Page 51 of Choke

“I haven’t seen her since they walked in. Come on, let’s look around.”

He walks away, leading me toward the basement. Anyone who turns to say ‘hi’ immediately turns away when they see the look on my face. I’m significantly bigger than most of the other kids at school. Taller, stronger, and more muscular. Most of them have seen me fight on the ice and know what I can do. When we reach the basement, I push past Ronan and then through the group, opening doors and slamming them closed when she’s not there. After the last door, I turn to go upstairs when Ronan grabs me, forcing me to look his way.

“Stop. You gotta calm the fuck down, man.”

I shove him, using both hands on his chest, as hard as I can. He flies back into the crowd that’s stopped talking and is watching us with shock on their faces. I don’t wait for him to get his bearings. I’m not here to fight my best friend. I move for the stairs, then continue to the second set, heading for the top floor.

Every door up here is closed. I start for Ronan’s bedroom but think better of it, pivoting and walking to his parents’ bedroom door. I push it open and see the outline of two people in it. I squint in the dark, but it’s hard to see. I see the guy and spot his hair; it’s short and shaved on the sides. That’s not him; Ellis has a mop of hockey hair. I step back and start to close the door when I hear it. I hear that breathy giggle that drives me fucking wild. I freeze, straining my ears and hearing her soft moans. My eyes adjust to the dark, and I see her legs around his waist, her fingers tangled in his hair as he hammers into her with no particular finesse or rhythm.

My body goes ice cold and fiery all at once. My hand, still on the doorknob, tightens before I step inside and slowly push it closed. At the last second, I throw my weight into it, letting it slam, and Claire shrieks. I hear a shuffle on the bed. I can make out the movement, but I see it all when he reaches over and turns on the nightstand lamp.

Stepping toward the bed, I see the clothes littered across the floor. Her skirt, his jeans, his T-shirt, and my fucking team hoodie that she begged and pleaded with me to have. My eyes snap up; her eyes are wide, her hair is wild, her cheeks are flushed, and her perfect little tits rise and fall with her rapid breaths.

“Adrian, it’s not what you think…” She pleads.

The statement brings a smile to my lips.

“Not what I think, Claire?” My tone is so even. “And what do you think I think is happening here?”

Jordan is still over her, twisted around to look at me.

“Jordan, you think you could get your dick out of my fucking girlfriend for me?”

I watch him shift, watch her react to the feeling of him pulling out of her. Jordan slides off the bed, grabs his pants, and pulls them on, leaving them undone. Then, he grabs his T-shirt and pulls it over his head. My eyes shift, looking at how his shirt sits bunched against the open zipper on his pants, then back up to his face.

“Listen, man, I didn’t—”

Before he can lie to me about knowing she is my fucking girl, I slam my fist into the side of his head with everything I have. The music downstairs still pounds, but nothing could drown out the sound. I’ll give him credit; he doesn’t immediately go down. He doesn’t try to fight back. He tries to talk his way out of this. It’s no use; that first hit opened the floodgates, and I slam my fists into his face and chest again and again.

That’s when the screaming starts. It sounds like it’s miles away, and I keep swinging. When Jordan hits the ground, I stoop down, fisting his shirt and lifting his head to keep feeding him savage blows.

I register the door behind me opening, and kick it closed, dropping Jordan to spin around and lock it. The screaming continues.

Jordan’s face is covered in blood when I look back at him, but it doesn’t ease the overwhelming desire to drive my fist into him. I feel a weight on my back, light slaps to the back of my head, and more screaming. I throw my elbow back, attempting to get what feels like a kitten off of me, hearing the thud of it hitting the dresser. The screaming quiets into sobs, and the bedroom door is kicked open.

Strong hands pull me backward, and I try to knock whoever it is away again, but I’m spun. The force has me dropping Jordan, who flops back onto the carpet, not moving. My vision has blurred, and as it slowly clears, I see my best friend staring at me. He’s never looked so angry.

“Someone call 911!” The crying voice screams.

I turn to look over my shoulder, and Claire is on her knees beside Jordan, makeup and tears mixed with the blood seeping out of her nose.

Fuck, did I do that?

I look at Jordan. His face is unrecognizable. The gravity of the situation hits me as the party rushes into the room. People crowd over him, and someone is on the phone with 911, answering questions about his condition. I look back at Ronan. His expression has shifted from fury to terror. That look…that look turns my stomach. I hear the sirens seconds before someone downstairs screams, “COPS!”

It’s pandemonium in the house.

Everyone runs except Jordan, Claire, and Ronan.

And me.

Is he dead?

Claire shakes him violently, and he suddenly turns, coughing blood all over the already destroyed carpet.

There’s a ringing in my ears, and Ronan grabs me by my shoulders.

“Adrian, you gotta run!” His eyes are full of panic, but I can’t move.

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