Sucker Punch & Judy
Jul. 5th, 2005 12:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonI can hear her screaming over the music!
"Is that how you want me to act? Like a fucking whore... huh?"
"Honey it ain't like that, she's a ..." but i'll never finish the sentence. Her right hook comes out of nowhere and cracks me upside the head. A few inches too high to be a black eye but forming a bruise none the less. I spin with the blow and turn back on her just in time to avoid another shot. I throw my hands up gesturing a frantic capitulation.
"She's a friend!" I say desperately trying to check myself. A crowd is gathering around us on the rim of the dancefloor, trying to be non chalant about it, forming up in their normal conversation cliques. Looking away when either of us look away from each other. This was in the years before Reality TV & Livejournal. This was when you had to go out there and get your drama firsthand. But drama, then like now, is the sweetest high in the scene and it tends to draw a lot of flies.
"She's a whore!" She spits back into my face.
"Why don't you calm down a sec, and we'll go outside and talk this out, ok?"
She's so beautiful right now. Maybe it's the knock to the head, but the lighting system has her glowing ice blue, her vinyl dress shimmering. She swaying and looking confused now, I think it just registered that she belt me pretty hard. Then her eyes narrow down into a marksmans squint. I follow the aim of that stare behind me and can see Manda making her way to the exit. A few minutes ago Manda & I were talking, she's a DJ and I want to be one desperately. She told me to drop by the booth some night and she'll show me some tricks. Her hands flirtatiously glide across my chest. A reflex, nothing else. 90% of the time i'm in the friend zone as far as the fairer sex is concerned. An old friend of mine once bitched to me about his problems with the ladies: "I'm a Luke Skywalker in a Han Solo world" he would sigh.
"Fucker" I'd laugh at him " You got it made. My ass is strictly Chewbacca as far as the honeys are concerned!"
So I did'nt think anything of it. I never do really. A few too many comped drinks I reckoned. My vinyl shirt all pretty and smooth to the touch. Nothing more. I smiled and told her i'd drop by the booth some night and get some advise. Apparently Lynn caught this from across the room. A plump & pretty little blond trading smiles with me. Said blonds hand reaches out. Contact. She turns around and leaves and i'm standing there staring after her like some puppy eyed hick.
"That's her!" She snaps and she storms after Amanda.
"Whoah, whoah, whoah where ya goin' honey!" I reach out for her but she just smacks my hands away.
"Don't touch me, I'm gonna kick her ass!!!"
The crowd makes a hole for her. I reach out and grab her by the hand and she spins around and drops another sucker punch on me. This one connects full on in the nose.
"DAMN IT" I go blind for a second and stumble backwards and trip hitting the floor hard. My skull has pulled the switch. Four alarm headache ringing. I'm tearing up like a bitch and I think I'm dripping blood from my nostrils.
"Omigod Rob I'm so sorry" She's kneeling over me now. The alcohol on her breath hits me like an oven door opening suddenly. "Lemme help you up.." but I knock her hands away, try to get up and slip back down. A flock of fetish photographers(or guys who showed up with a camera to get in the club free... I always forget which is which) are giggling impishly. Flash bulbs explode around me. The spots in my eyes revolve around like a Gysin Dream Machine. Lynn takes my hand and steadys me to my feet. I'm showered with small little kisses across my darkening bruises.
"Oh i'm so sorry .. i'm so sorry"
"Is alrigh' babe..."
"Lets go home OK? Lemme make it better.." Maternal concern flooding over me. I take this second to scan the club, and yep, Manda's gone. I nod to Lynn and let her lead me to the car. By some act of providence we make it home without getting arrested or getting in another fight. Later that night I'll come inside her, my fingers wrapped around her throat and her thighs wrapped around my waist. This is'nt make up sex. This is an act of war. I pound the hate into her. The hate makes my pain bearable. My hate being hers, and hers alone, puts her in charge. She coopts my anger. She accepts my rage and makes of it both a crown of authority and a throne of pleasure. Empowered her flower spills over me and I release my grip to let her breathe. Stalemate. A pair of Pyrrhic victories smoldering on the battlefield of the bed. We collapse next to each other. Panting like wounded animals. We don't kiss. We just roll over away from each other. She burys her head in the pillows and I watch the moonlight on the ceiling. Neither one of us says another word until the first cracks of the hangover morning.
"Is that how you want me to act? Like a fucking whore... huh?"
"Honey it ain't like that, she's a ..." but i'll never finish the sentence. Her right hook comes out of nowhere and cracks me upside the head. A few inches too high to be a black eye but forming a bruise none the less. I spin with the blow and turn back on her just in time to avoid another shot. I throw my hands up gesturing a frantic capitulation.
"She's a friend!" I say desperately trying to check myself. A crowd is gathering around us on the rim of the dancefloor, trying to be non chalant about it, forming up in their normal conversation cliques. Looking away when either of us look away from each other. This was in the years before Reality TV & Livejournal. This was when you had to go out there and get your drama firsthand. But drama, then like now, is the sweetest high in the scene and it tends to draw a lot of flies.
"She's a whore!" She spits back into my face.
"Why don't you calm down a sec, and we'll go outside and talk this out, ok?"
She's so beautiful right now. Maybe it's the knock to the head, but the lighting system has her glowing ice blue, her vinyl dress shimmering. She swaying and looking confused now, I think it just registered that she belt me pretty hard. Then her eyes narrow down into a marksmans squint. I follow the aim of that stare behind me and can see Manda making her way to the exit. A few minutes ago Manda & I were talking, she's a DJ and I want to be one desperately. She told me to drop by the booth some night and she'll show me some tricks. Her hands flirtatiously glide across my chest. A reflex, nothing else. 90% of the time i'm in the friend zone as far as the fairer sex is concerned. An old friend of mine once bitched to me about his problems with the ladies: "I'm a Luke Skywalker in a Han Solo world" he would sigh.
"Fucker" I'd laugh at him " You got it made. My ass is strictly Chewbacca as far as the honeys are concerned!"
So I did'nt think anything of it. I never do really. A few too many comped drinks I reckoned. My vinyl shirt all pretty and smooth to the touch. Nothing more. I smiled and told her i'd drop by the booth some night and get some advise. Apparently Lynn caught this from across the room. A plump & pretty little blond trading smiles with me. Said blonds hand reaches out. Contact. She turns around and leaves and i'm standing there staring after her like some puppy eyed hick.
"That's her!" She snaps and she storms after Amanda.
"Whoah, whoah, whoah where ya goin' honey!" I reach out for her but she just smacks my hands away.
"Don't touch me, I'm gonna kick her ass!!!"
The crowd makes a hole for her. I reach out and grab her by the hand and she spins around and drops another sucker punch on me. This one connects full on in the nose.
"DAMN IT" I go blind for a second and stumble backwards and trip hitting the floor hard. My skull has pulled the switch. Four alarm headache ringing. I'm tearing up like a bitch and I think I'm dripping blood from my nostrils.
"Omigod Rob I'm so sorry" She's kneeling over me now. The alcohol on her breath hits me like an oven door opening suddenly. "Lemme help you up.." but I knock her hands away, try to get up and slip back down. A flock of fetish photographers(or guys who showed up with a camera to get in the club free... I always forget which is which) are giggling impishly. Flash bulbs explode around me. The spots in my eyes revolve around like a Gysin Dream Machine. Lynn takes my hand and steadys me to my feet. I'm showered with small little kisses across my darkening bruises.
"Oh i'm so sorry .. i'm so sorry"
"Is alrigh' babe..."
"Lets go home OK? Lemme make it better.." Maternal concern flooding over me. I take this second to scan the club, and yep, Manda's gone. I nod to Lynn and let her lead me to the car. By some act of providence we make it home without getting arrested or getting in another fight. Later that night I'll come inside her, my fingers wrapped around her throat and her thighs wrapped around my waist. This is'nt make up sex. This is an act of war. I pound the hate into her. The hate makes my pain bearable. My hate being hers, and hers alone, puts her in charge. She coopts my anger. She accepts my rage and makes of it both a crown of authority and a throne of pleasure. Empowered her flower spills over me and I release my grip to let her breathe. Stalemate. A pair of Pyrrhic victories smoldering on the battlefield of the bed. We collapse next to each other. Panting like wounded animals. We don't kiss. We just roll over away from each other. She burys her head in the pillows and I watch the moonlight on the ceiling. Neither one of us says another word until the first cracks of the hangover morning.
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