.
It’s deafening here.

Her nails lightly drag my hip bone outline from front to back as she walks past me towards the exit.

I need a new shirt...