Negative Zero: Soldier of Light Chronicles Book 1 Read online

  I tidied up the living room a bit just to make myself feel better, but that took only an hour. I made my way to the kitchen and scoped through the cupboards. Ugh. There was next to nothing there. Ramen noodles were getting old, so I grabbed some chips and salsa to snack on for my dinner. It didn't really bother me that there wasn't a big variety of food to eat. I made do with what I had, but like every other subject I put on hold in my life, this lack-of-food situation would go on the back burner. I was going out, and I was going to enjoy myself. It was my damned birthday.

  I never fit in with that Brittonia-clan crowd as far as fashion went. I had the darkest hair and the darkest clothes. They wore high heels, short little skirts, and low tanks from Abercrombie; I didn't. After going through my closet twelve times for something that even remotely looked like I fit in, I decided to hell with it and just put on what best showed my true self. I grabbed my army fatigue skirt that cut off about mid-thigh, my black All-star sneakers, my new T-shirt from Joel, my black choker with the red ruby in the center, and my spiked bracelet. I threw my ensemble on the bed and determined how out of place I would be, but with the mood I was in, I did not care. Brittonia could suck my left butt cheek if she thought I was going to conform to her crowd any more than that.

  The Power House (that’s what we always called it) was in walking distance of my apartment complex, so I left about five minutes till nine. Yes, the fifteen minute walk made me fashionably late, but like I said, it was fashionable. Brittonia, Shelby, Clara, and Demi were already there, giving me scolding looks as they stood at the entrance doorway to the building. They all robotically changed their positions to the same pose, shifting their weight on their heels. They were all wearing close to the same thing; low tank tops that showed their cleavage and cute, little skirts with ruffles on the bottom. Brittonia had the shortest, of course.

  “Hi guys!” I said, pretending to be oblivious to their stares.

  They finally smiled.

  “Hey Evika! Happy Birthday!” Demi said as she walked up to me, wrapping me in a fluffy, pink boa. I actually really liked it. I preferred pink and black together, so it completed my outfit quite nicely.

  “Well, that looks a little better,” Bittonia declared.

  “I'm glad you approve.” I twirled around in my boa.

  “Here,” she handed me a cupcake from the metal pan she was holding.

  “Aww, how cute, Brit. Is this dinner?”

  “Hey, I told you I'd take care of you tonight, right?” She sounded proud. Thank God I'd already eaten.

  “We put the sprinkles on them!” Shelby's little voice rejoiced as she grabbed Clara’s arm.

  “Great job, guys. Thanks for taking me out for my birthday. It really means a lot to me since I don't have Joel here this year.”

  “We know, Ev. That's why we're here,” Demi said.

  “Well, enough of this sober crap, guys. Evika, eat that cupcake. I'll put the rest of these in the car if you want any more throughout the night. I don't want you passing out on me or anything.”

  I laughed. “Nope, we wouldn't want that.” Okay, so maybe she really did care...way, deep down.

  Brittonia ran to her car, (as well as she could in those damned Stilettos) and met us back up at the door. We made our way into the Shark Club for the male review. I'd never been to the male strip club there before, and it was definitely a good night for it. Although, I'd made a mental note that if any sweaty stripper were to dance on me, I'd be sticking money down his pants only to make him step away and move on to one of the other girls. Ew.

  The loud music punched me in the face as we walked in. It was heavy beats, and we could feel the bass from the floor. The first stop was, of course, the bar centered in the middle of the venue.

  “Ever had a Blow Job?” Brittonia asked me.

  “Excuse me!?” I asked, shocked.

  She rolled her eyes. “It's the name of the drink, you bubblehead. I know you've never given a real one.”

  “Oh! Okay. Nope, never have, but I'll try anything once.” I thought for a second. “Uh, I mean the shot.” We both laughed.

  Her lips curled up deviously. “Two Blow Jobs, sexy!” Brittonia yelled to the bartender. He grinned and winked at her to let her know he was working on it. He was shirtless and wearing a black bow-tie. His chest was quite an attraction to me since I'd never really seen one up so close. I know, I know. I was twenty-one and probably the last virgin on campus at my age, but it was the one thing I had left to be proud of. I'd made some really dumb decisions in my life, but that was the one thing I could gloat about...well, if you could gloat about something like that around my crowd. With Brittonia, she was vocal about making me the butt of a virgin joke, but I think deep down, she actually admired me.

  “Evika, pipe down. If you wanna take him home I'm sure we could arrange something.” She laughed.

  “What?” I broke out of my trance.

  She laughed even harder. “Babe, your eyes told me the whole story. You think he's hot.”

  “I was counting the beads of sweat on his chest,” I told her.

  “Right.” She winked at me.

  The shirtless hottie placed our shots on the counter and said he'd be right back with the change.

  “Oh, no. You keep it, hot stuff. Just remember me later.” Brittonia winked at him.

  He leaned over the counter to her. “Sure thing,” he winked and darted to another crazed customer.

  “My God, Brit, you are ridiculous.” Chuckling, I shook my head.

  She shrugged. “I know,” she admitted. “So, you ready?” she nodded to our Blow Jobs.

  I sighed, ready to pick the shot up when Brittonia stopped me.

  “Oh no, Virgin Mary. No hands. You do it like this.” She clasped her hands behind her back and leaned over her shot glass, gripping it with her mouth and standing straight up with it, lifting her head and letting the drink shoot down her throat. Some of the crowd around us hooted and hollered while others clapped and whistled. Brit took the empty shot glass from her mouth and placed it on the counter. Such choreography.She curtsied for the crowd a few times waving her hand, mouthing thank you and blowing kisses.

  “That, my friend, is how you do a Blow Job,” she said to me as she wobbled on her heels a little. I couldn't help but love my sneakers.

  “All right,” I said confidently. “Stand back.” I mimicked her movements and took the shot the same way. It was frothy at first, and then I felt the creamy liquid slide down my throat. I heard the cheering crowd around us again. I remembered a few flashes going off. Great. I'll probably be all over the Internet along with Brittonia.

  “You are a natural, Evika.” She threw her arm around me. “You make me proud.”

  I laughed at her and just shook my head. I really was having a good time with her.

  We scoped out the club to find the other girls. They were already nose-touching the stage and watching the dancers. There was a fireman and a policeman taking turns removing articles of clothing. They'd take something off, whip it around in the air, and then toss it into the crowd, making the gaggle of ladies in that section scream as if they'd never seen such a sight. I rolled my eyes. It was hilarious. I mean, seriously.

  After about an hour of nearly-naked, sweaty men thrusting their tightly-enclosed packages in little Speedos that would have fit the average four-year-old, we decided we wanted to do a little dancing of our own, minus the stripping of clothing. We downed our beers, waited for Brittonia to flirt one last time with her bartending Chip 'n' Dale, and then stood on the sidewalk outside to wait for our Uber.

  After a fifteen-minute ride, we hopped out of the car onto West Sixth right in front of Throb dance club, which was a madhouse. We waited for Brittonia, for she was the last to exit the car and was the one who gave the driver a cash tip. I couldn't see much detail, but I swear she slipped it down his shirt. He was young and somewhat attractive, so it didn’t surprise me.

  We flashed our I.Ds at the door. I was the last of all
of us to turn twenty-one, so I was happy not to have to deal with any fake I.D. drama that normally occurred when we all went out.

  The club was crowded, and they'd already opened the upper dance floor where the DJ was.

  I loved dancing, but when I first got there, I always liked observing. I liked watching conversations the most, though. Of course, I couldn't hear anything, but it was a game Joel and I always played. We'd watch a couple nearby, most likely a pair who had just met, and the guy was trying to get into her pants. People were always more into arm and hand gestures in loud places, so body language made our game even more hilarious when we put the voices to them. I'd be the girl, and Joel would be the guy. By the end of the night, we'd have characters with names, occupations, and even a five year plan of what might happen to them. It was all in good fun, of course, but man, we could create some dramatic stories. By the time we left the club, our characters were already divorced and off spending alimony in Jamaica with a lover half their ages. I was really starting to miss Joel as the girls and I stood at the bar getting our drinks.

  “Ev, what do you want?” Demi asked me, waving her fresh twenty in the air to get the bartender's attention.

  “Oh! Just get me a Dortmunder.”

  “Draft or bottle?” she asked.

  “Definitely bottle.”

  “Here Ev. It's your twenty-first birthday, and we're going to drink like it's your twenty-first birthday.” Brittonia came walking over to us with a tray of five shots. It was definitely Jager. My poison. I was going to wait, but hell, it was my twenty-first. Why not start the damage early?

  “Everyone take one and down it, and I don't wanna hear any cryin',” she demanded.

  I laughed. “Wow, Brit. You do know you and I are the only ones that can handle this stuff, right?” We all took our shot from her tray.

  “Well, that's because you and I are the only ones who aren't pussies.” She laughed, flitting her hair behind her shoulder and tossing the tray to the counter. She held up her drink. We all followed suit. “Here's to Evika Stormer's totally awesome twenty-first birthday bash!”

  We all “whoo hoo'd” and clanked our glasses. Shelby, Clara, and Demi all grimaced as they braced themselves. I was already swallowing mine and savoring the warm poison going down my throat. It was a smooth delivery, and I was ready for my next shot, whatever it would be. Bring it on, I thought. I deserved to let loose and throw my inhibitions out of the way for a few hours. I knew that attitude would probably get me into trouble, especially since I was at the mercy of Brittonia, but I couldn't find a care in the world that would stop me. I grabbed my beer from Demi, said, “Thanks,” and made my way to the dance floor when a new beat started to play.

  The girls followed as Brit stayed behind to order another round of some sort of shot. I chugged my beer down to about an inch below the bottleneck. I wasn't surprised. This day always got to me. It was bittersweet. I was celebrating one of my most memorable birthdays, yet drowning in the pain of one of the most awful events that had ever happened to me. I didn't want to care for a while. I danced over to Brit and took my next shot with her. This time it was a lemon drop. Easy.

  Clara came over to grab my hand and take me back out onto the floor for another great song. I held up my finger to let her know I had to finish my beer. In a matter of fifteen seconds and a few chugs, I slammed the bottle down onto the bar a little harder than I'd meant to, pulled out the last twenty dollar bill to my name, and smacked it onto the counter.

  “Hey Brit, grab me a Guinness and get what you want, I'm on the floor again.”

  I found Clara standing there patiently for me, dancing in place. Then I grabbed her boa and dragged her out onto the dance floor until I felt a tug at my hair. I turned around to see Brittonia.

  “No way, biatch!” she said crinkling up my twenty into a half-ass folding job. “I told you I was taking care of you tonight. It's your twenty-first!” I thought I saw her wobbling, but blamed it on those heels again. She then proceeded to put her hand down the neck of my shirt to deposit the wadded up bill in my bra. What was it with her and putting money down people's shirts?

  Clara and I just laughed at her hysterically as she turned to walk away to get our next drinks. Some hot guy ran into her and spilled his mixed drinks all over her. Thank goodness they were colorless drinks. It looked like they were only Vodka and Sprites; otherwise, she would have killed him for staining her cute tank. Clara and I were laughed even harder when Brit turned around to show us the front of her shirt while the poor guy stood there apologizing to her.

  Clara put her hands in the air and gave Brittonia the thumbs up. “Go, Brit! Get some free beers!”

  Oh, that poor guy. Brittonia grabbed his hand as she knocked one of the empty cups from his hand and dragged him to the bar counter. I'm sure she said something like, “You are totally buying my drinks now, buster!” I just couldn't contain myself as I folded over, cracking up. It hurt so good.

  We eventually made it to our designated spot to the floor saved by Shelby and Demi who were bumping and grinding. We were so in tune with our dancing circle, we shoved off any guys who tried to come up and grind against us. It didn't matter how drunk I was, the only reason I would ever let a guy at the club touch me would be to hold me up when I started to wobble. The less-drunk guys could be quite sturdy to lean on.

  Brit was finally over with our new drinks. With my Guinness in hand and all the girls in my circle, the rest of the night was pretty much a fast-paced blur of new tastes, faces and voices.

  One of the highlights of the night was when one of Brittonia's ex-boyfriends-slash-bedthumpers came up to her and slugged the guy who was dancing with her. I became slightly protective of Brit when that happened and yanked her arm. I wanted her out of the way. She had no clue what had just happened.

  “Ev, what the hell?” she yelled at me, and then turned to find her male friend on the floor, and her ex, Duke, standing there all sweaty and drunk.

  I remember him saying something like, “You're mine, Brittonia. What the hell do you think you're doing?”

  I found it odd that this poor guy thought that he was actually still with Brittonia when she probably just slept with him. She had that track record, but she would never, in a million years, make some guy think they were actually together unless they really were.

  “Ugh! Duke, go to hell!” She walked away with me as security dragged Duke away.

  The poor guy who was hit was long gone after that. It was probably in his best interest anyway.

  “What a jackass!” Shelby found us.

  “Clearly,” Brit agreed.

  We all agreed we'd had enough of Throb, so we finished whatever it was we were drinking and tracked over to Liquid. It was a cool martini bar on the first floor, and the basement was a dance club. We grabbed some martinis. They had one hundred and six different flavors and as the bartender mentioned the most popular one: the girlscout cookie, I had to have it.

  Brit was giving us the scoop regarding the V.I.P. section downstairs. Her slurred words reminded me that I had promised Joel that I would find my own way home, and I'd watch my back after Brit's third drink. The problem was, we were way past drink number three, and I didn't know what the hell I was doing anymore. All I knew was, I was drowning out pain and having fun doing it. In the process, I felt I was getting closer to Brittonia and that good person I saw inside, the side Joel never saw anymore. Despite the fact that she was going to get even more drunk and would probably leave me hanging, I knew there was a reason why she was the way she was. We kind of had that in common.

  We single-filed down the red carpet stairs to the dance portion of the bar. Brit was adamant about getting us into the V.I.P. Section, which wasn't even that great anyway. It was closed off with velvet rope, so anyone could really get in there by hopping over. The only thing was, we would get a wrist band and red velvet couches to sit on. I wasn't sure what was drawing Brittonia to being over there, and I was really too drunk to put any more though
t to it other than thinking she wanted in just because it was a challenge. Then I noticed a group of guys with the same build, same crew cut, and same stern faces, even the same kinds of beer. Military. And if anyone was a sucker for those guys, it was Brittonia.

  Clara, Demi, and Shelby formed a circle around me and distracted me enough that we started dancing, slowly drifting to another part of the floor while Brittonia leaned against the pillar eyeballing the V.I.P. section. Her objective was to get one of the guys to invite her in, and that was exactly what happened. After a few songs, I twirled around to find Brittonia in my face with a new shot. I'd almost spilled my martini all over her, but luckily the glass was empty by then.

  She slurred her words, and, as drunk as I was, I remember the slurring completely. “Here, s'nother birthday shot on me.”

  I laughed at her. “What is it?” As if I cared.

  “Jager, biatch,” she said as she clanked her shot glass against mine. Okay, so I said I didn't care, but honestly, Jager was a bad call for me, and it was especially bad for Brittonia. She was so far past gone I didn't even know how she was still standing, but I took the shot anyway. After that, I'd had enough to drink. I was done and just wanted to stop, which was not usual for me.

  “Come on, Evika, you're losing it tonight. These poor men have served long and hard times for our country and they deserve some sort of reward.” She laughed maniacally, tugging at my arm.

  “Brit, I wanna dance. I don't want to get stuck flirting with a bunch of guys tonight.”

  “Oh, you are such a baby.” She shoved my arm away. This was when I knew she was over her limit. It was typical. She'd found a flock of guys who would probably give us all rides home, but not before they dragged us to their place first and did God knows what with Brittonia and possibly one or two of the other bean poles.

  “Brit, I'm not being a baby. I just don't want to go over there and sit on those dumb couches talking with those guys that only give a shit about getting laid tonight. I know your type. You scoped them out the minute we got here. I don't want to be a part of it. Why don't you just come and dance with me and the girls?” I held out my hand to her, hoping that would end the drama. I didn't want the night turning out badly.