Page 4 of Stag

“We’ve risen from the…” a smirk at Grease, “ashes.”

“Fucker!”

“This is the beginning of wonderful things, brothers. A family, a brotherhood, fun, plenty of riding, and you know, bedrooms with windows!”

“Finally!”

Micro sobered a little, and here we go. Wah wah wah, I was a prick but you all love me now.

“I know we had to destroy this club before we could rebuild, but I’m invested in every one of you who stuck around, and our new prospects and members. This is a future we can all look forward to.”

I groaned. “I was kinda looking forward to a beer and a chillout. You gonna keep jawing at us?”

Someone tossed a beer cap at me, and I grinned. Micro merely sighed.

“Have fun, brothers. I’ll be here for a bit, then I have to go home to Soph and the baby.”

Yeah, rub it in. You have a woman who actually willingly chose you. I don’t know if the woman I like will even give me the time of day, but I can’t just give up. Persistence is key, right? Isn’t that what they say?

“So what were you doing, man?” I ignored Henley, because the fucker was prying into my personal shit, and I didn’t exactly see myself clueing him in anytime soon.

“Planning out my new room, you know, where my furniture goes and stuff.”

He smirked. “Sure. Keep lying, but I know the truth.”

I finished my beer, and grabbed a second, because if we were getting rat-arsed, I needed to drink faster.

“The truth is, you’re an annoying nosy cunt, yeah?”

He frowned, looking a little shocked at my outburst, which nobody caught, because they weren’t paying any attention to us at this point.

“Sorry,” he said finally, “it’s none of my business. I just… felt like I recognised the gestures, that’s all.”

“It’s not a fucking wizard kink or something!”

He nodded. “I know.” He got up and walked over to join Harley, who was talking to Ghost about his ride, and I realised I wasn’t in the mood for this shit after all. Somewhere out there was the woman of my fucking dreams, but she wasn’t even aware I would still be thinking about her, because of her fucking sister getting in my face. What was that bitch’s problem anyway?

Claudia

Marissa was definitely following me around, and today I caught her, and decided to confront her. I didn’t speak often around people, because I’d been laughed at before, and told I sounded weird, but sadly that’s how you sound when you haven’t heard your voice in fourteen years. I was twelve when it happened, which meant I knew what I was missing by not hearing things, and I knew how to speak, but I mostly read lips or used sign language. It frustrated me that sign language wasn’t taught as standard in schools, since most people would know someone in their lifetime who needed assistance with hearing or speech, and it was so essential to help deaf people feel less isolated.

I was teaching a class at the local community centre, but frustratingly people came and went regularly, so there was no real opportunity to take anyone from knowing none, to being able to converse naturally. Anyway, back to Marissa.

“Hey,” she said, her lips forming the word carefully, almost too carefully. I didn’t need over enunciation, I just needed her to speak normally. She tried way too hard to accommodate my lack of hearing.

I swallowed hard, knowing the art of talking always felt a little rusty to me now, and of course while I could feel the vibration of my voice, I couldn’t actually hear it.

“You’re following me.”

She looked a little startled, like she was surprised I’d even noticed. That was because she thought I wasn’t capable of looking after myself.

“It’s been fourteen years, big sis. I swear, I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Her lips softened into a smile at the reference to her being my big sister. Eight minutes between us, but you’d think it was eight years with the responsibility she’d taken on her shoulders after my illness.

“I’m just shopping,” she protested, but even without hearing her words, I knew they’d sound lame, an untruth that was just as visible when you could see every tic of a person’s features. Lipreading gave me this extra sense, in a way, because if I wasn’t watching someone’s hands as they spoke, I was seeing every twitch and nuance of their emotion on their faces. Probably seeing it to a level that they didn’t even realise, because hearing people didn’t need to look so hard. Her lips always turned down a little when she lied. Some people’s lips would twitch, and for others, they’d actually lower their heads a little, like the shame of lying weighed them down.

“You hate it here. I come here for the thrift shops and you hate those.”