I responded with a muttering of my own, “Aeropostale Assassin.”

“You know,” I said to Nolan whose buddy had just walked off toward the house. “Sometimes I think the reason she’s so hot is because of that flaming poker shoved up her ass.”

Surprisingly, Nolan chuckled instead of punching me in the face as he watched Rage stalk off, his focus primarily on her swaying ass. “Hot. Yeah, she most definitely is,” he said, biting his bottom lip and rocking his weight from one leg to the other. “I ummmm... I gotta go...” his words trailed off as he chased after Rage who I’m sure was on her way toward whatever circle of hell she usually crawled into to seek solace from her bruised ego.

I took a deep drag of my cigarette. In a way Rage and I hating each other was the most normal thing I’d experienced since I’d been back and for a brief moment I felt a little better. Slightly lighter. Like all wasn’t right with the world, far fucking from it, but maybe, just MAYBE it could be.

Someday.

I felt so good that I almost believed my own lie and that to me was progress.

It also might have been the blow.

Blow or progress, either way I was starting to feel pretty fucking good.

That is until I tipped up my beer up to my mouth and caught a glimpse of a feminine figure through the green glass of the bottle. A figure, although distorted and blurred, the orange glow of the burning torches glowing on both sides of her, I would recognize anywhere. I kept the bottle to my lips a full thirty seconds after I’d drained it, thinking that what I was seeing was a figure of my imagination as it had cruelly been so many times before. Slowly, I lowered the bottle and I was able to see her clearly for the first time in a long time.

My breath hitched in my throat. She was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

Dark hair, short tight skirt, and bright red fuckable lips.

My wife was home.

****

“Attention everyone,” King said, standing on wooden bench butted up against the brick edge surrounding the bonfire pit. The flames rose at least five feet above his head. He reached down and pulled Ray up to stand with him on the bench. Even in the dark I could see her face turning bright red with embarrassment as she hid her face in her hands, peering out through the spaces between her fingers before covering back up again. King pulled her hand from her face and took it in his own. He held up a bottle of whiskey to the party-goers who had all gathered around to hear what he had to say. Public speaking wasn’t exactly King’s thing. SPEAKING wasn’t exactly his thing, but as he looked down at Ray and spoke to the crowd there were none of the mutters or grunts that I remembered King using to communicate. In fact, the motherfucker was downright articulate, albeit I detected a tad bit drunk as well.

“We have a lot to celebrate tonight,” he started, his eyes scanning the crowd until they met mine. “The first thing being that my best fucking friend in the world has come back from the fucking dead!” He took a swig from his bottle and raised it in the air, pointing it toward me and I did the same.

The crowd clapped and screamed, their voices swirling around me like a tornado of noise, pushing me back and forth. I wobbled on my feet, trying to stay upright. I was about to fall over when King raised his hands and got the crowd to die down, oblivious of the state I was in. I opened and closed my mouth, moving my jaw around in an attempt to get my ears to pop but it wasn’t working. Nothing was working. I was a prisoner to the noise that assaulted me like toxic arrows shot into my fucking eardrums. “The second thing we have to celebrate is that now that I have my best men here with me. My family. It feels right now. So Ray and I here are getting married in two weeks right here and you are all better be coming to our fucking wedding!”

The crowd erupted even louder than before and I felt like a cannon had exploded next to my ear. King picked up Ray who wrapped her legs around his waist as he kissed her for all to see, claiming her with his mouth. Someone whistled from behind me, the sound piercing through my skull. My vision shifted from blurry to clear then back again. I swayed on my feet. When the attention was off of me I stumbled through the crowd toward the house, tripping over people who probably thought I was just drunk as I barreled through them like a blind bull charging.

The world was spinning. I covered my one ear with one hand and felt for the wall of the house with the other. A pair of hands grabbed my shoulders and my fight instincts kicked in. I shook them off and jumped back, raising my fist in the air. It was then my eyes chose to focus again, but the pressure behind them was unbearable. I looked the ground at tiny feminine bare feet with red toe-nail polish. I traveled up bare calves to the black skirt that stopped right below her knees and I nodded, trying to let her know she could guide me. She got the message and again touched my shoulders. I flinched but realized as her hand slid down my arm and she guided me to the front of the house. Away from the crowd. Away from the noise. Away from the nightmare that both of those things brought me time and time again.

“I was lost,” I said, breathlessly, not exactly sure what I was trying to say, although Dre seemed to understand. She gripped my arm tighter.

“You were, but I found you.”

DRE

“Just give me a minute,” Preppy said, breathing heavily. He leaned back against the thick trunk of a huge banyan tree on the far corner of the front yard. The furthest away we could get from whatever it was that had caused Preppy to break down in the middle of the party. He was rubbing his eyes and temples, wincing and baring his teeth.

“Are you in pain?” I asked. “Where?” I looked him over and couldn’t see anything obvious. No tears in his hoodie or jeans, no blood stains of any kind. In fact, besides how he was responding to whatever it was causing him such distress, he looked good. REALLY good.

He’d filled out since I’d seen him last. His cheeks weren’t nearly as hollow as before. His face was no longer clean shaven and was a few days past being able to call it ‘stubble.’ Where the hair on his head was always a few shades lighter than his face, as it grew they looked to be a perfect match, both being a lighter shade of brown. His hazel eyes weren’t as glazed over but they still look unfocused.

“I’m fine!” Preppy said, blinking rapidly several times. He looked up at me.

He was anything but fine.

Just when I thought he was calming down he grabbed the sides of his head and dropped to his knees in the grass. “Aaaagggrrrrrr,” he yelled as if something inside was clawing it’s way out.