Lay down, Vinnie. Just lay down and close your eyes for a minute, the world will stop spinning sooner or later.
Don’t try to rush it. These things take time.
You took a hell of a beating in the ring yesterday, didn’t you? How many guys was that? Five? Six?
Tell me something… who were you trying to impress?
Were you looking for validation from a ghost?
Did you think I might be watching, and be proud of you?
There’s nothing to be proud of when a man grows his hair out like a woman and paints his face up like an old west whore. I don’t care if you fought off ten marines in a bar fight, you still look like the ugly girl at a frat party.
You think I’d be proud of your accomplishments?
Be proud of the ‘number one contender?’
You know who I would have been proud of, son? I would have proud of a MAN, who finished school, got a real job, got himself a wife and some kids and gave me a REASON to be proud. Be like me and serve you country, or at least show it some respect. You think I got a bullet in my foot from some zipperhead in Vietnam so you could wear a glitter-covered American flag on your tights? Jesus Christ.
Instead we have the so-called “Loverboy.†You should have called yourself something more honest and been “Lesbian†Vinnie Lane.
So lay down, Vinnie. Lay down and let the pain in your head and neck and back sink in, because you know it’s only going to get worse. Thirty years old isn’t young, you know. You aren’t going to just spring back from this like you did when you were twenty. Say it like every other tired housewife out there.
You’ve got a headache.
You know it’s only going to get worse, don’t you?
You think you can keep up this charade you’ve been using to cover up your fear? You think everyone is blind? That they can’t see the real you underneath all the guyliner and peroxide?
You think you can actually WIN against a man like Doctor D’Ville? A man who doesn’t run around acting like some sort of gay porn actor/ rock n’ roll star?
Please.
The only thing you’re going to do at Bad Medicine is exactly what you’ve been doing since the day you were born. Since the first time you shit yourself and then pulled your diaper off and ran around the house smearing it everywhere.
The only thing you’re going to do is continue to disappoint your parents.
Susan Rancourt was in a hurry.
It had only been a few months since her friend Karen had died, and the paranoia was still there, in the back of her mind. Of course, Karen had been raped and killed in her own bed, but being in a darkened alley on the UCLA campus at a time when so few students were around did nothing for her mood.
But Susan was a good student. She wanted to get a head start on the semester. She may have been one of three or four other students in the library that evening, and somewhere deep inside her that brought a figurative smile to her face.
She wanted to be better than the rest. At barely 18, she was already in 3000 level classes and planned to have a bachelor’s degree hanging on her wall before she turned 20.
It was all a part of her plan.
But for tonight, she was in a hurry. She wanted to get back to her room and finish a little more studying before finally succumbing to the crash of sudden Adderall withdrawals and face planting onto her bed.
Behind her, she heard the guy drop his books again.
“Damn it.â€He said sharply in a voice that only those who want to sound unobtrusive but secretly want others to hear them use.
Susan slowed and turned her head over her shoulder, seeing him once again stagger to a full stop and lean his metal crutches against the brick wall and gingerly begin bending down to retrieve the texts that had spilled from his overburdened grip.
She had seen him in the library, sitting near the law section. He was buried in his books, but she had seen him looking at her once or twice. It was flattering. She was plain and typically went unnoticed by the more handsome boys.
Fine by her, really, since the better looking boys were all mean-spirited jocks and more full of themselves than education. This one was a bit different though. He wasn’t brash or rude, and he didn’t make any crass comments about her chest or her backside. He didn’t say anything at all, actually, just glanced at her from over a book once or twice.
A law book. Handsome and smart. They did exist, after all.
Susan had considered waiting for him as they exited the library around the same time, but the way he limped along with one leg in a plaster of Paris cast while awkwardly trying to balance a stack of textbooks made him slow, and she was, after all, in a hurry.
She turned her head back around quickly, so he wouldn’t see her looking back at him and expect any help. She wasn’t stupid. She knew where the rape phones and the police stations were. She had mace in her purse. You couldn’t trust anybody anywhere, especially when sexual assaults were as rampant as they were on college campuses across the country.
Susan accelerated her already-brisk stride and got maybe five steps before the sound of heavy books hitting the ground met her ears again, along with a plaintive and defeated groan from the handsome boy.
What kind of a person would she be if she didn’t at least offer?
Susan turned on her sneaker’s heel and half-jogged back to the boy, getting to him just as he knelt down onto the dirty blacktop, and reached down for the same book he was extending his hand for. Something thick about torts. He looked up at her with sad, blue eyes and a pathetic smile. He looked less than harmless. He looked helpless. Susan chided herself for being selfish and worrying about rapes and muggings while a guy like this was stumbling along right behind her.
And, after all, he WAS cute.
“Thank you,â€he began. He was bashful, just speaking to her made his cheeks flush red and Susan couldn’t help but smile at the way he quickly pulled his eyes away from hers. He looked down at the ground, not into her shirt.
“Hey, no problem. We all need a little help sometimes. Let me get them.â€She smiled wide and tried to make him more comfortable as she gathered up the other books and placed them in the crook of her arm along with her own. They were definitely heavier than what she had. The competitive spirit in her flared for just a moment.
“I saw you in the library. I thought I’d be the only one in there this time of year. Guess I’m not the only one with my GPA on my mind, huh?â€
It was a lame attempt at humor, but the boy laughed nervously in response anyway. He cleared his throat and replied.
“Yeah… I think I saw you too. I thought I recognized the red sweater. Guess you got a bit of a head start on me though.â€
He gestured to his crutches as he slipped them under his arms, half hopping in place. Now it was Susan’s turn to blush a little. She was right. He HAD noticed her.
“Yeah… how did you break it?†She said, immediately wishing she hadn’t. Who wants to talk about their broken leg all the time? It was probably the only thing anyone ever asked him. Smooth, Susan, real smooth.
He didn’t seem to mind, though. He smiled his warm smile again and gave her a definitely-rehearsed answer. She was right about it not being the first time he had been asked, obviously.
“Oh, I slipped while hurrying down the stairs to get to class. Midterms, you know? It’s not bad, I just can’t put weight on it. I’m usually fine, but, I had to park kinda far from the library tonight because I haven’ gotten a new permit yet. Dumb, I know.â€
Susan could relate, for sure. She had to laugh at the fact that she had something so odd in common with this stranger from the library.
“Same here! But the price is outrageous, isn’t it?â€
He just smiled again in response, and they shared a clumsy moment of silence before he finally reached out to her with empty palms facing the sky.
“Well, thanks for getting my books for me… I really appreciate it. I don’t want to hold you up any more, so, I’ll take it from here.â€
Susan recognized the look on his face right away. He didn’t want to ask for help but knew he needed it. It reminded her a lot of herself and the way she always insisted on carrying the burden for everyone around her, no matter what she was going through. She definitely sympathized.
“Hey, I can carry your books to your car at least. It’s getting late, I’m sure you don’t want to spend all night lugging these big old things all the way across campus, right? Just tell me where to go, it’s the least I could do.â€
The way his face lit up told Susan she had really taken a load off of his mind. She felt like a good person. She felt better than the rest.
“Really? You don’t mind?†The surprise in his voice was genuine. Something told Susan he was used to being ignored, just like she was.
“I don’t mind,†she replied, trying to hide the sympathy she felt for this poor guy from her face. She knew he wouldn’t want to feel pitied.“My name’s Susan, by the way… what’s yours?â€
“You can call me… Ted.â€
The smile again. This time she blushed because of the way it made her feel between her legs. She already hoped Ted would at least ask for her cell number, or Facebook. Anything. She knew she’d never be bold enough to ask for his.
“Nice to meet you Ted,â€she said with a wavering voice,“let’s get you into your car, okay?â€
And he agreed. Susan tried to maintain her own speed equal to his, but she couldn’t help but pull a little bit ahead of him since his crutches made him move at a snail’s pace. And maybe just for once she added a little more swing to her hips, completely conscious of what men notice most when behind a pretty girl.
They walked for a few minutes through the barren campus, making small talk about classes and campus life. Susan thought Ted seemed a little less knowledgeable about the faculty and curricula than she’d expected, but she was certain he was just nervous and feeling a little emasculated by needing to be rescued by a girl.
Ted gave her directions until they eventually came across his car all alone in a far off parking area, behind the athletic fields. They approached the VW Beetle in silence as Susan couldn’t help but speed up a little more.
“Is this an original? A real 70’s Bug?â€
Behind her, she could hear him huffing and puffing. She felt bad for making him try and keep up with her, but he was too polite to ask her to slow down. The car’s lights flashed momentarily as an alarm chirped.
“I wish! It’s a newer model. Engine in the front and everything. Can you just put the books in the passenger’s side? I unlocked it… thanks again, by the way.â€
Susan opened the door and leaned into the car, momentarily stunned.
“No problem, Ted… hey… you don’t have a passenger seat? Why did you take it out?â€
She stood up and heard him breathing heavily right behind her. Poor guy was probably exhausted. She felt like a huge bitch for walking so fast.
“Well,†he started, gulping down breaths of air, “I don’t want anyone to be able to see you.â€
Susan turned toward him, shocked into silence. Was he actually hitting on her? It was such a douchey thing to say, completely unlike anything else that had come out of his mouth. His voice, too, had grown cold.
“What?â€
The look in his eyes was one lacking warmth of any kind, and Susan felt a twinge of terror when she looked at his face, which was now devoid of any smile. She saw him as he pulled something grey and shiny, metallic, from the cast on his leg. A tire iron?
Before she could identify the object in his hand, it was coming down across the side of her head.
The world turned black.
“Vinnie? Vinnie, are you home?â€
Roxy’s voice echoed through the foyer area of the posh Malibu apartment. Her sky high stiletto heels clicked on the entrance tile as she waltzed in carrying several rustling plastic bags, then were muffled as she moved across the rich shag carpeting.
“Vinnie? I’m home, baby…â€
Her body moves like a dancer, writhing rhythmically beneath the stretched fabric of her tight purple minidress. She glides on air towards the kitchen counter, depositing her day’s shopping onto the faux marble and removing the large, ovoid sunglasses from her face. The door to the apartment hangs open, a vibrant sunbeam flowing into the dark living room from the outside looks like a spotlight from heaven.
“Vinnie, come on.â€
Roxy walks into the bedroom, where she finds her beloved still entangled in the satin sheets where she left him, spent and exhausted, the night before. With a quick, instinctual look at her cell phone screen, she sees the time is after three in the afternoon.
“You’re kidding me… Vinnie! You can’t just sleep all day! Don’t make me tickle you…â€
With a smirk, Roxy kicks off her heels and crawls onto the bed, her tanned and toned legs flexing athletically beneath her hourglass body.
“Loverboy†Vinnie Lane, sprawled out across the entirety of the king sized mattress, doesn’t move a muscle.
“All right... you asked for it…â€
Roxy pulls on the satin sheet, dragging it down the length of Loverboy’s lithe body. There he lay, still wearing his treasured HART Championship Title belt – the only thing maintaining his decency as the oversized faceplate guards his manhood from the open air.
“What a goof you are, babe.â€
Roxy smiles and licks her lips, then leans over the frame of Loverboy, wriggling her fingertips into the flesh of his inner thighs and lower abdomen. She giggles in a frenzy, expecting him to jump up from his slumber and wrestle her onto her back – but he remains lying still.
As the smile ran away from her face, Roxy Cotton switched from tickling her love to shaking him gently, then roughly, as he remained limp and motionless but for a slow, deep swelling of his chest from time to time.
As she gets closer to Loverboy, Roxy sees the dried vomit on the pillowcase next to him.
“Vinnie! Oh my god! Vinnie wake up! Jesus, no!â€
Straddling him, she leans forward and pulls the lids upward from his eyes. She gasps, seeing that his pupils have no response to the sudden light, and that they are of unequal size. Shaking him again, Roxy begins to whimper in dismay, her panic growing until a slight groan rises up from the open mouth of Loverboy.
“Baby? Baby are you awake?â€
“Guhhhh… wha? What’s going on?â€
He blinks at the light, lifting a hand to shade it from his still-undilated eyes. As his vision remains a blur, he sees Roxy over him, the light around her blonde hair radiating like a halo.
“My angel.†He says, barely a whisper. He tries to smile, then sees a second Roxy right next to the first.
“What the… fuck?â€
And then his eyes roll back into his head once more and he falls back limply into the sheets.
“Fuck!â€
Roxy leaps off of Loverboy, off of the bed, and grabs her purse. She frantically pulls her cell phone from the Prada bag and hits the emergency call button.
She should have slipped away and never felt any of what was going on, but sometimes the human body is too strong for its own good.
Her consciousness comes back in a muffled flood, floating up from somewhere deep. She feels her throbbing head and her aching limbs struggling against the shock of blood loss and pain.
She feels her body rocking violently back and forth. She feels what’s inside of her.
Susan fights against her better judgment and opens one eye, the other too swollen to respond to the command. She sees him. Sees his face.
Ted?
His name was Ted, right?
He’s focused on looking down at himself, at his performance, as he slams himself into her over and over, grunting and gasping in exertion.
He watched her virginity rip away, watch her blood flow onto him, watched her legs redden and bruise.
She tries not to, tries to stay still and quiet, summoning some sort of instinctive tonic paralysis, but she can’t stifle the cry of fear and pain as he stabs into her abdomen again and again.
She cries out, and she feels him soften inside of her.
“You should’ve stayed dead you fucking cunt.â€
He growls at her, before reaching over her head and retrieving the crowbar from before.
Whether his anger was towards her sudden consciousness or his own flaccid penis, she wasn’t sure. Maybe both. But the last thing Susan thought before the cold metal bar crushed the top of her skull was that he was right.
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