Misplaced Vengeance

The strobe light pulses in the club. Drum and bass beats roll against the air in waves, vibrate through every molecule in his body. Flashes of people suspended in frozen moments of dance encompass him. He pushes his way through the crowd. His bare arms brush against the sweaty bodies that writhe around him. His skin prickles and cools. His eyes dart about. The crowd whoop as the song climaxes, connected in a fickle sense of unity, each one lost in the movement, the music.

He grunts and pushes onward. Tiny droplets of sweat drip down from the ceiling. The air is humid and hot. He runs his tongue over his teeth. One of these lucky, lucky women is going to get fucked black and blue tonight, inside and out. It’s just a matter of who. He makes his way to the bar and orders a double vodka and a lager. He downs the spirit and chases it with the beer as he continues to scan the crowd. He has never had any trouble pulling. If in dire need there’s always the fat, lonely slags who dance with their mates in the club. A seasoned dog can smell their desperation a mile off. It’s a well rehearsed act and he’s a master: he would slide beside them, push his body into theirs and sing some of the lyrics of the song into their stubby ears, too little for their round faces. They would giggle like coquettish school girls, delighted at the attention. From there it was just a matter of a few smooth words and they would be bouncing on his cock by the end of the night.

A scowl creases his face. Tonight he’s on a mission; a hunter in the night who works best alone. He walks away from the bar and finds a secluded corner of seats next to the dance floor. Sat down, from this angle, he can practically see up the short skirts of a group of girls who dance near him. They scream and clap as the prettiest of the girls swings round a pole in the middle of the floor, and rubs her crotch against it. Her blond hair shines as the strobe lights start again, making each beat feel unreal, like a clip from a movie. His mind reels with the events of a whirlwind day and he stares at the blond girl’s sequin dress for a moment, lost in his thoughts. After watching her dance for a few minutes he downs his beer and whacks it on the glass table in front of him. His prey is picked.

*****

He’d been staring out of the bus window, trying to digest the doctor’s news when she accosted him. “Got a light?” Her nasal voice penetrated his thoughts. She sat in the seat in front of him, her body twisted round, her arms hung over the chair. Greasy ginger hair hung limpid around her face. She opened her mouth as if to repeat the question but he whipped out his lighter from his jacket pocket. Ignoring the ‘NO SMOKING’ signs she lit a thin roll up and blew smoke into the stale air around them. He eyed her surreptitiously; she couldn’t be any older than fifteen. Her eyebrows were pencilled on in black and thick clumps of mascara clung to her brittle eyelashes. “Want one?” She waved a bag of Drum under his nose. Flakes of tobacco cascaded onto his lap. He glanced around; alone on the top deck they could hear the gentle murmur of conversation below.

“No.” He grunted and looked pointedly out of the window. His mind jumped back to the Army medical office, to the results. The image of his mother sprawled on the couch assaulted him, mouth open as she gaped at the TV, face blank. He had to escape. Outside the grey clouds covered the sky in an oppressive mist, and the first spots of rain dotted the window.

“So,” the girl continued, unperturbed by his silence. “What were you doing at the army centre? I saw the bus pick you up.” Thick smoke crawled from her lips and weaved into the air, narrowly missing his face.

He was not in the mood for this, not now. “Just fuck off.”

She blinked, “Alright, I was only asking. God!” She kicked her high heels petulantly against the back of the seat in front of her, breasts wobbling with each movement.

He watched her for a moment, then turned back to the window and muttered, “I was just havin’ a look around.”

“Are you gonna join? My brother’s in the Marines.” Her mouth hung open again and a piece of grey chewing gum clung to her yellow teeth. She pulled the roll up to her lips and took another drag. Black tar stains crept down the paper.

“No, it’s not for me,” he lied. His chest tightened as he was filled with disgust at the thought that some dirty disease devouring him. The realization that he didn’t know which dirty bitch had given it to him was worse. He clenched and unclenched his fists and tried to disperse a deep desire to do some damage to something, dispel the rage he was feeling. It was only then that he realised the ginger girl was talking.

“…stupid cow really. I told her not to have the baby. Now it’s still born and she’s all upset. They’re gonna have to keep her in for a week. A whole bloody week. I told her the best thing to do would be to check out and get wasted, you know, go on a bender, but she wasn’t havin’ none of it.” She stubbed her fag out on the seat and the unpleasant stench of burning synthetic tickled his throat. She rolled another one and waved at him to hand her his lighter once more. “So, where you off to now?” She asked, exhaling a long stream of smoke. “Back home?”

“Home.” He said, as he stood up and rang the bell. “This is my stop.”

“Funny that,” she said as she stood up with him. “This is my stop too.” They walked down the stairs to the front of the bus and waited for it to pull to a halt opposite a long row of identical terraced houses. It wasn’t until they were getting off that the driver noticed the cigarette in the girl’s hand. “It’s no smoking on the bus.” He barked as she descended the steps.

“Well it’s a bit late now innit.” She cackled back. The doors slammed behind them and the bus pulled away. The girl looked at him and shuffled on the spot as her jaw worked vigorously on her gum. Reaching some unspoken decision he turned and indicated for her to follow. Homogeneous houses skirted in and out of their vision as they walked. The silence penetrated by the sound of the girl’s shoes, which clicked rhythmically like a clock. H . I . V. H . I . V . H . I . V He blinked and tried to clear his mind as he came to a stop at a house which was dirtier than its siblings; its curtains drawn and junk sprawled out in the front yard. He pulled out his keys and unlocked the door as the girl spat out her chewing gum and flicked her fag on the ground.

The house was masked with a stale smell, like an old person’s home shrouded with the promise of death. The hall was devoid of light, and on a table by the door an answer phone showed five unread messages. The sound of a TV drifted from a closed door, and Jeremy Kyle could be heard berating his guest.

“…going on the game at fifteen, and leaving your mum to look after your son. What kind of a person are you?” The audience cheered as they revelled in the girl’s discomfort.

Another man’s voice could be heard, a representative of the audience. “I just wanna say that you’re really selfish. When are you going to realise that your actions affect others? You need to learn the meaning of the word responsibility, girl.” The audience applauded, united in agreement.

“I’m home mum. Just going to m’room for a bit.” He called as they ascended the stairs. The only answer from the room was the audience cheers after yet another comment from the show’s host.

A rank smell imbedded into the wallpaper confronted them as he opened his bedroom door. Clothes were strewn on the floor and posters of nude models on the beach or leaning on cars decorated the walls, all staring down with a look of blank acquiescence.

He turned as the girl advanced towards him. She grabbed his t-shirt and yanked him to her, kissed him hard, teeth clashing. He returned it with equal ferocity, eager to lose himself in anything other than the truth. Her mouth tasted like a stale minty ashtray and her clothes reeked of body odour. They fell on to the unmade bed, his hands groped all over her clammy body. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a month, you dirty bitch,” he murmured as he bit her ear. Her eyes widened and he slipped his hand under the hem of her knickers. Flecks of his spittle clung to her greasy hair. He flipped her body over on the bed and yanked her trousers down. He spat on his hand and rubbed it on her arse, working his fingers roughly round her with one hand while he undid his fly with the other. He fucked her, as hard as he could, not caring if her grunts were spawned from pleasure or pain. She felt tight as he entered her body and a wave of euphoria flowed through him. Grimacing, his left hand pushed her down into his dirty sheets and held her steady as she tried to struggle. In a matter of moments he came inside her as he pushed her smothered face further into the mattress. Physically and emotionally exhausted he withdrew, did up his fly and collapsed on the bed, closing his mind to her sobs, and to the day.

It was dark when he awoke. Shadows loomed about him in the darkness. He was alone, the girl must have left while he slept. The house was quiet. He thought about his infected body, about the disease that wormed its way through him like maggots through a corpse. It was their fault; all of the women he had ever slept with. Their fault. He considered the ginger girl he had just fucked, the shocked animal noises she had emitted as he entered her. He clenched his jaw and imagined himself setting her free on the world, a ticking time bomb of disease and filth. She would infect others, of that he was sure. And the infection would spread further and further. He may not be able to find the cunt that had done this to him but he could make them pay. Make all the bitches pay.
*****

He approaches the blond girl and places a hand lightly on her tight arse. He dances with her, moving her slight body gently into him, as yet another generic RnB song blears out of the speakers. She moves gracefully and arches her back, extends her chest. Within moments they are kissing. Her mouth tastes like strawberries and she runs her hands through his short hair. He follows her to the side of the dance floor and embraces her once more. Even the fat slags take more work than this.

“I’m Sean.” He says, once he finally manages to tear himself away from her hungry lips. The pseudonym a protection for his anonymity.

She glances over his shoulder, then kisses him again, runs her hands up his shirt and tweaks one of his nipples. “Let’s just go back to my place, shall we?” Her azure eyes glint in the dim lights, and a smile plays on her face. He nods, amazed at how easy it is, at how fast she’s moving. He hasn’t even had to tell her she is sexy, gorgeous or anything. She just wants him. Plain and simple.

She leads him to the door, occasionally glancing over her shoulder. But not looking at him. Looking past him. Through him. The lights in the club flash around them. Smoke clouds the air. Not wanting to give the girl second thoughts, he follows her out of the club and into a taxi.

After a short drive they stumble into the girl’s house. His eyes jump about as she leads him inside. The magnolia walls glow in the darkness, and reflect the pale, elusive light of the moon. Delicate watercolour paintings decorate the hallway, each with elaborate thick oak frames. A fat ginger cat with a fluffy tail and a squashed face plods over to the girl. She shushes it away and leads him up the staircase, down a darkened corridor and into an even darker bedroom. In the faintest of lights he can just about make out her silhouette as she pulls off her ‘fuck me’ shoes and closes the door with a light click.

She walks towards him, a good six inches shorter without her heels, and kisses him again. This time the kiss is light, delicate. He brings a hand up and strokes her soft hair, pulls her gently to him. As if lulled by a magic that seems to shroud the house, he touches her face gently. Without a word they fall onto the double bed and have sex with a tenderness he has never experienced before. Afterwards, unwilling to let the night end, they lie together and stroke each other’s bodies, exploring the contours and curves. Finally, they surrender to sleep as all the previous days events ebb away, a distant memory too hazy to recollect.

Sunlight creeps through the blinds, gradually moving with the day over the bed sheets and glints on his sleeping face. Slowly his eyes open and he glances around the room. He moves a hand above his face and shields his eyes from the warm light. Dust particles dance like fairies and glimmer like gold around him. The room, though different, is no less welcoming in the day as it was at night. The walls are a pale pink and decorated with pictures of the girl beaming at him. Photos of her in a bikini against the backdrop of a generic beach, of her wearing a blue school uniform, of drinking cocktails on a night out. On a white dresser is a large heart shaped frame with a picture of the girl in a pale blue ball gown kissing a tall guy, her arms wrapped around him.

He rolls over, wanting to feel close to the girl again. To kiss her and touch her skin. But the bed is empty. In a terrible tidal wave the events of the previous day crash on him like a damn bursting. The weight of realization crushes him and his chest tightens. He’s infected. He’s going to die. And what’s more, he is now going to drag this girl to death with him. He sits up in the bed, his pulse racing.

The bedroom door creaks open and the girl walks in holding a tray. A brown silk dressing gown clings to her body. “I didn’t know if you would be up.” She smiles, her voice soft. “But I brought you some breakfast. I hope you like your eggs runny.” She places the tray on the bed, sits down and picks up a piece of toast. A smile wavers on his face and a rush of emotion he can’t place flows through him.

“Thanks, I haven’t had soft boiled eggs since I was a kid.” He croaks, and coughs slightly. “Er…what’s your name?” He has a sense of being transported back to primary school and remembers his fumbling ineptitude at talking to girls at that age: a foreign species he couldn’t understand.

Her laugh tinkles in the air around him. “Didn’t I tell you last night? I’m Samantha.” She looks down and blushes. “Sorry. I think I was on a mission last night.”

“A mission?” He picks up a spoon and takes great delight in tapping it lightly on the egg to break the delicate shell. Yellow yolk oozes out as he removes the top and plunges in a buttered solider.

“Yeah,” her face falls into a frown. “My ex, Martin, was out last night. I guess I just wanted to pay him back. Hurt him.” She lowers her eyes and sniffs. Her hair falls forward and covers her face.

He reaches over, brushes her hair back and says, “That him?” He nods to the heart shaped photo frame on her dresser. The egg bursts with creamy, rich flavour in his mouth and he pauses before asking: “What did he do? I mean, why do you need to…” He trails off. The photo in front of him shows a happy, beautiful couple. The type of couple who the world shines on. The type of couple he has never known.

She nods, her breath catches in her throat. “He cheated on me with some girl from the club. I was with him for two years, since I was fifteen. He was following me around last night and I just wanted to get out of there. That’s why…well. I’m not usually that forward.” She glances up at him and adds, “I guess I just wanted to lose myself really, you know?”

“Yeah,” his says quietly, lowering his head. “Yeah, I do.” He thinks about the ginger girl’s clinking shoes as they walked down the street, about his test results scattered on the doctor’s floor. The sun bursts out of the clouds and breaks through the blinds once more. Light dances on his face and silhouettes him in a halo of dust speckled radiance. Casting lines of long, dark, looming shadows on the wall behind him.

3020 words.