We Are The Rebellious Youth
Chapter Four: The Walk of Shame
Alex’s POV:
The night life in the surrounding Baltimore area for a party crazed eighteen year old can pretty much be narrowed down to three hang outs: Tina’s Cafe, Brad Hamilton’s place, and the Depot.
Tina’s attracted the artsy, poetry jam session types who, when not hanging out in drama club back at school, hung out there. I’d gone once or twice as I had a hidden fascination over the power of words and how they could be used. Plus, as my english teacher would say and I would adamantly deny since it was beyond uncool, I had a knack for writing poetry myself. But after a ten minute poem of the injustices of being a vegan in a meat hungry society, I was out. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I had nothing against a vegan chick wanting to use the open platform to speak her mind, but honestly after about the hundredth time of her spouting the likes of “meat is murder”, all I could shamefully think of was how my grumbling stomach craved a nice, juicy, cow-filled burger.
Brad Hamilton’s house, on the other hand, was for the cheerleaders, jocks, and popular kids alike. I was apart of the latter, as I was neither a jock nor cheerleader, obviously. I was just a kid who liked to have fun and subsequently my quench for said fun rubbed off on others around me so one day, BAM! I was popular, despite being in a garage band with my friends Jack (who without me, I’m sure would’ve been seen as the class weirdo...more so, that is) and Rian, who was an overly proud band geek. It wasn’t much and we were still far from professional mostly thanks to the fact that Jack and I amused ourselves with crude jokes and otherwise childish banter in between songs, but we had a blast, even if we’d only made a couple bucks doing it.
The problem with Brad’s house was, in my experience, pretty obvious: his parents. They both worked long hours at the general hospital downtown, which explained A) why his house was Beverly Hills gigantic and B) why Brad was able to throw as many parties as he did. Most of the time, his parties went down flawlessly, with epic stories galore to be told the following day at school. But every now and then, his parents came home a little earlier than expected and...well...all hell broke loose. I hadn’t been to a party where this had happened, thank God. My own parents would’ve probably flipped the fuck out if they found out I was there, as in their eyes, I’m still the law abiding, goody two shoes dork I was back in middle school.
I mean, I guess I’m mostly the same guy. I’d like to think I’m still a nice guy and everything. I just like to get my drink on and hook up with hot girls, that’s all.
But of course, they didn’t need to know that, so that shit’ll go with me to my grave as far as I’m concerned.
So with the threat of my life as I knew it blowing up in my face, Brad’s parties were a no go for me.
This left the Depot.
At first, the nightclub on the corner of North Charles street doesn’t look like your a-typical hangout for the adolescent youth, what with it’s barely there entrance and neon signage straight out of the eighties, but believe me, it’s the placeto go. My brother introduced it to me when he was visiting from college and I was still a lowly, nerdy freshman, and boy did it change my life.
See, the Depot isn’t any old nightclub. It’s not like all those other boring ass generic clubs where the DJ plays obnoxious house music so loud you feel like you’re in an earthquake and all the girls look like they just walked straight out of Barbie’s drunken dream house. No, this place is the real deal. They use real local bands, which naturally attracts music nerds like me, which thusly equates to a hell of a time.
In short, it’s the fucking bomb.
When I walked into the Depot with Jack that school night, hoping to blow off some steam thanks to a certain girl with fire-red hair, things started off great. The band currently on stage were making the whole club go nuts thanks to their killer cover of a classic Green Day song, and the girls drunkenly dancing along in the front instantly put a smile on my face as I thought maybe getting over Mickey’s rejection wouldn’t be so hard after all.
“Dude, this place is fuckin’ killing it tonight.” Jack commented happily next to me, his voice loud as he had to talk over the awesome, albeit loud, music.
I nodded in agreement, finding the organized chaos to be oddly calming.
“Me thinks we’re gonna get laid tonight.” Jack added with a goofy, giddy laugh, his eyes darting towards the very group of tipsy girls I’d zeroed in on the second we walked in.
“Only if you don’t fuck it up like last time.” I responded lightly in jest, nudging him as I smirked.
His shoulders fell as his bottom lip puffed in a pout. “Come on, ‘lex! You know Nightmare Before Christmas is one of my favorite movies! I couldn’t just stand by and watch some floozy call it stupid! I just couldn’t!”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I know, bud.” I patted his shoulder a couple of times, calming down his cartoonish annoyance with ease. I glanced at my best friend and raised my brow before adding with a light laugh, “Hey, at least she didn’t insult Home Alone, right?”
Jack huffed a laugh, as if the thought was the most asinine thing he’d ever heard. “As if anyone hates Home Alone.”
My light smile only grew wider at Jack’s confidence, letting his comment die as my vision scanned the patrons of the club for the night. There was a sprinkling of familiar faces, either from school or from previous nights, but it looked like there was enough of a variation of fresh faces that I genuinely had a shot at getting that one night stand I desperately needed, even more than usual.
Thanks again, Mickey.
I took a deep breath, feeling my heart already begin to patter over natural nerves before daringly taking the first step towards the bar, yet another reason why I preferred this place over all else. Like many states in the good ol’ US of A, Maryland’s drinking age was a distant 21. The bartender at the Depot, however, didn’t give a flying fuck what age we were if our flimsy attempts at a fake ID were anything to go by. As long as we payed what we owed by the end of the night, we could drink to our hearts desire.
“What’s up, Ray?” I greeted the slightly older man with a friendly grin.
“Hey Alex!” The bartender smiled back, arms already reaching towards my go-to order of a shot of Jose. “The usual?”
I bobbed my head. “You know it.”
He poured me two shots, just enough to give me a quick buzz.
“My usual too, my man!” Jack hopped behind me, clumsily falling into the bar stool I was currently standing next to.
Ray raised a brow towards my skunk haired friend before glancing back towards me with a hesitant gaze. “Is he already drunk?”
“Nah, he’s good.” I assured him. “Jack’s always running into things, drunk or sober.”
Ray shrugged, grabbing a Stella and popping open the cap before placing it in front of Jack, who didn’t even bother denying his graceless nature. “That I am.”
Properly armed with alcohol, I then turned my attention towards the growing dance floor, occupied with the usual mix of couples and singles looking for their pray. It was as I was observing a particularly hot blonde with a fuck-me gaze that I caught a flash of red.
Not just any shade of red, either. It was the exact same shade of fire engine red that had graced my bed sheets earlier that week.
That’s right:
Mickey.
She was currently grinding up against a guy with dark hair and tight black jeans, and boy, was she working it. Her body was on fire, practically screaming out her sexual urges as she twisted and teased in front of the guy.
Instantly, any thought of the girl I’d been pining for was erased, my mind focused on the siren who’d been plaguing my mind once more, jealously coursing my veins.
It didn’t help that the guy she was currently teasing with her dance moves was none other than Devon Kline, the worst kid I’d ever had the displeasure of knowing. He was a few years older than me, but that didn’t stop all the stories about his behavior from spreading at school, even after he dropped out. He did everything the atypical bad boy was known for. He drank, he smoked, he did drugs, he stole--the list went on.
The thing that worried me the most, was more recently, there were rumors of abuse towards girls. Albeit, unconfirmed rumors, but it didn’t make seeing Mickey so close to him any easier.
Without a thought of what I’d say, I maneuvered my way through the crowd, stalking up to her with annoyed eyes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I hissed, causing Mickey to let out a small gasp as I’d completely caught her off guard.
Her eyes were only shocked for a millisecond, turning into narrowed anger on a flash. “None of your goddamn business!” She snapped back.
I shook my head, getting majorly bad vibes from Devon, but pushed through stubbornly. “Mickey, come on. You can come hang out with me and Jack, just...” My brown eyes glanced towards Devon, who was glaring daggers. I cleared my throat nervously. “...please?” I finished pathetically.
She scrunched up her nose, my suggestion seemingly the last thing she wanted to do. “Fuck off, Alex.”
“But, Mick--”
“You heard her.” Devon growled dangerously, shoving me back a bit. “Get lost.”
Mickey continued to silently glare at me, as if wondering why the hell I wouldn’t leave her the fuck alone like she’d told me to do so many times since our encounter.
I sighed, running a tense hand through my brown hair. I wondered for a second if I should just do what she wanted, and let whatever mistakes I knew she’d be making bite her in the ass.
Thing was, I knew if I just stood by and let things happen--like Devon, for example, I would never forgive myself. “Mickey, for the last time, please come with me and--”
I never got to finish my sentence. Instead of hearing me out like I was hoping, Mickey chose to cut me off, not with words this time, but with alcohol, literally pouring the rest of her beer’s contents onto my head in a sudsy mess.
“That enough of an answer for you this time, Gaskarth?” She asked, dark rimmed eyes fed up as she met my surprised gaze. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
She stormed off for the second time in my life, leaving me shocked and wet, smelling like alcohol. Devon followed her shortly after, but not before leaning towards me, his voice low as he threatened, “Do what she asks or next time you’ll wish it was just beer that hit you.”
The night life in the surrounding Baltimore area for a party crazed eighteen year old can pretty much be narrowed down to three hang outs: Tina’s Cafe, Brad Hamilton’s place, and the Depot.
Tina’s attracted the artsy, poetry jam session types who, when not hanging out in drama club back at school, hung out there. I’d gone once or twice as I had a hidden fascination over the power of words and how they could be used. Plus, as my english teacher would say and I would adamantly deny since it was beyond uncool, I had a knack for writing poetry myself. But after a ten minute poem of the injustices of being a vegan in a meat hungry society, I was out. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I had nothing against a vegan chick wanting to use the open platform to speak her mind, but honestly after about the hundredth time of her spouting the likes of “meat is murder”, all I could shamefully think of was how my grumbling stomach craved a nice, juicy, cow-filled burger.
Brad Hamilton’s house, on the other hand, was for the cheerleaders, jocks, and popular kids alike. I was apart of the latter, as I was neither a jock nor cheerleader, obviously. I was just a kid who liked to have fun and subsequently my quench for said fun rubbed off on others around me so one day, BAM! I was popular, despite being in a garage band with my friends Jack (who without me, I’m sure would’ve been seen as the class weirdo...more so, that is) and Rian, who was an overly proud band geek. It wasn’t much and we were still far from professional mostly thanks to the fact that Jack and I amused ourselves with crude jokes and otherwise childish banter in between songs, but we had a blast, even if we’d only made a couple bucks doing it.
The problem with Brad’s house was, in my experience, pretty obvious: his parents. They both worked long hours at the general hospital downtown, which explained A) why his house was Beverly Hills gigantic and B) why Brad was able to throw as many parties as he did. Most of the time, his parties went down flawlessly, with epic stories galore to be told the following day at school. But every now and then, his parents came home a little earlier than expected and...well...all hell broke loose. I hadn’t been to a party where this had happened, thank God. My own parents would’ve probably flipped the fuck out if they found out I was there, as in their eyes, I’m still the law abiding, goody two shoes dork I was back in middle school.
I mean, I guess I’m mostly the same guy. I’d like to think I’m still a nice guy and everything. I just like to get my drink on and hook up with hot girls, that’s all.
But of course, they didn’t need to know that, so that shit’ll go with me to my grave as far as I’m concerned.
So with the threat of my life as I knew it blowing up in my face, Brad’s parties were a no go for me.
This left the Depot.
At first, the nightclub on the corner of North Charles street doesn’t look like your a-typical hangout for the adolescent youth, what with it’s barely there entrance and neon signage straight out of the eighties, but believe me, it’s the placeto go. My brother introduced it to me when he was visiting from college and I was still a lowly, nerdy freshman, and boy did it change my life.
See, the Depot isn’t any old nightclub. It’s not like all those other boring ass generic clubs where the DJ plays obnoxious house music so loud you feel like you’re in an earthquake and all the girls look like they just walked straight out of Barbie’s drunken dream house. No, this place is the real deal. They use real local bands, which naturally attracts music nerds like me, which thusly equates to a hell of a time.
In short, it’s the fucking bomb.
When I walked into the Depot with Jack that school night, hoping to blow off some steam thanks to a certain girl with fire-red hair, things started off great. The band currently on stage were making the whole club go nuts thanks to their killer cover of a classic Green Day song, and the girls drunkenly dancing along in the front instantly put a smile on my face as I thought maybe getting over Mickey’s rejection wouldn’t be so hard after all.
“Dude, this place is fuckin’ killing it tonight.” Jack commented happily next to me, his voice loud as he had to talk over the awesome, albeit loud, music.
I nodded in agreement, finding the organized chaos to be oddly calming.
“Me thinks we’re gonna get laid tonight.” Jack added with a goofy, giddy laugh, his eyes darting towards the very group of tipsy girls I’d zeroed in on the second we walked in.
“Only if you don’t fuck it up like last time.” I responded lightly in jest, nudging him as I smirked.
His shoulders fell as his bottom lip puffed in a pout. “Come on, ‘lex! You know Nightmare Before Christmas is one of my favorite movies! I couldn’t just stand by and watch some floozy call it stupid! I just couldn’t!”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I know, bud.” I patted his shoulder a couple of times, calming down his cartoonish annoyance with ease. I glanced at my best friend and raised my brow before adding with a light laugh, “Hey, at least she didn’t insult Home Alone, right?”
Jack huffed a laugh, as if the thought was the most asinine thing he’d ever heard. “As if anyone hates Home Alone.”
My light smile only grew wider at Jack’s confidence, letting his comment die as my vision scanned the patrons of the club for the night. There was a sprinkling of familiar faces, either from school or from previous nights, but it looked like there was enough of a variation of fresh faces that I genuinely had a shot at getting that one night stand I desperately needed, even more than usual.
Thanks again, Mickey.
I took a deep breath, feeling my heart already begin to patter over natural nerves before daringly taking the first step towards the bar, yet another reason why I preferred this place over all else. Like many states in the good ol’ US of A, Maryland’s drinking age was a distant 21. The bartender at the Depot, however, didn’t give a flying fuck what age we were if our flimsy attempts at a fake ID were anything to go by. As long as we payed what we owed by the end of the night, we could drink to our hearts desire.
“What’s up, Ray?” I greeted the slightly older man with a friendly grin.
“Hey Alex!” The bartender smiled back, arms already reaching towards my go-to order of a shot of Jose. “The usual?”
I bobbed my head. “You know it.”
He poured me two shots, just enough to give me a quick buzz.
“My usual too, my man!” Jack hopped behind me, clumsily falling into the bar stool I was currently standing next to.
Ray raised a brow towards my skunk haired friend before glancing back towards me with a hesitant gaze. “Is he already drunk?”
“Nah, he’s good.” I assured him. “Jack’s always running into things, drunk or sober.”
Ray shrugged, grabbing a Stella and popping open the cap before placing it in front of Jack, who didn’t even bother denying his graceless nature. “That I am.”
Properly armed with alcohol, I then turned my attention towards the growing dance floor, occupied with the usual mix of couples and singles looking for their pray. It was as I was observing a particularly hot blonde with a fuck-me gaze that I caught a flash of red.
Not just any shade of red, either. It was the exact same shade of fire engine red that had graced my bed sheets earlier that week.
That’s right:
Mickey.
She was currently grinding up against a guy with dark hair and tight black jeans, and boy, was she working it. Her body was on fire, practically screaming out her sexual urges as she twisted and teased in front of the guy.
Instantly, any thought of the girl I’d been pining for was erased, my mind focused on the siren who’d been plaguing my mind once more, jealously coursing my veins.
It didn’t help that the guy she was currently teasing with her dance moves was none other than Devon Kline, the worst kid I’d ever had the displeasure of knowing. He was a few years older than me, but that didn’t stop all the stories about his behavior from spreading at school, even after he dropped out. He did everything the atypical bad boy was known for. He drank, he smoked, he did drugs, he stole--the list went on.
The thing that worried me the most, was more recently, there were rumors of abuse towards girls. Albeit, unconfirmed rumors, but it didn’t make seeing Mickey so close to him any easier.
Without a thought of what I’d say, I maneuvered my way through the crowd, stalking up to her with annoyed eyes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I hissed, causing Mickey to let out a small gasp as I’d completely caught her off guard.
Her eyes were only shocked for a millisecond, turning into narrowed anger on a flash. “None of your goddamn business!” She snapped back.
I shook my head, getting majorly bad vibes from Devon, but pushed through stubbornly. “Mickey, come on. You can come hang out with me and Jack, just...” My brown eyes glanced towards Devon, who was glaring daggers. I cleared my throat nervously. “...please?” I finished pathetically.
She scrunched up her nose, my suggestion seemingly the last thing she wanted to do. “Fuck off, Alex.”
“But, Mick--”
“You heard her.” Devon growled dangerously, shoving me back a bit. “Get lost.”
Mickey continued to silently glare at me, as if wondering why the hell I wouldn’t leave her the fuck alone like she’d told me to do so many times since our encounter.
I sighed, running a tense hand through my brown hair. I wondered for a second if I should just do what she wanted, and let whatever mistakes I knew she’d be making bite her in the ass.
Thing was, I knew if I just stood by and let things happen--like Devon, for example, I would never forgive myself. “Mickey, for the last time, please come with me and--”
I never got to finish my sentence. Instead of hearing me out like I was hoping, Mickey chose to cut me off, not with words this time, but with alcohol, literally pouring the rest of her beer’s contents onto my head in a sudsy mess.
“That enough of an answer for you this time, Gaskarth?” She asked, dark rimmed eyes fed up as she met my surprised gaze. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
She stormed off for the second time in my life, leaving me shocked and wet, smelling like alcohol. Devon followed her shortly after, but not before leaning towards me, his voice low as he threatened, “Do what she asks or next time you’ll wish it was just beer that hit you.”
Notes
SOOOOOO sorry for the wait. Work sucks. That is all.
I hope it was worth the wait?
-Rose
@Daydreamers
A little cliffhanger here and there never hurt anybody....
Also, update. The epilogue is at 6679 words. Motivation and inspiration are low so it's taking me so long to even start writing. I know what needs to happen, I want to write it, but words aren't working.
7/16/20