We drive up to Dex’s dad’s house, a modest two-story on the south side of the city. Mr. Prescott keeps it up surprisingly well, showing how much more ‘blessed’ he is than my dad. Spotting my dad’s Caprice in the driveway, I instruct Mike to park on the street, so we aren’t stuck waiting for other people to leave.
Cars continue to line the street and familiar faces smile my way as they walk up to the door. I’m reminded again of this horrible life I normally don’t share with other people. I contemplated long and hard whether or not to bring Mike, but since he comes from the poverty stricken side similar to me, I figured he won’t judge. Plus, I hate being around all these men alone, but at least some brought their wives or girlfriends with them tonight.
When the front door opens, it’s a pair of blue eyes that bring a sense of belonging over me. “Chrissy,” Dex says in a much deeper voice than I remember. He’s grown, not only in height but muscles have seemed to bulge out. My stomach swarms with butterflies as his eyes hold their steady focus on me.
“Hi D–Dex,” I stutter. “This is Mike. Mike this is Dex.” I introduce the two boys, and Dex’s vision shifts to Mike. They shake hands, and we walk into the packed house full of people.
“If you guys want, some of us are outside.” He nods his head toward the back of the house. I glance at Mike and he shrugs, so we follow Dex out the doors.
A few other kids I remember from parties my dad would take me to sit in a circle around the fire pit in plastic lawn chairs. Mike sits down in the only unoccupied chair, leaving me no choice but to sit on his lap. “Take my spot, Chrissy,” Dex offers, standing, but I politely decline. Then he shifts his attention to Brenna, completely disregarding us.
Mike strikes up some conversation with a kid to our right about cars and things I couldn’t care less about. Sitting there, I survey the yard, looking at the people I want to be nothing like. People that have embraced the high and low lifestyle their parents have raised them in. Mike’s hand inches up my thigh, taking my dress up with it, so his hand can lay on my knee. Dex turns his attention to me again, staring down at Mike’s hand and then stands up, disappearing inside.
“Hi, Chrissy.” Brenna slides over, taking Dex’s seat.
“Hi, Brenna,” I respond and prepare myself to be stuck in a conversation for at least twenty minutes. The girl never shuts the hell up.
“Is that your boyfriend?” she whispers, pointing to Mike.
I nod, and a huge smile forms on her face. Nodding her head slowly, her eyes suck him in as though she wouldn’t mind a taste.
“Nice,” she mouths, and I smile back.
Then the screen door slams, and Dex reappears, glancing at me first and then Brenna. Shaking his head, he plops down in her seat and concentrates on everyone and anything besides me. Brenna continues to talk my ear off about some guy she made out with last weekend during a game of spin the bottle. Delving in further, she goes a little too far, beginning to tell me how if there was privacy they would have gone up to the bedroom, which peeks Mike’s interest.
His hand roams further up my leg, but I place my hand on his to stop him. He’s persistent and not stopping. Just as I press down as hard as I can, making his palm dig into my thigh, Dex’s vision locks with mine. Immediately, his eyes focus downward, glaring at Mike’s hand and he shakes his head. I stand up and Mike’s hand drops into his lap. “I’ll be right back,” I mumble, but Mike doesn’t say anything, much too interested in Brenna’s conversation.
I’m not in the kitchen one second when Dex grabs my wrist and swings me around. “Why the hell are you with him?” he asks, and I stand there like a moron without a voice. “Chrissy, he clearly wants more than you’re ready to give,” Dex continues, and I feel like a statue because if I move a millimeter, I’ll breakdown.
“He’s my boyfriend,” I murmur, and Dex steps closer, making my heart beat faster. “It was nothing.”
“You don’t need this—” he begins, but I interrupt him.
“What do you know about what I need? You don’t live my life. Two weekends a month doesn’t constitute living the hell I do every day. Just go back to your big house on the hill with your sweet-as-pie mom that makes your bed every morning, prepares your lunch, and buys you anything you want,” I ramble, unable to stop myself once I get going. I guess there’s always been some form of resentment hidden underneath our relationship.
Dex steps back, but it’s not anger in his face, it’s sadness. His eyes show such an enormity of sympathy, I want to slap it off his face. “Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t ever feel sorry for me.” I push past him, knocking my shoulder into his arm and out the screen door before my footsteps halt, making Dex stumble into my back.
Mike isn’t sitting down in the chair and Brenna’s seat is empty as well. Scanning the small patio, I notice the looks of uneasiness in the other kids’ faces. Storming down the brick steps, it doesn’t take long to find them. Mike is pressing Brenna up against the brick wall with his hands up her shirt and his tongue occupying her mouth.
“Mike?” I question as he’s lip-locked with Brenna.
“You mother fucker,” Dex hollers from behind me before storming past.
Taking a break from his game of swapping spit, Mike turns my way.
“Come on, Chrissy. You and me both knew you weren’t giving it up. She’s willing, and I’m taking,” he says, and before I can respond, Dex’s fist smashes into Mike’s jaw.
“Dex!” I scream, only bringing more attention to us.
Mike’s hand touches his lip and finds blood when he pulls it back to inspect it. “You’re a complete dipshit, because you just fucked up,” Mike counters back while swinging a fist, but thankfully, Dex sidesteps it.
The two cock their heads as their fists jab toward one another. Brenna cheers Mike on, and I scrunch my eyes on how she could be such a fair weather friend. “Just stop you two,” I scold them both, stepping in and out of their tight circle. Dex swings his arm up, and my hand flies off his flexed bicep while his cold eyes prod Mike.
“Edge!” Mr. Prescott yells from across the yard, but he disregards it. “Dex!” he calls again and Dex turns, allowing Mike to nail him in the side of the head. Dex stumbles back on his feet, but quickly recovers. His fist makes contact with the side of Mike’s face, splitting open his eyebrow and blood pours like a broken faucet down his face, dribbling red dots to the concrete.
Before the two can continue, my dad and Mr. Prescott separate them. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Mike.” My dad places his arms across his chest, intimidating as he stands two inches from Mike.
“No way. That boy needs his ass kicked.” Mike swipes the blood from his mouth and spits a glob of red saliva on the pavement.
“Now come on,” Mr. Prescott steps in, “you know as well as I do, my boy will just end up embarrassing you.” Dex’s head jolts up, intent on hearing the compliments coming from his dad’s mouth.
“Whatever. Way to let a bunch of old men be your bodyguards,” Mike sneers, cocking his head to the side to egg on Dex.
Dex pushes his body up against his dad’s back, but it’s my dad that punches Mike this time. Mike’s body crashes to the ground, and he quickly gets up and stumbles out of the backyard. A few minutes later, the sound of his tires screeching and his engine roaring down the street can be heard from the backyard.
Knowing he’s gone, the two men and one bloody-faced Dex slowly twist their bodies in my direction, scowling at me, as though I’m the one who started this.
“I can’t believe we’re already at this age.” Mr. Prescott shakes his head, laughing. My dad joins him, and they walk back up the steps. With the scene dissipated, the remaining spectators file back into the house.
All of the young kids are fixated on us, but there’s no sign of Brenna. She probably went with Mike or found some other guy to get her off. Damn slut.