Page 12 of Nightmare

I watch as the bartender slips a hand onto hers, pulling her a little closer from where he is at the other side of the bar, and my hands twitch.

Like a fucking caveman, I want to bang on my chest, punch him in the face and screamMINE!while I drag her fine ass back to my apartment and fuck her 'til she can’t breathe.

I blow a breath through my nose, keeping my lips plastered together and my fists clenched at my sides like personal bartender destroyers.

I watch as Olivia passes her cellphone over the bar, and the shithead whose face I tattooed 4 months ago types his number in it.Nope, won’t be tattooing that motherfucker again.

She laughs, tossing her hair over her shoulder while her blonde friend giggles and downs her drink.

I’ve seen enough.

I abandon the idea of getting a drink and decide on a blunt instead. Maybe that will mellow me the fuck out.

My feet are heavy, too heavy from the beers I’ve drank today, and I try to move as quickly as possible through the sea of humans to the glass wall that separates the inside of the club to the balcony.

The rooftop terrace is fairly empty, just a few couples making out or people smoking in between dances. I look for Mac, who announced the minute we got here about an hour ago that he was due for a blunt and dipped out here.

I spot him leaning against the far wall and beeline for him, hoping and praying he has another blunt on him.

Mac is my oldest friend; we've known each other since we were in diapers. We grew up as opposites, but still remained best friends. Where I have tattoos and artwork covering my body, his is free of any ink. The apartment I share with Jax on the East Side is covered in rap vinyl and dark colors, where his apartment is all lights and whites. He’s the light to my dark, the clean to my dirty.

We have a lot in common as well, like our love for heavy metal shows, copious amounts of alcohol and weed, and no-strings attached to anything.

Our dads are business partners at the same law firm in downtown Manhattan, as well as Jax’s dad. They always told us we were two sides of the same coin.

He keeps telling me that he’s going to let me design a tattoo for him, but I know he won’t. Mac is on his way to the NBA; he’s been playing basketball ever since he could hold a ball in his hand, now he’s the starting point guard at Harvard.

“Hey, bitch boy.” He greets me, cracking his shit-eating grin.

I laugh, “Please tell me you have a blunt for me.”

He nods, digging a hand around his back pocket and pulling out a pack of Marlboro’s, pops the lid and fishes out a perfectly rolled blunt.

I groan in appreciation, “Thank fuck.”

He smirks as he pops it in his mouth and digs in the opposite pocket for a light, “Date got you stressed out?”

He flicks the lighter, dipping the tip of the blunt in the flame and gives it a couple puffs before handing it off to me.

“You have no idea.”

I take a huge inhale and then take another small one before holding the smoke in my lungs and handing the blunt over to Mac, who grabs it between his thumb and index finger and puts it back to his lips.

I blow the smoke out in a small cloud, and we stand there in comfortable silence as we pass the blunt back and forth, the only sounds are the booming coming from the glass wall and the traffic down in the city.

I take the last hit, finishing the blunt and tossing the roach into one of the ashtrays on the ledge of the wall. Mac grins as he notices Jax stumbling through the glass doors.

“He’s gonna be mad we didn’t wait for him.”

I shrug, “Nah, look at his big goofy smile, he’s drunk.”

Jax saunters, somewhat uncoordinatedly, towards us and throws himself against the wall next to Mac.

“’Sup, boys?” He grins, face red and sweaty.

I rub my palms together, eyeing the doors, “Did you get followed?”

Jaxson laughs a full belly laugh, rubbing at his stomach and cracking his head back against the wall, “Nah, Rebecky with the big butt and your stalker went to the bathroom to powder their noses.” He presses a thumb against his nostril and sniffs loudly.

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