Confrontation
For most women, avoiding confrontation is natural. We steer clear. We do not get mad at a friend even when they may deserve it. We allow our significant other to get away with more than they should. It is simple. If we do not confront a problem, we protect ourselves. Sometimes, though, no matter how much we steer in the opposite direction, we run smack dab into confrontation. Sometimes it is a surprise, and other times, we see it coming. Either way, we are never prepared to handle it.
BREEZE
THE TEACHERS WERE like strangers, smiling and offering to tutor me if I needed help catching up. I remembered Shame telling me he had paid them a visit. He snapped his fingers and all of a sudden people noticed me. Unfortunately, teachers were not the only ones paying attention.
The entire student body honed in on my presence. The girls were the worst. Every single set of female eyes in the hallway were trained on me, like they all suddenly had Breeze Clery radar. And every one of them had spoken my name, whispered it to each other with laughter, like they exposed some scandalous secret.
The way the rumor mill spread through school, you would think The Bastards kept me tied up in their basement, and I let every member have a turn with me. The endless chatter gave me a reason to keep my head down and wear my headphones to drown out the deafening gasps and snickers.
But then those bitches took it too far. With Sharpie on my locker I read, “The Bastards whore.” And “Slut, ask Shame.”
God, they were stupid to use his name. He wouldn’t approve. I snapped a quick picture with my new cell phone.
How did they even know?
I knew Pocket didn’t tell anyone. But of course, Alicia Doherty’s dad was my math teacher. She already hated me because she thought I liked her boyfriend. Right, like I could be attracted to such a meathead loser. I closed my locker. There she stood with a gloating smile, perfect hair and a posse of little look-a-likes at her side.
I caught a whiff of cheap body mist the group recently bathed in—cotton candy or sugar cookie, either one, atrocious. My nostrils burned. When I realized they had no intention of leaving, I snapped. “What do you want?”
I tried to breathe evenly, but my heart raced, and I felt sweat form on my brow.
Alicia didn’t speak to you unless she wanted to stir up trouble. Without Pocket next to me, I felt helpless. My best friend had been my shield against the schoolyard bullies since preschool.
“I had to see the new you,” she sang, holding her hand out and moving it up and down. A gloating smile adorned her stupid face.
“Did you do this?” I asked, pointing to my locker.
“What if I did?” she countered. Her little minions laughed.
Maybe two days with Shame had made me braver, but I had to stick up for myself. “You think you’re so cool, but you’re a bitch.”
“At least I’m not a slut,” she snickered.
Usually I ignored Alicia and her friends. I didn’t care for confrontation. Plus, my scrawny ass wouldn’t last long in a fight. But the emotions of the last few days had built up and finally reached a tipping point. I had a ton of stored anger I needed to release on someone, and Alicia made herself available.
“Shut your mouth!” I shouted in her face.
“Of course, who can blame you?” She looked around, unaffected by my brave posture. I didn’t scare Alicia. “Your poor daddy doesn’t give you any attention. You know, he was passed out in front of the school this morning.”
“Shut up.” My skin burned. I balled my fists, glaring at her, but all I wanted to do was run. I stayed grounded, though, because I was tired of being a helpless victim, hiding from my life.
“The truth’s hard,” Alicia continued. “I heard he pissed himself. The janitor had to clean it up off the steps after Officer Benson hauled him away.”
Oh wow, that hurt.
My knuckles were on fire from where I socked her, but the pain didn’t stop me from going after her again. I knocked her to the ground and climbed on top of her. Her posse shrieked and gasped but none of them came to her rescue. All the bitch could do was keep a firm grip on my hair as I pounded into her face.
Pocket finally came to her aide when she pulled me off of Alicia. I spun around on my best friend, still alive with rage.
“Whoa, easy there, little Ali . . . it’s me,” Pocket said in a soothing voice.
Seconds later, Principal Mallory hauled me to his office by my arm. After a stern lecture and a suspension slip, I sat in the chair outside his office, unsure of who would be coming to pick me up.
Did they know to call Shame, or would my dad show up?
I surveyed the cuts and bruises on my hands until the door opened and Viv walked in. Relief rushed out of me in a breath. I don’t know why. She didn’t look happy. But Shame terrified me and my dad didn’t care. Viv seemed like a nice medium.
“So . . . let’s hear it?” she asked as soon as we settled into her SUV.
“There’s nothing to say.”
I folded my arms and looked out the window.
“Shame is going to be irate, so you better have something to say.”
“Alicia’s a bitch,” I let out in one long breath. Viv laughed. I told her about the drawings on my locker and what Alicia said. “So, I snapped.”
“Okay, I get it . . . but why do you care?”
“I don’t. I want them to shut up and leave me alone.”
“And—” My eyebrows rose and I stared at her waiting. “Maybe . . . you want to fit in?”
“No,” I shrieked. My face scrunched up in disgust. Then I thought about it and relaxed. “Okay . . . Maybe, a little,” I admitted. “Being the odd girl out sucks.”
“Do you even like these girls?” I shook my head, appalled at the notion I could like such a shallow group of girls. “Then ignore them. Love yourself for who you are, not who they think you are.”
She sounded like my guidance counselor, which annoyed me. I had no idea who I was. “What is there to love? I’m not pretty. I’m not smart. My family doesn’t have money and my dad’s the town drunk. There’s no love happening here. I’m either pitied or hated.”
“Now you’re feeling sorry for yourself.”
What else was there to feel? Why did things always happen to me? Why couldn’t I have a normal and calm life?
Viv flipped a U-turn in the middle of the street.
Confused, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“To the mall.”
“Shopping?” I thought about Shame’s list and it did not include a trip to the mall after school. “I can’t. Shame said I have to come straight home after school.”
“Good thing it’s not after school.” She flashed me a mischievous grin. “We’re going to get you some new clothes.”
“To help me fit in?” She nodded. “Isn’t that material bullshit?”
“To you, yes. But Alicia will be seething when you show back up at school.”
I giggled. “Um, kinda petty . . . don’t you think?”
“Maybe, but retail therapy will work wonders for your self-confidence. And you can use a serious lift.”
We spent hours at the mall and left with ten bags of designer clothing and shoes. I had to admit, Viv was right about retail therapy. Of course, I would have to wait three days to taunt Alicia, although the bitch probably wouldn’t even notice. She would never forget the beat down I gave her, though, and she would be forced to relive it every time she saw me. If I had known how good sticking up for myself would feel, I would have started a long time ago.
On the way home, we stopped in a salon and a friend of Viv’s cut a couple dead inches off of my hair. She also highlighted a few strands near the roots, which were dark, because the sun had not burned through the clouds in close to a month.
The smile on my face refused to fade as we drove back to the clubhouse. It wasn’t the clothing or the shoes or the hair that peaked my spirit. The feminine influence boosted my mood, the sense someone cared about me and the feeling I belonged. Maybe I did want to fit in at school.
Was it so wrong to want people to like me?
“Thank you,” I told Viv quietly.
“Screw those bitches,” she said, sounding perturbed. I got the impression Alicia upset Viv more than me. I remembered her story and had a feeling she had once been me. I frowned, thinking if not for Shame, I may have ended up like her.
Would I have eventually became strung out on meth or God knows what else?
Probably.
Viv touched my leg. “Don’t let those girls have any control over you. Ever! They’re all talk. You decide how their words affect you. You’re smart and you’re pretty and you can be anyone you want to. They want to take that from you. To put you down so they feel good about themselves. Don’t let them. You’re a Bastard now. Act like one.”
Although I kinda thought punching the girl out meant I did act like a Bastard, I stayed quiet and nodded.
For most men, confrontation is a thrill. Right before a fight, their testosterone charges and their adrenaline surges. They feel like the Incredible Hulk. There are a plethora of biological and evolutionary reasons for this. In the end, it comes down to primal instincts. They are bred to compete for territory, food, and most importantly the opposite sex. Add that to environmental factors like, alcohol, violence and ego and it is no wonder they love a good brawl. Victory is a powerfully addictive drug.
SHAME
Sabina looked surprised when I offered to spend the night. I wanted to be with her, but I stayed mostly because I felt too wiped to drag my lazy ass to the car. Besides, I didn’t want to face Breeze, especially after seeing her face while I fucked Sabina. I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to look that girl in the eyes.
Hanging out cuddling was not my thing. She knew the deal with me—out by dawn. Usually she dealt with it, but this morning, she upped the ante and offered me two B’s for breakfast.
Damn woman didn’t play fair.
No man could refuse a blowjob with a side of bacon.
After breakfast, I almost didn’t want to leave her place, but I had shit to do at the club.
I saw her frown when I stood up from the bed and put my jeans on.
“Time for me to go, baby.”
She groaned and reached her arm out to me. “When will I see you again?”
“Soon.” I bent over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Really?” Her expression brightened. “That’s promising.”
My phone rang right when she attempted to pull me back into bed.
Tank.
“What’s up?” I answered.
“Ziggy got a line on Cole from some dope fiend looking to score.”
“Where is he?”
“An abandoned warehouse on the river up in Lowell.”
“Meet me at the club. I’m on my way. Bring Ziggy.”
I hung up, watching Sabina pout.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I gotta go,” I said, nodding toward the door. “Club shit.”
“Go.” She waved, ducking her head to hide her disappointment.
“I’ll come by tomorrow.”
The smile she gave me should have been a clue to back off, but I didn’t want to because I needed someone comfortable and legal in my life. I kissed her again before I left.
With Ziggy and Tank in the car, I hauled ass up the highway to Lowell. Once thriving factories, the brick warehouses were now homes to squatters. The south side had recently been renovated into residential units, but the north end continued to be a ghost town.
Cole could be hiding in any of the abandoned warehouses, but only one had been recently plowed. The front of the building appeared deserted, but I couldn’t see around back from the street. Without four-wheel drive, I worried about getting stuck in the deep snow pack if we drove in.
We ended up parking on the street. With our guns out and ready, we trudged through the tall snowdrifts on the left side of the building. As we neared the edge of the building, I signaled for Ziggy and Tank to stop, before I peeked around the corner.
Aside from dead trees beyond the snow banks, I saw nothing. The sun glared off the white landscape, blinding me as I tried to make out any cars. Nothing, not one of Dixon’s crew, no cars, and other than water cascading over frozen ice in the river, there were no noises.
“No one’s outside,” I whispered.
My heart raced as we crept alongside the wall to the back entrance. I shielded my eyes with my hand as the glare continued to make them throb. Once we reached the door, Tank insisted on going inside first. I followed, my gun raised with a steady hand.
We paused, all listening for voices, but other than water dripping from a pipe nearby, the warehouse sounded quiet.
Ziggy tipped his head to the right and Tank and I followed him. We carefully maneuvered through the entire warehouse, but never found Cole. What we did find repulsed me; buckets with urine and shit, filthy sleeping bags, tossed out syringes and rotten food.
“Squatters?” Tank asked, or maybe commented.
I nodded, but the zip ties still loosely hung around pipes concerned me. I had a feeling Dixon kept girls there before shipping them out, but I couldn’t say anything without letting the guys know about Maddie.
On our way to the exit, I heard car doors slam and lifted my hand.
We hurried to the wall even with the entrance and pressed our backs against the bricks. My breath steadied. I loved that part, the seconds before confrontation with an outcome uncertain. I grinned, raising my gun as the doors opened.
In seconds, all guns were drawn. Three Bastards and three Villains. To avoid a full-on blood bath, I held my free hand out toward Will and said, “Tell your guys to put their guns down.”
“You first, Shame,” Will countered immediately.
I rubbed the back of my neck, pondering. “That ain’t gonna happen.”
“A quandary then.” Will tipped his head to the side and waited.
It didn’t think it much of a quandary at all, because I knew Will to be crazy enough to open fire on us in broad daylight. It felt more like defeat, but I wasn’t ready to surrender.
“We just want to know where Cole is,” I said in an even voice, attempting to keep things calm.
“He isn’t with us.”
“I can see that.”
Will’s aloofness concerned me, and my heartrate kicked up. “I’ll tell you what . . . you leave, and I won’t tell Dixon you were on Villain turf.”
The thing with The Villains was they weren’t sufficiently afraid of The Bastards. Only the turf in Lowell didn’t belong to them or us. “I’m pretty sure this is King’s territory,” I reminded Will. “Seems to me we’re both fucked.”
“Nah.” A strange grin formed on Will’s face. “The Villains are good with The Kings.”
My eyes kept working over Will and his guys, sure one of them would do something stupid.
“Black working with Brown . . . can’t be anything good.”
Will shrugged. “We have an understanding.”
“Right,” I balked. “You suck Rodriguez’s dick. In return he gives you a little warehouse space.”
“You’d know all about dick suckin’.”
Knowing he goaded me, I didn’t bother to react to his insult. The only thing I knew was if there was money to be made, The Kings head guy had a hand in on it. Rodriquez ran hookers for years. I imagined trafficking young girls offered a more lucrative profit. Still, a gunfight on enemy turf wouldn’t bode well for the club. I was smart enough to know we had to retreat.
“All right.” I lowered my gun. “We’ll leave.”
“Fuck that,” Ziggy yelled seconds before his gun fired, sending a single bullet through the guy on Will’s left.
Tank shot the guy on Will’s right, but not before Will got off a round that hit Ziggy in the gut. I had no choice but to fire on Will, hitting him twice in the chest and once between the eyes.
That’s what the war between our clubs had become; gunning down a guy I had known since pre-school. But it was kill or be killed.
His crew or mine.
I had no choice.
My stare froze on the puddle of blood seeping out from under Will. My breaths came short and fast. Anger and regret battled to control me. Anger would win. It always did.
“Fuck, Shame. We gotta get Zig to the clubhouse,” Tank yelled, cupping my shoulder.
We hauled Ziggy up from the ground, securing his arms around our necks and dragged him back toward the car. Plowing through the snow managed to be significantly harder dragging Ziggy. A blood trail followed us that would have to be cleaned up. I mentally catalogued what needed to be done to erase what happened, so the wrath of The Villains wouldn’t rain down on the club.
I shoved Ziggy in the back seat of the Camaro. “Call Dozer to come help with this and let Rose know I’m on my way.”
Tank nodded and I took off. Despite a failed relationship with my pop, Rose, the club’s doctor, stayed with us after he died. We were lucky to have her, but with a forty-minute drive, and Ziggy coughing up blood, I didn’t know if I would make in time for her help.
“Stupid mutha fucker,” I screamed, slamming my palms into the steering wheel. “Why the hell did you shoot?”
“He loaded a round, man. I swear. I heard it.”
It all happened so quickly and my focus had been on Will. “Fuck, stay with me, Zig.”
Ziggy had been with me almost as long as Tank. He wasn’t gifted with brains, but I trusted him. We met as kids, when I kicked some punk’s ass for joking with him about riding the short bus.
That fight marked the first time I beat someone unrecognizable, and the first time I knew I had the capacity to hurt another person without remorse. There were more fights after, always sticking up for friends or family. While my motives were well intended, my temper made me more like my old man than I cared to admit.
“Don’t you fuckin’ die on me,” I shouted.
“You ain’t that lucky, bitch.”
He laughed but then fell quiet. I looked back. His eyes were closed, and due to his heavy coat I couldn’t see his chest moving. I reached back and punched him in the leg, which elicited a groan from my friend. Relieved to hear it, I hauled ass up Mass Pike and ran every light on West Broadway.
Rose, Dink, and Kegger waited out front, as I skated into the driveway. Dink hauled Ziggy out of the car before I even made it out.
“What the fuck happened?” Dink yelled.
“Not now,” I dismissed Dink, rather than explaining something that for the sake of my club needed to remain secret.
They carried Ziggy inside, and I kicked the tire of the Camaro until my toes hurt. This was bad, so fucking bad . . . Like, start World War III bad. I charged through the clubhouse and into the room where Rose worked on Ziggy. Dink and Kegger were with her and they all stared at me wide-eyed.
“No one says a word about this,” I said as an order.
They nodded. If Dixon found out, it meant Dink had been ratting out the club, although I didn’t get that sense from him. He came back from Iraq all fucked up. The guy drank too much, lost his cool often, but seemed proud to be a Bastard. Said the camaraderie reminded him of his unit in the Marines. I took a chance with him, but Kegger’s loyalty, I knew without question rested with the club. He and my pop had been best friends since the second grade.
“Is he gonna make it?” I asked Rose.
“He’s lucky. The bullet took a chunk out of his side, but kept going. He lost a lot of blood but he’ll make it.” I exhaled in relief. “Why don’t you get outta here. I’m sure you have things to do.” I stared at her because I didn’t want to leave my friend. “Go. Ziggy’s going to be fine.”
I left and closed the door, greeted by Viv, waiting in the hall. “We need to talk.”
She had this concerned look on her face. I didn’t like it, and I knew I would like what she had to say even less.
So, when is confrontation healthy? When is it okay to lash out? When is it okay to fight? There is no right answer. We have to stand up for ourselves. We have to defend those we love. If we do not take a stand, we will suffer because we are human. It does not mean we have to condone violence. We simply have to choose our battles. There is no more powerful feeling than taking a punch for being true to who we are.