Page 30 of Tainted Love

“Should I Stay or Should I Go”

Sascha - Age 18, 1988

Ilie on the bow of the boat, my body swaying with the ebb and flow of the waves. The warm sun blankets my skin in a comforting embrace, while the distant chirping of birds adds a melodic soundtrack to my peaceful surroundings. This moment, drifting on the calm waters, is pure relaxation. It’s a well-deserved break from dealing with Michael and his incessant need to push my buttons.

I’ve told Ivy about our tumultuous past, so she understands why I can’t stand him. But I’m sure she thinks I’m exaggerating. She views him as kind and charming, just like everyone else does. But I refuse to let him spoil this tranquil moment for me. I’ll simply focus on the soothing melodies of the birds and bask in this moment of serenity.

RING!

Dude, that bird is too loud. He needs to chill out.

RING!

My eyes snap open, searching frantically for any signs of movement. The dense foliage of the tall trees obscures my view, but I know that cunning Dodo is lurking out there on the shore. His beady eyes watching my every move, his feathers ruffled with mischief.

RING!

My eyes fly open with a start, jolting me from my peaceful dream. The incessant ringing of the telephone, my own line that I had begged my parents for, shatters the quiet of my room. My head throbs with frustration as I groggily reach for the receiver, wishing I could turn back time and reconsider my request.

“What?” I croak in a sleepy and pointedly annoyed voice.

“Sascha, do you happen to have Taz’s phone number?” Ivy asks urgently.

“Why would I have his number?”

“Never mind, Corey gave it to me. Please call him for me,” she pleads.

“What do you mean? Why can’t you call him yourself?”

“I’m running late for the game. Everyone’s waiting for me. Corey thinks he’s in trouble because he’s not there. The coach is furious, and Corey’s worried something happened to him. Can you please call him or even go over to his house?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I scoff. “This has to be some kind of joke.”

“Sash, I’m so sorry for asking, but Corey is really concerned.”

“Fine, I’ll go to his house,” I say reluctantly. I know where he lives. He’s had plenty of parties at his house over the years, and the address is well-known. “I’m sure he’s passed out under a pile of random women, but if I can manage to peel them off, I’ll tell him to go to his game.”

“Thank you, Sash. You are the best friend anyone could ask for.”

“You better remember this when I need a favor in return,” I threaten before ending the call.

Fifteen minutes later, I pull up outside of his house. I had taken the time to brush my teeth, not that he deserves it, but I’m not an animal. As I step out of my car, butterflies swirl and flutter in my stomach, a sign of my nerves at the thought of showing up unannounced at Michael’s house.

My mind races with thoughts of what kind of debauchery might await me inside. With a deep breath, I turn off the engine, silencing New Order’s music blaring through my speakers and adding to the chaos in my head.

The air is still and heavy with anticipation as I approach the front door, preparing myself for whatever lies ahead. As soon as I approach the house, I can hear raised voices. The front door is ajar, rattling with a loud boom as I place my fingers on the weathered wood.

“FUCK YOU! YOU PIECE OF SHIT! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO HER?”

The sound of Michael’s shaky voice echoes through the room, choked with sobs. With a sense of urgency, I push open the door and step inside. The scene in front of me is chaotic—Michael on one side of the room, another man on the other. They are squared off, chests heaving as they glare at each other.

The house is in shambles—beer cans, empty alcohol bottles, cigarette butts, and food wrappers litter every surface. A lamp lies sideways on the ground, its bulb shattered beneath it. The coffee table is broken in several places, resembling kindling more than furniture. Neither man has noticed my arrival.

I turn to face Michael, his usually handsome face now bloodied and bruised as he stands with his hands clenched in fists. With a trembling voice, I call out to Michael, searching for any shred of recognition in his eyes.

“Michael, Look at me.”

But all I see is a hard, unyielding determination that makes my heart sink. Every inch of his body is coiled like a spring, ready to lash out at any moment.