Page 128 of Dirty Chorus

His dark soulless eyes find mind, and I can feel the devil within his soul. And for a sliver of a second there’s amusement on his face, a laugh that I can’t shake off. I march right up to him, and all it takes is one swing.

My fist finds his jaw with a loud thud. He staggers back, grasping his jaw. “Nothing like getting punched twice in one day,” he says with a laugh. But I slug at him again, before I can land another punch, his fists coil the collar of my shirt. He overpowers me, and he smashes his knuckles right into the side of my face throwing me down onto the turf. He goes down with me, his fist pulling back as he slugs me again. The lights go out, and my ears ring as the back of my head hits the ground.

There are just flashes of white. The flashes of Omen throwing his guitar over his head. More flashes as Vince chucks his sticks, and Tony cracks his knuckles before they lunge forward. There’s screaming in the crowd, people flocking up and down the bleachers. The lights bend and twist above me.

“You fucked with the wrong people!” Vince shouts, his footsteps on the turf beside me as he slams his boots into Brody’s stomach.

“Show him the wall of death boys!” Tony snatches him by the shoulder pads lifting him up.

“Get em!” Omen shouts.

It all happens so fast. Tony pushes Brody in the chest, then Vince behind him shoves him on the shoulders. As Brody tries to back up, Omen pushes him around too. “How does it feel fucker!” Brody is stumbling over his footing, as each of them kick and punch until he’s tripping over his own feet and tumbling to the ground.

In the distance, police officers holding their belts come sprinting over. They haul off my bandmates, pulling and tugging at their shoulders to get them off Brody. I roll onto my stomach and wipe the blood off my bottom lip as I place a hand on my knee to stand up.

The cops are yelling at my guys to back off, while they use their knees to pin down Brody who continues to just laugh hysterically as they place cuffs on him. They start to read him his Miranda Rights, while pulling him up into a standing position.

Brody spits in my directions and all he does is give me that vicious smile as the police escort him off the turf.

It’s sprinkling outside and I’m kinda cold. Police lights flash red and blue across the parking lot, reflecting off puddles that are silent and still.

A line of football players stand along the curb, helmets tucked under their arms. Police have been talking to them non-stop once they suspended the game. I watched them scribble notes on pads.

The police didn’t say much to me except the classic line that I should've kept my hands to myself. Yeah, I probably should have. I guess I could get charged for it. Assault, maybe. Whatever though, it’s not like I can’t play music with a criminal record. Plus maybe my mugshots will be blasted on those tabloids and I’ll read what they say about me and how far they twist the narrative. That’s always fun.

Somehow, the live streams and videos posted have gone viral within the hour. I’ve already had to silence my phone because my notifications have blown up on social media. Everyone is tagging me in something. We shot up over ten thousand followers within the hour, and I'm not about to look at the total again.

At least I got my shot to finally punch the asshole. The ache in my hand throbs into my bones, but it was worth it.

Out of the corner of my eyes I spot two shadows moving fast. When I focus a bit more it's Ryder and Payton. Their shoes crunch against the gravel. Ryder is crying. He’s running a hand down his wet face.

My chest tightens and I think I might throw up. He’s crying. That only means one thing. They have to be coming over to tell me that she's gone. That this was all for nothing. Charlie, the girl causing me so much trouble is gone.

When they get close enough, I hold my hand up to stop them. “Don’t... I can’t... I don’t think I...”

Payton rushes over grasping my hands, squeezing them tight. “No, that’s not it.” Her voice wavers as her eyes shimmer, glossy with a little sweet smile with it. “She’s alive.”

The air leaves my lungs so fast it hurts, “W-what?”

Ryder wipes his face again, “They found her... fuck...” Ryder brings a fist to his mouth. “My ex-girlfriend... she umm... she hurt Charlie and left her with a bad head injury. She has some memory loss, but she was found. She’s okay. They took her to a completely different hospital. It’s why we couldn’t figure out where she was.”

“The police weren’t looking in other counties either,” Payton adds. The rain starts to pick up again, the droplets hitting the surrounding ground. “She saw you on TV, and she was asking for you,” her eyebrows lifted up into a smile.

My blood slams on its breaks, my heart no longer beating, everything inside me just stops. All I do is stare at them. I think my knees almost give out, as I press a hand to my face, half laughing, half choking on a sob that comes out. Trouble was asking for me.

Chapter 60

Charlie

The pudding jiggles when I poke it with my spoon. Disgusting. It’s tapioca, again. It’s repulsive. I hate it. I hate the texture, the way it sticks to my mouth, it’s lumpy. Why is it always lumpy? All I wanted was a different flavor. Even if the butterscotch is better, these people here want me to go to hell.

It could be worse. At least I’m not stuck with that grumpy old man anymore. The one thing I needed was to sit next right to someone having a heart attack. I was also two seconds away from throwing up in the trash can. But once the hospital figured out I was someone missing, they put me back into a private room “for my protection”.

I was even a bit more chipper when the doctor rolled in this morning telling me I might be able to go home today. Mom’s coming to pick me up. I’ll need physical therapy for a while, and probably real therapy too. I have a few memories pop up, and I was told some of them could be triggering. I hate that word. Triggering. This damn pudding is triggering.

“You barely touched your food this morning,” the nurse huffs, crossing her arms. She’s the one treating me like a toddler. Just put me in time out already. I’ll stand in the corner all day long. I’m not eating it.

“It tastes like I’m in prison.”