Friday, February 29, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Johnny's Folly: Part 7

Authors note: Some things have been changed around since I last wrote a part. Stuff might not make sence till you go back and read the other parts for changes. Things weren't lining up like I wanted it, so I changed it. That's the problem with writing in parts, I guess.

Sadie had occupied my room for two weeks now. She had made herself quite comfortable, while my spine was once again suffering the viciousness of the couch. Oh well. I had noticed that Paul had routinely been absent from his own apartment during most of this time, and when he was here, he was very careful not go back toward my bedroom. I didn’t think much of it.

Since that dreaded night in the alley way, Sadie and I had grown closer, and we did, in fact, share my bed romantically one or six nights. Things have started to blur together since I left Chester University. On the whole, I was a much happier person. Violence has that kind of effect on a person.

We aren’t made of glass, and once a few punches have proven that, I find that I’m never truly happy unless I was pushing myself to my limit of endurance and pain; and the pain…intense, brutal, screaming sometimes. I loved it, started to live for it. I was addicted. A bruise was a morning wood, a busted lip became slow painful sex, and deep cuts the orgasm of a lifetime.

My dreams were still weird. Lots of screaming and angst. I never understood why.

“Hey, Johnny!” I heard Sadie call from the back. Well, heard may not the be right word. More like vaguely understood. Ridiculously loud Punk music blasting away in someone’s ear buds tends to drown out every one else’s complaints.

“Johnny!” she called again. I heard her that time and smiled. I sat up part way on the couch to wait for her to get frustrated enough to leave the confines of her self-made prison cell.

Soon enough, Sadie came poking her head from around the corner of the hall. She quickly scanned the room for me, and finally locked on with those gorgeous eyes the color of the deepest sapphire. I could get lost for days in those eyes, and Sadie knew it. She played that card whenever and wherever it pleased her most.

She broke the trance she had on me, walked over and laid down on top of me and rested her head on my chest. Almost immediately, I started to twirl her long her in my fingers. Reaching up, she plucked the left ear bud out of my ear and placed in hers. Then she stole my mp3 player and changed tracks. Flatfoot 56’s Load Gun…interesting choice. I closed my eyes, and unconsciously started to mouth out the lyrics.

They Say, I hate your colored skin
We say, We’re all the same within
They say, You’re the scum of the earth
We say, we can only see your worth.
Hey, hey this is my loaded gun, gun.
This is my loaded gun.

I felt a tapping on my chest, and I opened my eyes just enough to see Sadie wearing a huge grin of amusement. Sticking my tongue out at her, I swiped my mp3 player back from her and choose the next song randomly. Banned in D.C., what is this? Subliminal message day? I switched the player off, Sadie made a face at me, and I just looked at her right back.

“Go get dressed,” I told her.


“’Cause most people don’t consider MY boxer shorts, which really bring out your butt by the way, and a white undershirt appropriate outerwear.”

“By people, you mean you,” she sneered back. I sighed and pointed to the bedroom. She stuck her tongue out at me again, but moved regardless. “Where are we going?”

“For a walk. You haven’t been out the apartment for two weeks, and you need to get out into the sunshine.” I got off the couch and moved into the kitchen to get a glass of water while I waited.

It was all of five minutes maybe, but when she came out, she had on a pair of my jeans cinched up tight with my belt and had my old torn up hoodie over my undershirt. “What, not wearing my shoes either?”

“Funny.” She swiped the glass out my hand much like she had done with mp3 Player. Just when she had gotten taking a large gulp out of it, the front door opened and Paul walked in.

Without looking he started to say, “Hey, where’s Sa…” They had locked eyes. It may have only been a few heartbeats, but I could instantly tell that the blood in Sadie’s veins turned ice cold and yet boiled with hatred. My brain told my body to move away quickly, but I ran out of time.

The glass she was hold bulleted toward Paul, and he narrowly avoided it himself by using the door as a shield. The glass shattered into a cloud of water and slivers, and I took whatever time needed to find cover myself in case Sadie found more objects to throw. What the fuck is this?

In a flash, Sadie had jumped over the counter separating the kitchen and den, and had started to use her fists against Paul. Being the gentleman he is, he didn’t fight back, only parlayed her fists as best has he could.

“You asshole!” she screamed, “Why?! You could have stopped it!!! You bastard!!!” Between her punches, I could see tears streaming down her face and the glass of both hatred and significant sadness in her eyes. I took me a few moments to recover from the shock of the violent display, but I was over the counter soon enough, and tried to restrain Sadie. My first attempt failed, and she squirmed out of it and continued her assault against Paul. I tried again, and was finally able to lock my hands against her chest, effectively pinning her arms at her sides.

She was still struggling mightily, yelling, “Let me go! Let me go!” I spun her away from Paul and placed myself between him and Sadie. She responded by getting right in my face and hissing, “You fucking bastard, you absolute fucking bastard.” Her fist came to bear once again, and it stuck gold against my cheekbone. I staggered a couple of steps backward, and took a moment to recover. This is no longer about Paul.

Sadie was visibly breaking down, and she collapsed to her knees, holding her head, fighting the tears back. I moved to her side and tried to lay a hand of her shoulder, but she shook me off rather violently, and ran crying out the door and out of the apartment. I tried to follow, but Paul placed an arm across my chest and held me back.

“Sadie, wait!” I shouted after her.

“Don’t do it…don’t go,” he hissed in my ear.

When her steps were down the stairs and through the kitchen of Johnny’s Folly, Paul let me go. I took a couple of steps back and breathed deep to try regain a bit of calm. It failed miserably. I pointed at the door and angrily asked, “What the hell was that all about?”

Paul tried to lay a hand on my shoulder and say something, but I pushed him away and shouted, “No, fuck you! What the fuck was tha…” I didn’t finish because Paul’s fist came crashing into the same cheekbone that Sadie had hit. Only his fists were much more devastating, and I was knocked to the hard floor. Even though I didn’t feel it, I knew my head had bounced off the hardwood, and my vision turned black. Before I totally lost it, I heard a scream of anguish and the sound of breaking glass from outside, and I thought Wonder if she saw the bar sign. Then nothing.

My eyes fluttered open and the pain in my head was immediate. It felt like somebody had smashed my head on a railroad track, and then drove over it with a 300 car freight train. Worse still, the conductor was driving over my head.

Paul was kneeling next to me and placed a cold pack on my cheek where both he and Sadie punched me. “Can’t say you didn’t deserve it Johnny,” Paul said. I just groaned in response and placed my hand on the cold pack. “Want to sit up?” I shook my head. “Alright, then stay down.” He held his hand in front of face before moving back into the kitchen.

“Bet your wondering what the hell just happened,” Paul’s voice floated over the counter. I groaned something back that I hope sounded like a confirmation. “Do you want me to start from the beginning for just skip strait to part where she knocked you good?” I held my arm up over the counter and made several flicking motions with my hand and wrist. Paul chuckled and moved into the living room and sat down on the couch. He made himself comfortable before sighing and diving into the story.

“You remember that first weekend you were here, and I took you out to the field to play some five-a-side?” I nodded. “Remember when Keith said something to the effect of ‘Not playing a game since Jerry died’?”

I searched my brain for a minute before I zoned into that conversation. I nodded again.

“Jerry was her brother.”

Paul let that sink into my brain a few minutes. Her brother? She never said anything about a brother. I never even got an idea she had that kind of pain. Not even when…damn it, MY fucking sister.

“Yeah Johnny, you are dating a girl that has a massive hatred against firms. Jerry was our tenth man. Damn fine bloke, and a damn straight fighter. You remind me of him sometimes. But he got in over his head one night. Somebody did him in with a brick to the head. We have no idea what really happened, but Sadie blamed us for leading him into the violence, and blamed us and firms in general, for her brother’s death. And I’m numero uno on her ‘hate list.’”

I thought this over and Paul’s behavior suddenly became very clear. “That would explain why you’ve been avoiding the backroom, and your apartment these past couple of weeks. Hell, it explains a lot more too.” I touched my cheek symbolically. Oh yeah. That feels good. Shouldn’t bruise up though.

“Got yourself in a bit of a fuck?” Paul asked.

“Oh yeah. This should be fun.”

“Well, rest yourself. In two weeks, it’s off to Boston.”

“What, no match this week?” Paul offered his hand to pull me up. I accepted.

“International break. No matches anywhere.”

I sighed. Damn it. This whole episode got me all cranked up too.


  1. Oi! very good. just the right amount of suspense....its killing me. But i feel better bout what I got going now. I can focus.

    Really helpful too at the end of the day to read em all.


  2. The dialogue here is really great. "Get yrself in a bit of a fuck?"

    I like what you've done with the colored font. Have you read Faulkner's notes on Sound and the Fury? He wanted to publish the whole book in all different fonts to show passage of time. His editor told him to fuck himself.

    PS: go F Paul up