Losers: Part I

I couldn’t sleep at all that night.

I still hadn’t gotten used to being back in my old bed, but it wasn’t only that. I tossed and turned, drifting off into fitful half-sleeps before abruptly waking when strange dreams crept into my mind. By 1 am, I was simply staring at the ceiling, clutching one of my throw pillows against my chest, telling myself that the dreams meant nothing.

It was them. Jason and Vincent. The fact that I’d seen them, merely talked to them, had completely thrown me off.

It had been almost three years since I’d spoken to them, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t been occupying my mind. My obsession with them felt like an illness, an addiction I couldn’t shake. I’d become a voyeur, watching their lives from afar and never reaching out.

I had stalked their social media like I was a private investigator, digging up every little detail I possibly could. It would have been easier if they shared more, but they were private people and their posts were infrequent.

Lucas and Manson owned an auto shop together, occasionally posting photos of them working in their garage over gleaming engines. There was one photo in particular — God, this was so embarrassing — that I’d found so sexy I had to save it to my phone. The two of them shirtless, hands blackened with grime, wearing only jeans and boots. I’d gotten off to it multiple times.

Out of all the porn I could look at, their simple photos were the ones I returned to.

Jason’s account was private, but Vincent frequently posted photos. It was obvious all the boys were devoted to each other, but Jason and Vincent had a romance between them that made me ache. It wasn’t jealousy. It was…longing? From the outside looking in, their love seemed exactly like the kind of relationship I wanted but couldn’t put into words: freedom coupled with devotion.

But I’d been taught that wasn’t possible, and my relationships so far had proved as much.

A relationship was a cage, full of restrictions and misunderstandings, frustrations and jealousy. Dating someone carried the requirement of turning off desire for anyone else, but I often found myself wondering if that was even possible for me.

Was I broken? Sexuality was nothing to be ashamed of, but it was hard to reconcile that when the friends and family I was surrounded by told me otherwise.

I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining them standing over me — Jason and Vincent, Manson and Lucas, too. Surrounding me, making me feel small. A shiver prickled over my skin as I tried to remember exactly how their hands had felt, brushing over my thighs, slipping between my legs.

I was never going to manage to sleep like this. An uncomfortably warm, restless feeling pulsed low in my abdomen.

I was too tired to reach under the bed for my vibrator. I slid my hand into my panties, determined to make it quick. I didn’t need to fantasize, right? But as the touch of my fingers fed the warmth inside me, building it to a blaze, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from wandering.

Manson had once told me that Vincent liked restraints. So when I imagined him touching me, I thought of handcuffs — cold metal clinging to my wrists and ankles. I imagined Vincent laughing at me, teasing me, my degradation making him smile.

I shuddered.

I could think of literally anyone else. A celebrity. Maybe that hot girl I’d seen at the coffee shop the other day, or the guy I’d fucked around with at a club last year. Anyone other than them. But no matter who I pictured, their faces morphed, their voices changed, their actions and mannerisms were undeniable.

My brain refused to settle for anyone else as my pleasure deepened and my breaths came a little faster.

I envisioned Vincent chaining me to the bed while Jason circled me. Jason’s gaze felt like it could rip me apart, like he saw too much. As if he knew my vulnerabilities and could pluck them all out with expert precision.

He always wore rings. Thick silver rings and black-painted nails. I imagined those nails disappearing inside me, fingers thrusting into me. I remembered the taste of his cock and the sight of him standing over me.

My fingers tightened on the sheets.

Manson had loved watching them. It had been obvious that being a voyeur turned him on. In my imagination, he was still watching. Circling. Barely visible in the dark around my bed.

“The more you fight, the worse it’ll be.”

The words slithered around my stomach. Fighting was useless anyway, there was no way I could overcome them. Vincent would bind me too tightly to ever get away.

But I wanted more. More pleasure, more stimulation…more fear. I wanted to feel the thrill of being bound and helpless. I wanted to completely lose control.

“The dirty little slut likes it, doesn’t she?” I imagined Lucas’s voice saying the words, deep and rough. He’d always been so damn unpredictable. Angry, heartless — he fucking hated my guts, but that made it even better.

I moved my fingers faster, trying to resist holding my breath. I envisioned Manson standing over me, that crooked smile on his face. God, he would love to watch me squirm as the others used me. I was a toy to be used, merely holes to be filled. The thought made me tingle from head to toe.

In my fantasy, Manson grasped my throat and whispered, “I’m going to watch them fucking destroy you, angel.”

Destroy me. Ruin me. Force me into the corruption I craved.

I wanted to feel like I was being punished. Punished for treating them like shit in high school and then being just as awful when I met them later. Punished for making decisions I regretted but couldn’t change.

I pressed my hand over my mouth before a moan could slip out. But I imagined it was Vincent’s hand instead, and he was scolding me in that playfully sarcastic voice of his.

“Sshh, don’t be too loud now. You wouldn’t want Mommy and Daddy to hear, would you?”

My toes curled. Liquid heat rushed through my veins, searing me from the inside out. For a few moments, my mind blanked out, filled only with that perfect explosion of ecstasy. I was left dazed in the afterglow, my tension melting away and my muscles going limp.

Maybe now I could finally get some sleep.

I pulled up the covers, but the fantasies didn’t leave me as easily as my satisfied lust. They were still there, lurking in my dreams.

I’d ghosted them, and yet I was the one who felt haunted.

The next few days passed in a blur. By the morning of July 4th, my mom’s team of volunteers had completely transformed the empty field alongside the church. There were game booths, bouncy houses, and face painting. The rich greasy smell of burgers and hotdogs filled the air, smoke from the grills wafting through the crowds.

I worked the ring toss game for most of the morning, and wrangling the kids quickly grew tiring. I’d never been particularly good with children, but I also wasn’t a very patient person. My mom used to scold me for it constantly.

Luckily, a familiar voice drew my attention in the midst of my boredom. “Stuck with volunteer duty, huh?”

I stood up from collecting the plastic rings strewn in the grass to see one of my old classmates, Danielle, smiling at me from the front of the game booth.

“Hey, girl! Long time, no see!” Danielle and I had been on the cheerleading team together in high school, and we’d kept up casual contact since then. She could be an absolutely ruthless bitch, but we’d always gotten along.

We both had too much dirt on each other to risk not getting along.

“My mom generously volunteered my time,” I said, rolling my eyes. “At least I didn’t get stuck with the face-painting booth.”

“You’d be poking kids’ eyes out with those claws,” she said, eyeing my signature acrylic nails. “So, you’re back with your parents, huh? Rough shit. I can’t imagine moving back in with my family now that Nate and I are living together. My mom and I would probably murder each other.”

Danielle and Nate had gotten engaged last year. They’d been high school sweethearts, so I couldn’t say it was a surprise. The only real surprise was that Danielle was settling down at all.

“Oh yeah, you already get it,” I said. “If I end up arrested…you’ll know why. I need to get myself out of that house again, ASAP.”

“You’re coming to the bonfire tonight, right?” she said, stepping aside and glaring at the little kid who was eagerly reaching for his turn with the rings.

“Bonfire?” I said. “I didn’t know about it.”

“Oh, you’ve got to come!” She pulled out her phone. “Your number is still the same, right? I’ll send you the details. We should have a good view of the fireworks, too. Everyone is going to be there. It’ll be like old times. Plus, Nate and I live really close, so you’re totally welcome to crash at our place after.” Her phone chimed, and she sighed as she read the message. “Oops, I have to get going. Nate wants another damn twenty-four pack of Coors.” She rolled her eyes. “Just what I wanted to be doing — shopping for beer on the 4th.”

“See you later, girl.” I waved as she left. A night out was exactly what I needed. I could have a few drinks, catch up with everyone, and watch the fireworks. It would be a nice opportunity to get my mind off…other things.

I managed to slip away from the festival after a few more hours when one of the other volunteers took my place. I had just enough time to shower and change before the bonfire. I didn’t anticipate it being very cold that night, but a light jacket over my crop top and jeans would be enough. Most of my clothes were still packed and I didn’t feel like rummaging through the boxes, but there were only a few choices in my closet.

My hand trailed over a soft black hoodie and I plucked it from its hanger. It was too big for me, but it wasn’t mine. The back was emblazoned with a black sheep wearing a wolf’s head hood. I glanced at my closed door, as if I was a teen again doing something wrong, before I brought the hoodie to my nose and deeply inhaled.

Maybe it was my imagination, but even after all these years, I swore it still smelled like him.

Manson Reed. He’d put it on me the morning after the Halloween party, the morning after…

I couldn’t think about it too much. I slipped it on, grabbed my keys and my bag, and flicked off the light before I left the room.

The sun had set and fireworks lit up the sky as I drove toward the location Danielle had given me. I pulled off onto a narrow dirt road that led back into some clustered trees. It wasn’t surprising to see numerous vehicles already parked there.

Some of them sat low to the ground, imported cars with huge exhaust pipes and large spoilers. Others were American classics, built sleek and loud, covered in gleaming chrome. Then there were the lifted trucks, rumbling diesels on thick tires.

If there was anything that could give Wickeston’s love of football a fierce competition, it was the love of cars. Classic American muscle was the ideal, but it looked like imports were gathering a strong following, judging by the number of them I saw. I knew next to nothing about engines, but I appreciated the aesthetics of a sleek car.

And I appreciated the speed.

Some of the trucks had been parked in a semi-circle around the massive bonfire, their tailgates open to share coolers of beer. People sat around the fire in folding chairs or milled around in groups, drinking beer, vaping, and smoking their cigarettes. Music was blasting from someone’s sound system, and my excitement rose as the sounds of laughter and conversation permeated my car.

I’d always thrived in front of a crowd. Getting people to like me — or fear me — felt like a game I couldn’t bear to lose. I already knew a few of the people who would be here, but it was likely that everyone already knew me.

That was the funny thing about being the “former popular girl.” You were less a person and more an object of fascination, like the latest reality show on TV. People liked you in the same way they liked their favorite celebrity.

Their idea of you was what mattered. Reputation was everything.

I parked and flipped down my mirror to do a quick face check. I probably should have put on another coat of concealer; my mom had warned me how bad my dark circles were getting.

Whatever.

The night air was crisp, rich with the scent of wood-smoke. The flames cast dancing shadows across the oak trees, smoke rising in curling tendrils toward the night sky. The pop and crackle of distant fireworks inspired some cheers from those who were able to see the explosion from the edge of the trees.

I spotted Danielle on the other side of the bonfire and headed over.

“Yeeesss, I’m so glad you made it, babe!” She got up from her folding chair to hug me, pressing an ice-cold seltzer into my hands. “Let’s get some alcohol in you. It’s time for the real party.”

Nate was seated beside her, and he gave me a friendly nod but said nothing. He wasn’t the only one of my ex’s friends in attendance. Alex McAllister and Matthew Fink were here too.

“Welcome back to good old Wickeston, Jess,” Alex said, pulling me into one of his too-tight hugs. Alex, Matthew, and Nate had all been on the football team with Kyle, and they’d formed a unit that went almost everywhere together.

I knew them well, probably too well. Nate was the son of a local police officer and had gotten away with more illegal shit than anyone I knew. Matthew used to get blacked-out drunk before every game because he said it made him “play better.” And Alex? He’d been Kyle’s best friend, his right-hand man.

Then he tried to make a move on me while Kyle and I were broken up. I turned him down and never mentioned it again, but to judge by his very friendly hug, his interest hadn’t dwindled.

Ashley used to call him “skeevy,” and that was the first word that came to mind as his arms finally loosened from around me.

“City life wasn’t doing it for you?” he said.

“Trust me, I’d rather still be in the city,” I said. “Would I rather still be paying city prices? Hell no.”

I couldn’t afford a Nashville apartment, food, and bills off an intern’s measly wages; that much was certain. New York felt even further out of reach, but with the right salary, I could make it happen. I just needed to convince my boss I was worth it.

“Sounds like you need a side hustle,” he said, reaching into a nearby cooler for another cold can. “I’ve heard OnlyFans is hiring. I’ll be your first subscriber.”

His gaze slid over me pointedly, and I rolled my eyes. “Oh, ha ha, very funny. Keep dreaming.”

He shrugged, but the way he was looking at me was hardly casual. Alex was hot, no doubt about it. He was exactly the type I usually went for: broad-shouldered with a handsome face, cocky with a massive ego. But I was getting tired of dating the same damn type and getting the same damn results.

Besides, he was my ex’s best friend. The idea of dating him felt slimy.

Danielle and I had plenty to chat about and she swiftly launched into relaying every bit of gossip she knew about our former classmates. Who was married, who was pregnant, and who had ended up in prison. Alex was restless though, and kept glancing up every time another car pulled in.

“Waiting for someone?” Matthew said, crushing his empty can under his shoe.

“He’s probably staring at his baby again,” Danielle teased, rolling her eyes before she explained to me, “Alex did some fancy new thing to his car and now he can’t stop talking about it.”

“Which one is yours?” I said, and Alex pointed beyond the fire, toward a red Dodge Challenger.

“It’s a Hellcat,” he said proudly. “Got a new tune on her too. Baby fuckin’ hauls ass.”

A backfire rang out like a gunshot, and all of us turned our heads toward the road. Whoever had just arrived sounded loud; I could hear their engine long before I could see them. Headlights flashed as they turned into the trees, and Alex slowly got to his feet with folded arms.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “The losers decided to show up.”

Two cars were approaching, their windows so tinted I couldn’t see inside. My breath stilled in my lungs when I spotted the sleek purple Mustang in the lead, violet-colored neon glowing from its undercarriage, the engine rumbling aggressively. I wouldn’t have recognized it if I wasn’t such a social media stalker, but I knew instantly who it belonged to.

Manson. He’d made a significant upgrade from that old Bronco he used to drive.

A white Nissan 350Z cruised behind him, practically gliding over the ground, bass bumping loudly from its stereo. That car was Jason’s, and if the videos I’d seen Vincent post were any indication, it was a force to be reckoned with in the amateur drift world.

My stomach twisted, and my can crinkled slightly in my hand. If the two of them were here, then all of them were. But I couldn’t disappear this time.

My own specters were back to haunt me.