Chapter 7

Darryl Nelson

“Well, if it isn’t little Darryl and Vinnie!” Jimmy invites us both in with a firm handshake each. Stevie’s grandad had always treated us like two extra grandkids but knew well enough that neither of us liked to be hugged particularly.

His red hair was all but white now, much like my own grandad’s who appeared behind his best friend with an inviting smile.

“Hi boys! Your dad said you were on your way over to borrow our pool.” I nod, slinging my arm round Vinnie’s narrow shoulders. “Yeah, little man here was struggling with the heat today.”

“More like you were,” he pushes me off, sticking his tongue out before taking off through the house towards the backyard.

We hear a loud splash, and I can’t help but grin at the sound of my little brother letting go. Things were even more tense at home than they had been back in San Diego; I was pretty sure our parents were keeping more shit from us.

Vinnie dealt with it by shutting himself in his room and burying his nose in a book, whereas I was still on a path to destruction. The only saving grace was that fact that dad had set up my drumkit and soundproofed the garage for me.

We spend a good thirty minutes splashing around in the cool water, joking with grandad and Jimmy until Helen calls them to go in and help her with the food. I pull myself up onto the side of the pool just before I hear Grayson call out.

“Hey Darryl! Hey Vinnie!” He pulls his shirt off over his head as he bounds over to the pool and cannonballs in, covering Vinnie with a wave of water, making him squeal like a little bitch.

I couldn’t complain too much, Gray was one of the few people Vinnie actually liked and would talk to of his own volition.

I catch sight of Stevie lurking in the doorway and can’t help my eyes from slowly working their way up her tanned legs to her cut off denim shorts and her baggy shirt, which is hanging off one shoulder, flashing a thin purple strap of something underneath.

Her eyes traverse my skin too, pausing at the cool new pieces of silver I’d pushed through my nipple piercings this morning, and her cheeks color slightly.

They were the coolest piece of jewelry I’d bought—a plain barbell with a crucified Jesus hanging from it, his hands at either end of the bar forming the ends. So fucking metal, dude.

I change course from the lounger I was actually headed toward, to the diving platform, shooting her a scowl as I pass her by. She had no fucking right to look so fucking good when I hated her. I dive back into the pool, reveling in the quiet beneath the water.

I almost don’t want to resurface. It’s nice feeling calm for once. Everything inside my head is too noisy, too dark all the time.

I hear Stevie greeting someone and pop my head back up in time to see her hug her big sister, Carrie, hello. Whipping my head round to shake off some of the excess water, I pull myself up to sit on the side. “Hey Care-bear.”

“Hey pipsqueak!” She chuckles as I raise my eyebrows at her.

“Pipsqueak? Really?!” I stand up, towering over the little brunette.

Carrie gives me a tight hug with a light giggle, not caring that I am still dripping wet, and I stiffen a little in her grasp.

“You’ll always be a pipsqueak to me, Darryl. Although you seem to be in a competition with your folks to be more covered in ink than them.” She stands back slightly, holding my arms out at my sides as she looks me up and down.

Stevie shimmies out of her shorts, and snorts as she lifts her shirt off, leaving her in a striking purple two-piece. “He wishes he looked as cool as his folks with his lame tattoos.”

I narrow my eyes at her as she adjusts the waistband of her high-waisted bikini bottoms, making sure it covered her belly button. “Just because you’re such a goodie-two-shoes and will never have the guts to get inked.”

“She’s already got a tattoo,” Grayson pipes up helpfully behind me, and I can’t help but look at her in surprise.

“Oh, really little sister?!” Carrie puts her hands on her hips like it makes her look intimidating. “And why did I not know about this?” Stevie shoots Gray a dirty look as her cheeks redden.

I tilt my head as I look her up and down, trying to see the tat. “Bet it’s something shit and trendy, like a butterfly or the Playboy symbol.” Grayson and Vinnie laugh, and I smirk at her as she sends me thunderous looks.

“Pity you’ll never find out then, isn’t it, Darryl.”

I can’t lie, that piqued the fuck out of my interest. “Why? Where did the golden child get defiled?”

Stevie sends me a smirk of her own, passing close enough by me that I can feel the heat off her skin, and dives under the water with a small splash. Carrie laughs as I sit down next to her with a huff. “You two still pretending you don’t like each other?”

“Who’s pretending,” I grumble, slipping a pair of black sunglasses and lying back on the lounger, trying to keep my eyes off the curves of my red-headed neighbor.

***

“What’s up, Nelson.” Hunter holds out his fist, the end of his cigarette glowing red as he pulls on it, and I touch knuckles with him. “You ready for a little fun tonight?”

I hum in agreement, placing a cigarette of my own between my lips, the flare of light from my lighter momentarily blinding me.

This part of the park didn’t have any streetlights, meaning the only form of illumination came from people’s cell phones or occasionally when Hunter and his friends lit a fire. I tune out the inane chatter from the ghoulish looking faces lit by the dim light of their cell phones, preparing myself for Hunter’s idea of fun.

The night my parents had dropped the bomb that my mom was sick, I had found myself wandering the streets after Stevie had tried to check up on me.

The sound of cheering from the kiddie park had drawn me over, and before long I found myself driving my fist into the face of some kid in the center of the circle of bloodthirsty teens. The fighting made me feel alive for a little while, and I relished the few hits the kid had got in.

The drugs and the booze that Hunter had bestowed upon me for winning had helped numb the pain somewhat that night, and it was that which kept drawing me back to him, night after night.

He had proclaimed me his star fighter—the one to beat—and never charged me for any of the vast array of pharmaceuticals or alcohol he kept stashed in his car. As long as I kept on his good side, I was on Easy Street to Fucked-Up Land.

Tonight’s victim—I mean, challenger—was a kid named Jarvis, who Hunter had some kind of vendetta against. I think the dude had been dealing for Hunter and had been skimming off the top if the whispers around the playground were to be believed.

All I knew was, if I won tonight, Hunter was going to give me something strong, and after spending all day watching Stevie, I needed every-fucking-thing I could get.

The fight is over quickly, too quickly to rid me of my pent-up energy, the sniveling kid dropping to the floor after only a few hits. From the way his eyes rolled back in his head, I doubted he could even remember his name was Jarvis right now.

Shaking out my painful left hand, I accept a bottle of beer off an exuberant Hunter and take a deep pull of the cold liquid. As I’m swallowing, I hear a familiar voice behind me. “Darryl?”

Spinning on my heel, I squint through the darkness at Smit and another kid walking towards me. “Who are these pussies?” Hunter asks. “You know them?”

“Yeah,” I nod, stepping forward to meet them.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Darryl?” Smit throws a worried glance over my shoulder as Hunter’s friends laugh loudly at something.

“Just hanging out with my…friends,” I shrug.

“These are not guys you want to be friends with,” Smit’s shoulders tense at the sounds of breaking glass, and the little kid stood next to him looks like he’s about to shit himself. “We were just going back to mine to jam, you wanna come with?”

I rub the back of my neck, looking around at the gang of losers behind me. If I left now, there was no way Hunter was going to give me anything, but maybe I needed a somewhat normal night. “Yeah…alright.”

Smit lived on the other side of the park, and the little kid next to him turned out be his best friend, Evan.

He was quiet—barely contributing two words the entire walk to Smit’s—slim and shorter than both of us by quite a bit. His long hair covered much of his face, and what it didn’t was covered by a low-slung cap.

But Smit seemed to think the dude was a stand-up guy from what he’d said at work, so I’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

The basement at Smit’s house was soundproofed and housed Smit’s guitar and Evan’s bass. The bare brick walls were covered in various metal posters—including at least one that I notice of my mom’s old band, Ashes Within.

There is a rickety drumkit sitting on a threadbare rug in the corner, and Smit gestures apologetically towards it. “Our old drummer thought it was too shit to bother coming back to collect.”

I chuckle, settling myself onto the wobbly stool and picking up the battered drumsticks which were laying haphazardly across the snare drum, starting to play a simple four-four beat.

“So…what we playing then guys?”