AFTER THE SHORT RIDE BACK to the DIK house, we’re met with a spotless basement. On the bar top sits the book Zane presented at our initiation, with every brother’s name written in it from the past seventy years. Next to the book, the skull and dagger lay, as does a stack of framed certificates.
“New brothers, link up for the last time, facing the bar,” Trevor says, his tone light, a smile on his face.
It reminds me so much of basic training, yet again, when we were finishing up our twenty-nine-ish mile ruck march with ninety pounds on our backs. The drill sergeants lashed out at us, called us every despicable name in the book, threatened us with another twenty-nine miles. And then our boots crossed the finish line, the walkway toward our platoon area and barracks, and the drill sergeants angered scowls turned to wide smiles, excitement exuding from most of them. Obviously, a few remained coarse. It’s just how they were. But most began congratulating us, calling us infantryman for the first time. The feeling of that complete juxtaposition in their demeanor made the finale that much sweeter. It took the pain away in a flash. It instantly made all those miserable weeks become just specks in the rearview.
My joints no longer ache; my muscles are no longer tired. I feel exhilaration as I link up with my brothers, Trevor and Damian standing before us. Even Damian has a smile on his face now. Zane grabs the book from the bar top, Brady grabs the skull, and Tim grabs the dagger, and they line up on the other side of Trevor.
“You guys have been one of our best pledge classes,” Trevor says. “No shit. You’ve worked together quicker, and more effectively, than any pledge class I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure. And that includes my own.”
“Same here,” Damian adds, nodding approvingly.
Trevor motions toward me and continues, “Obviously, Bishop, you played a huge part in that. We really thank you for being a part of this pledge class, and now a brother within this fraternity.”
My eyes flit to Brady, who carries the usual scowl for me on his face.
Looking back toward Trevor, I shake my head, replying, “It’s all about these guys next to me. A team is only as strong as its weakest link, and we didn’t have a weak link among us. Everyone contributed. Everyone put forth a hundred percent. And outside of Mac …” I chuckle. “They did it without complaint. Couldn’t have asked for better men to go through this with.”
“Hey!” Mac says, looking at me from down the line. I turn to him and smile, shrugging.
“If the boot fits, fucker,” Jeremy adds, laughing.
“Well…” Trevor motions to the book in Zane’s hands. “You all ready to become brothers of Delta Iota Kappa? Give me a fuck yeah!”
“Fuck yeah!” we respond, louder than we ever have before.
“Brother Bishop. Are you ready to take the oath and become our newest brother?”
I grin, more excited than I ever thought I would be to see this moment. “I sure the fuck am.”
Trevor nods. “Then come forward please and take a knee.”
I do as he asks, and he grabs a small wooden stool with a quill pen and ink jar atop it, setting them in front of me. Damian then sets the book down on the stool and opens it up to about three quarters of the way in. Half of the page is full, and I see the last name signed is Chunk’s.
“McKenzie ‘Knuckles’ Bishop, do you solemnly promise that you will be loyal to the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity and Rho Chapter, abiding by our rules, living by our principles, and promoting the DIK way of life, to discharge your obligations to the brotherhood faithfully, and to use all honorable means to contribute to the interests of our fraternity?”
“I promise.”
“Do you understand our Declaration of Principles, the seriousness of their contents, and the legacy in which you are continuing?”
“I do.”
“Frater Bishop, we welcome you as the newest brother in the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity as Scroll Number five six four five. Please sign the scroll.”
I take the quill, dabbing it a few times in the ink, and I sign my name on the scroll, just below Chunk’s, next to slot number five six four five. As I finish, all the brothers who have collected in the basement behind us cheer loudly.
Trevor puts out his hand with a smile, and I shake it, standing to my feet as I do.
“Welcome to the fraternity, Bishop!” he says, motioning toward the still cheering crowd behind my pledge brothers. “Go ahead and join your new brothers.”
I turn, nodding toward my smiling pledge brothers as I pass them, and approach the group behind them. Sarge hands me a beer, high-fiving me with his other hand, and the others congratulate me as well.
“Brother Mac, are you ready to sign the scroll?”
“Fuck yeah, I’m ready,” Mac responds in an excited tone as the volume in the basement lightens.
After Mac, Carter, and Jeremy take their own oaths and sign their names on the scroll, Trevor opens the basement door and a flood of well-dressed women come down the stairs.
“Now, brothers new and old, let’s fucking party!” Trevor yells.
As the four of us pledge brothers congratulate each other, I spot Damian and Tim approaching with four bottles in their hands.
“There’s one more part of your Hell Night we forgot to mention,” Damian says, cracking a mischievous smile.
Eyeing the bottle closer, I immediately recognize it as Mad Dog 20/20. My stomach churns as I think back to high school and all the Mad Dogs I stomached and then subsequently vomited back up.
Damian hands a bottle each to Jeremy and Mac, and Tim hands his to me and Carter. The other brothers, now intermixed with the newly arrived girls, form a circle around us.
“On my count, you gotta tip those back, boys, and chug the whole thing,” Damian says, motioning to the bottles in our hands.
We eye them first, and then each other.
Mac groans.
Jeremy and I shrug.
“No belly-achin’, boys. We got an audience,” Jeremy says, opening up his bottle, and the rest of us follow suit.
“Alright, Fraters,” Trevor yells out. “On three. One. Two. Three!”
We throw them back and almost instantly every other brother in the basement begins shouting: “Born beside the river, raised by a bear. Sharp set of teeth and a thick coat of hair. Two brass balls and a thick steel rod, I’m a dirty motherfucker. I’m a DIK, by God!”
I’m halfway through and it feels like I’ve been drinking for hours. Mac has already stopped, spit up, and restarted twice.
The pause after their chant lasts the briefest of moments before they begin shouting again, the volume deafening.
“Rebel, Rebel, Rebel, ride or die tonight. DIKs don’t play the ‘play dead’ game, we’d rather fucking fight. Trouble, Trouble, Trouble, come and see what’s up. DIKs don’t need no girls, ’cause we’ve got your moms to fuck.”
Finishing the Mad Dog first, I let out an exasperated breath as the liquid churns in my gut. Watching the others, I can’t help but laugh at Mac as he pussy lips the bottle and has only finished a quarter of it. Jeremy will be the next one finished as Carter’s struggles almost as much as Mac.
The brothers begin chanting again, as quickly as they had finished the last one.
“What’s that? Jock strap! Who the hell are we? DIKs by God, you should know a thing or three. One, we’re the greatest, best there ever was. Better than your sister on that scene from Bang Bus. Two, we’re the strongest, united all as one. Stronger than the bedsprings of your girlfriend’s futon. Three, we’re some scoundrels, dirty rotten pricks. We’d rather be the takers, Beta Chi can suck our dicks!”
Jeremy finishes, letting out a groan. Carter eventually finishes too, gasping, and looking over at Jeremy and me in disgust. He wipes an arm across his lips as the brothers continue chanting, Mac still struggling with his bottle, but getting close to finishing at least.
“Rat shit, bat shit, dirty rotten thieves. Beta Chi guys like to suck a dick or three!”
Mac finishes and immediately bends over, a hand to his knee, his breathing heavy. He shakes his head as the brothers continue their chant. “Love us. Hate us. What are we to do? We’re the DIKs of Crescent Falls. Who the hell are you?”
They finish the last line louder than any other before it, and it’s deafening. Carter and Mac, both now somewhat recovered, look over all the brothers as they finish out their chant, enamored by the sight of it all. I imagine, like me, they want to learn the chants as soon as possible, so that next time they can join in.
“Fraters,” Damian says with a smile. “Slam your bottles.” He motions to the floor and takes a few steps back, as do those who encircle us.
We look at each other and shrug, taking a few steps back and slamming them into a hundred little pieces on the concrete floor.
Damian looks back. “First-year brothers, clean it up! Tim, start the music. Let’s fucking celebrate!”
I’m not sure how many moonshine shots and beers I had before I realized Ember was in the basement. I don’t know how long she has been looking at me before I noticed, or if she’d seen me from the start, but she now stands beside Holly, chatting away with some of the brothers, as I sit on the couch a short distance away. She periodically glances in my direction, and each time I catch her, she darts her eyes away.
I want to talk to her, but I’m unsure of what to say. And now there’s Carleigh in the mix. God, how my feelings for her have grown. What started as simple infatuation has become complete desire. I can’t help it. She fits everything I look for in a woman, from her beautiful heart to her incredible body, and the way her honest eyes gleam when she smiles. I likely have no real chance with her, but the idea of it energizes me.
I remember, too, a time when Ember had my heart racing, and looking at her now, in a short, skin-tight black skirt, and a purposely shredded Metallica t-shirt barely covering a sports bra, I’m wondering if she dressed this way for me—to make me yearn. With her breasts as perky as they are, the side boob the shirt creates is instantly dick hardening. She wears a backwards snapback that she knows I fucking love, and holy hell, is it hard for me to understand anything Jeremy and Mac are discussing next to me.
It’s like I’m seeing her for the first time again. The warm rush of familiarity, and desire, and connection sweeps over me.
“You oughta just go talk to her, Bish,” Jeremy says, slapping my arm.
I shake my head. Looking at him, I reply, “Dude, she probably wants nothin’ to do with me. And I’m so fuckin’ drunk, I don’t know what the fuck I’d even say.”
“Bishop.” Jeremy looks at me intently. “She’s been starin’ back at you for like an hour and a half. Do you miss the girl?”
“Fuck yeah, I miss her. Beyond just bein’ a sick-ass chick, she is one of the best fucks I’ve ever had, by far.”
“Well, I wouldn’t lead with that,” Jeremy says, laughing. “But just tell her you’d like to see her again or somethin’. Shit, don’t make me do it for you!”
“Fuck you. I would kill you.” I laugh. Catching her wandering eyes again, I say, “Fuck it. I got this.”
Standing up too quickly, I stagger a few steps before steadying myself, luckily without her seeing any of it. I didn’t realize how quickly the alcohol had run through me. As I approach her, she glances at me and I smile. I motion my head behind me and mouth the words, “Can we talk?”
Her bottom lip slips between her teeth as her eyes trail to the group in front of her before they eventually fall back on me. She gives me a little nod.
“Front porch,” I mouth.
She nods again.
I smile, making my way to the stairs, heading up and outside to the porch, lighting a cigarette on the way.
Taking a much-needed puff, my heart races. My nerves go haywire. I worry about what I’ll say, or that I’ll say something wrong, or stupid. Even sober, I’d be tongue-tied with her, but as drunk as I am, I’m bound to fuck something up.
The opening front door brings my head shooting around. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Ember comes through the doorway and smiles. She has a clutch in one hand and her flask in the other.
“It’s really good to see you. I’ve missed you around here,” I say, standing and giving her a hug as the door closes behind her.
As we separate, she passes me a tight smile, her eyes falling to the couch. She motions toward it, saying, “Wanna sit?”
“Sure,” I respond, taking a puff of my smoke and plopping my ass down on the couch.
She sits a little more gracefully than I and crosses one leg over the other, taking a sip from her flask.
“How have you been?” I ask, feeling fully original.
“I’ve been good. Classes have been a bit of a bitch lately.”
“Yeah, mine too. I’m seriously gonna be lucky to even be able to use these credits.”
“That bad?”
I shrug. “With pledgin’, and now this counselin’ bullshit I have to do, school has taken a back seat. Can’t bring myself to stay focused on it long enough to fully process anything.”
“Counseling?”
“Yeah, from the fight.”
Her eyes flit to her hands as she starts picking at her nails.
“Your friend actually really hooked me up. Well, his parents did. They agreed on a deal where I just have to do this seven-week substance abuse program and help a little with his medical bills. Saved me havin’ to go to trial, and potentially, jail.”
“Well, that’s good. How has the counseling been?”
“Pretty brutal, actually.” I chuckle. “I ain’t the open-up type, really.”
“You’ve always seemed pretty open to me.”
“About certain things, yeah. But other things, like how I feel, that’s a different story. It’s like pullin’ teeth for me.”
“Do you have a nice counselor?”
I think to Carleigh and fight the smile that wants to spread across my face when she comes to mind.
A ‘nice’ counselor? How about the sexiest fuckin’ counselor the VA’s ever employed?
“Yeah, she’s pretty awesome. Been doin’ this a long time, so she knows her shit. I ain’t so sure the process would be goin’ as well as it has with anyone else.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, like I said”—I take a drag from my cig and continue, the smoke coming out with my words—“I ain’t the most open of people when it comes to expressin’ my emotions. I need someone who knows their shit. To open me up. Luckily, she does.” There’s a brief silence between us when I ask, “How’s your friend, by the way?”
“He’s not like my friend friend. He’s just kind of a friend of a friend. But he’s doing better. You really messed him up, Bishop. He’s lucky it wasn’t much worse.”
“I know,” I mutter, hanging my head a little in shame.
“The way you got that night … it scared me. I’m sorry I just disappeared on you, but you were … yeah, you just scared me. You got the same look my ex used to get before he’d put his hands on me. And then you did put your hands on me …”
“I’m so, so sorry for that, Em. I really am. I’ve felt like absolute shit. I just—I lost myself for a second there. I blacked out. I was just so full of rage and just … instinct. I have no recollection of either beatin’ him as bad as I did, or pushin’ you away. But you gotta know, that ain’t me. That ain’t who I am, or what I represent as a man. Men who hit women are reprehensible to me. I-I’m just … God, I’m just so sorry. I hope you got all my texts, and I’m sorry for sendin’ so many. I was just infuriated with myself and needed to apologize. I needed you to know I was truly apologetic. I still do. I need you to know, Em.”
“I believe you. I do. I just worry.”
I can see her fighting back the tears by the way she clenches her jaw. A few tears escape anyway, a little mascara running along with them, and she hides her face.
Forcing a laugh, she says, “I’m sorry. I’m being such a pussy.”
Tossing my cigarette into the ashtray, I put a hand on her shoulder. Reluctantly, she looks at me, tears welling in her eyes, thin black streaks running from her eyes to her chin, and an adorable little whimper escapes her trembling lips.
“Talk to me,” I whisper. “Please.”
“I just really liked you, Bishop. A lot.” She hesitates, pointing toward my face. “I’m saying too much. I can see it in your expression,” she says.
“No, no, no. If anything, you’re not sayin’ enough. I wanna know what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours.”
She laughs, shaking her head with wide, suspicious eyes. “Highly doubtful. I believe you told me once, when we first started getting to know each other, that you have internal scarring … a lot of it. Well, so do I. More than I could ever admit to myself or anyone else.”
“Is that why you disappeared? Why you ignored me?”
“Absolutely. My high school boyfriend, the only guy I’ve ever really loved, near the end of our relationship, he got abusive, verbally, physically, emotionally …” Her voice trails off as she takes a thick gulp. “… sexually. And for a while, I blamed myself. I thought maybe if I could’ve done something different. If only I could’ve fought harder.”
“It wasn’t you, it was him.”
She puts a hand up, a tight smile on her face. “I know that now. That’s what I had to learn. I had to figure it out on my own. That if I didn’t have the strength to run, if I didn’t have the strength to at least tell someone else who actually loved me, well, then maybe next time, I wouldn’t survive.”
“I’m sorry, Ember.”
“I’m sorry too, Bishop. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I came to the party. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself at least, maybe redeem yourself. I wish I could explain how I felt at the time, but when I pulled you off him—or tried to, at least—the look you gave me before you pushed me away, it was the same look he gave me. It was a hungry look, like you wanted to see me in pain.”
I shake my head, shame washing over me in anxiety tingling waves. “I really am ashamed of myself. I wish I remembered it. I wish I could defend my actions. But they’re indefensible. I got no right to put my hands on you, and I’ll forever regret that I did. You didn’t deserve it. And I know I don’t remember it, but I know me … I know what I represent and who I am. I don’t hit women. In that moment, I can only assume my mind was overwhelmed and concentrated on him, and anyone who got between us was just collateral damage.”
As a look of offense creeps onto her face, I put a hand up in retreat. “I didn’t mean it how it came out. I just mean, when I black out like that, I see no one but my target.”
Her features relax. “That’s dangerous.”
I nod. “I know it is. And, honestly, regardless of what I had to drink that night, I’ve blacked out sober, too. It wasn’t an alcohol thing. It was a predatory thing. A survival instinct. I felt challenged. So, I attacked with unrelentin’ aggression. It’s not perfect. Nowhere near flawless, but it’s kept my ass alive, and up on both feet. I’ve never been knocked out, thank God. Never been caught off-guard either. There’s somethin’ to be said about that.”
“Well, I don’t have that same aggression or ultra-vigilance, and I haven’t found myself in any fights or attacks, outside of the one.”
“This is a three-part response, all of which you will hate. You ready?”
She chuckles, nodding.
“One. You’re lucky. All women, regardless of skin color, nationality, looks, size, location, et cetera, are at risk at all times.”
She rears her head back, scoffing. “What? So, as a woman, I should have to always watch my back because I have a vagina? That’s ludicrous.”
I go to speak, but hesitate, grinning instead, as I realize the fine line I’m treading. “So, let me finish listin’ my three parts first, and then I’ll answer questions. Deal?”
I reach out my hand, and after a moment, she reluctantly takes it, shaking it before she crosses her arms. She tilts her head and arches an eyebrow.
“Men are fuckin’ pigs,” I continue. “I’d be comfortable in sayin’ sixty-five percent of the men in this world are hedonistic, selfish, inhumane assholes. Of that sixty-five percent, I’d set the meter at ninety-seven percent of those sick fucks would rape a woman, if they knew for a fact they could get away with it.
“Now, you take one of these assholes and you throw alcohol or drugs in the mix … maybe there’s a young drunk woman wanderin’ home alone at two in the mornin’, maybe a woman who parked her new Benz at the back of the lot durin’ an afternoon shoppin’ session so it didn’t get banged up, only to give the man who had been stalkin’ her for months an opportunity to pounce. Both of those things really happened, by the way.
“Women ain’t the weaker sex. I ain’t sayin’ that. Not even close. I’m pretty confident in sayin’ y’all got us in the smarts department in spades. But when it comes to size and strength, there’s no argument. It’s biological. Are there exceptions? Of course. Just like with anything else. But, overall, a stronger man, with mental health issues, comin’ across the ‘right’ opportunity, has all the potential in the world to strike. It’s up to the woman to even the odds.”
“And how do you suppose we go about doing that?”
“Easy. A handgun, proper training, and the awareness to know when to use it.”
She smirks, tilting her head with a look that says, “Boy, do I got a surprise for you.” Pulling out her wallet, she digs in, searching a bit and takes out a card. She hands it to me, and I discover it’s a concealed carry permit, her gorgeous mug in the bottom right corner.
The next thing she pulls out of her purse is a small pistol, chrome, with pink grip plates.
“You mean, like this?” she asks, holding the gun up, trigger finger in proper position along the bottom of the barrel.
“Well, shit. Color me impressed.”
“Uh-huh.” She smirks, returning her card and handgun to her clutch and settling it in her lap.
“I’m glad to know you know what you’re doin’. I ain’t quite sure why I doubted you.”
“I’m not either.” She smiles, shrugging. “Maybe next time you won’t.”
She hesitates a moment, the only sounds between us those of a passing car here and there and the occasional drunken shout. She looks over at me with her innocent eyes, a tight smile on her face, and she asks, “How about we try being friends? Kind of start over? I don’t want you out of my life. I’ve missed you. But there’s just so much I need to figure out about myself before I get involved with anyone. And in the short time I’ve spent with you, I know I could fall for you.”
“I knew it too,” I mutter.
“And I don’t want to be hurt. My heart is just too bruised right now to handle any more pain. I decided shortly after that stuff happened with you guys, that I was going to take some time for myself. No dating. No sex. Just me, my thoughts, and occasionally my vibrator.” She grins, shrugging, before she adds, “Or often as fuck. Whatever.”
“I get that, totally.” I give her a small smile and pat her hand.
“I should probably go get Holly and head home. We’ve got a big test on Monday to study for.”
“No problem at all,” I say, standing. She stands too and I add, “It was so great seein’ you tonight and gettin’ to talk to you a little bit.”
“It was great talking to you too, Bishop,” she says, hugging me. “Maybe we can have a study date in the library or something soon.”
“Anytime. You got my number.” I crack a smile as she waves, flashing a smile of her own, then turning on her heel and walking away. I find myself wanting to chase after her but fighting the urge. I want to give her the time and space she needs, because the truth is, I could love that girl. I knew it from our first real date. And that feels like the last thing in the world I need right now.
I smoke one more cigarette before heading back to the basement to make my rounds. My bed is calling and a good drunken jack-off session is now in order.