Forrest

FORREST

“AHHH.” A deep groan broke from the Night Stalker Club office as I passed by.

Fucktastic!

A loud thud followed, vibrating the door. This was fucking ridiculous. Call me old-fashioned, but they could do it at home before they came over.

I quickened my pace toward the entrance of the rooftop. Sex noise didn’t surprise me, but considering my friends were the ones making those noises, it was awkward. I couldn’t listen to that. I couldn’t blame them if they wanted a quick fuck with their wives though. They had the best lives, but ignoring the stabbing pain settling in my chest was hard.

At the rooftop, the sun just sat down from the horizon. My eyes were steady as I watched the red, orange, and yellow colors before the twilight beckoning the sky. Those colors reminded me of fire, passion, danger, energy, happiness, and hope.

I leaned my elbows against the concrete parapet, flicked the ash from my cigarette, and breathed in the remaining inch I lit up while watching for the sun to set.

The lights started to scintillate around me to somehow light up the darkness surrounding the city. I stubbed the butt till it stopped smoking. Exhaust and city pollution came back to life.

I knew people said cigarette smoking was dangerous to your health, but this thing was a reminder that life wasn’t fair. People thought I was a weird shit to choose a deadly companion than a woman—that I didn’t have a beating organ in my body, that I was an ice king if that even existed. What they didn’t know was, I was a good guy, that I didn’t even like this another part of me, but it grew inside me already, and I had to embrace it for some reason.

The thing was, hard life taught me to be prepared.

The only question was, would I ever want to be that person anymore? The old version of myself—when I felt I was a better version of who I was today?

I walked down and met the nightclub manager, Kyland in the locker room. I quickly cleared my mind and pretended I didn’t hear what happened earlier.

“Bro.” He patted my back.

“Hey.” I wore my black button-down shirt and rolled each sleeve above my elbows. My tattoo peeked out. It was an orange flame full of anger with black smoke swirled from my wrists up to my arms.

“How’s your trip?”

“Great. Thanks for arranging my sched.”

“Anytime.”

“Got to go to work. Bills won’t pay itself.” I wore my black apron with the club logo and walked out.

The former notorious playboy, Pyke Hughes, the club owner didn’t give a damn about the uniform. I was glad he preferred black.

The main bar had its dimly-lit dived with only yellow lights emblazoned from the low ceiling. Monday was not the busiest, but the customers entered in somewhat rush as soon as the club sign lit open.

The music visualizer from the 3D walls created colorful particles in balls shaped that synchronized to the beat of the 90’s pop song played by the DJ from the booth towering the dance floor.

taking a seat on the dark barstool. Her makeup was simple as if she just came from long hours of work. She tapped her colorless perfectly manicured nails against the bar counter leisurely. Based on her dress, she didn’t

it for a few seconds. Placing down the martini glass on the

me a polite smile, muttering thank

for more than two years as a bartender, I’d learned quite a few, and not only on mixing drinks but also the different types of people; from rich kids, playboy, bad boy, flirt ladies, cheating husband, horny guys, brokenhearted, dirty business, and sex, but I also developed a good relationship with my friends despite cynical behavior.

the order for table-four.

couple at the dark red C shaped lounge chair with a half-moon-shaped silver table. With

did my job, and time passed by like a blur. Sometimes, I wanted it that way—it made me forget something I had in mind for the

asked, opening a bottle

shook my head.

either. Pyke settled in front of the bar counter, grabbing the beer that Kyland had just opened. “Thanks, Wright!”

man.” Kyland groaned.

inwardly. They were literally brothers-in-law now. Pyke married Camila, Kyland’s

back? Go ahead.” Pyke raised the beer to offer back and laughed

take for your own, dude?”

wife not good at giving you orgasms?” Pyke

had just happened earlier because if my memory served right, Pyke

alone,

women before. I had no idea. They quitted the moment they were in their serious relationship. I guessed people did change because no one had seen it

going to have sex? What I mean sex, the hardcore kind,

“Are you trying to liberate him?”

to figure him out,

didn’t like women or I was into

off. “My sexual exploitation

know you’re not married, but I never saw you going out of the club with a woman either. Waiting for a

girlfriend. No wife. But I can assure

Pyke burst into

days off every last week of the month?” Of course, Pyke would ask.

to see my family.” I only had a long conversation with them when they invited me during a weekend or if it was not a work-related topic. I

subtly, seemed

bidding goodbye, I walked out of the employee exit to where I parked my Onyx black 2001 Chevy Camaro Z28. I checked my phone for

screen of the GPS. Instantly, Simple Man played over the Bose speakers. I pulled out into the driveway, tapping my

on the peephole that no one would even notice. I inserted the key and pressed my thumb above the door handle with a small black square for fingerprint

after double-checking to make sure things were in the right places. I chose the colors according to my preferences—black, gray, and white.

took over me. I’d been awake for more than twenty-hours now. I slumped body to my authentic crocodile skin couch

my speed dial and it was picked up right away considering the timezone

my tech geek presented our proposal to the Diabetic Research Center in New York two months ago about

least believe in what we did. I knew Bill and his team worked their asses

“We’re halfway through it. We could use a brain you know—”

more than enough for the project, and