Switchblade Attitude

She laughs like a bell. “C’mon, Tony!”

He watches her, the way her blonde and pink hair sticks out from underneath the hood of her black jacket. She wears the biggest grin, showing all of her teeth and laugh wrinkles under her blue eyes. Her newest tattoo, a sprinkle of cheetah print on the right side of her head is bright with newly set ink. Little blonde hairs are beginning to grow back and they’ll have to wait until the tattoo is fully healed before they can shave it back.

She laughs again and tugs at Tony’s hand; he can hear it over the shrill of the bell that the gas station attendant set off once the pair was out the door. The start of police sirens in the background is getting louder and louder. He takes a large drink from the bottle of whiskey he grabbed from the shelf as she was grabbing cash from the register, holding a steady gun at the cashier’s face. It was a teenager, acne peppering his face, and he couldn’t have been but a year or so younger than Jessie.

Why was he doing this? Why was he making a bad situation worse?

Tony grabs the gun from her and aims it at the light-polluted sky before pulling the trigger three times. The sirens get drowned out for a few seconds as their ears ring before it gets louder and closer. The gun is burning hot, but Tony sticks it into the pocket of his hoodie and takes off into a run. She kept up easily, laughing as she kept the bag full of money and scratch off lotto tickets tight in her hand.

Tony ran down an alleyway, his hand still clasped in hers, as they ducked behind a parked car and breathe heavily. The police car drives by, putting a shadow of things against the brick wall before it disappears. The sirens fade out as their heartbeats steady.

Jessie Lee turns to Tony. Her bright blue eyes are light and airy, half-lidded, holding a shine of adventure in them.

“You never had this much fun with Alana, did ya, Tone?”

The nostalgia of Alana hits Tony like a boulder falling from thousands of feet above. It had barely been a year since her death and Tony still couldn’t think of her. Her memory is like a razor slowly slicing his heart in half, layer after layer.

“Tone?”

Jessie’s voice grows soft by the fall of Tony’s face. He doesn’t look at her, just stares at the bottle of whiskey he had just stolen.

“Tony?”

He looks up from his hands, one holding Ande’s shirt and the other holding a half-empty bottle of Jameson whiskey. Jaime sits down beside his best friend, staring out over the white sand and the crashing dark blue waves. Sea foam gets closer and closer to their feet with each wave, but can ever quite touch their toes.

“Hey, Hime,” Tony says, almost emotionless a he takes a large swig from the dark bottle of liquor. He hands it over to Jaime, who stares at the label before sitting it over on his side, deep into the sand.

“Your mom finally got Alex to sleep.”

Tony just continues to stare and nods half-heartedly at Jaime. Jaime sighs and puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“We’re going to get her back, Tony. We’re not going to almost lose her again.”

Tony looks from the ocean over to his friend, and something seems to click in his head. The daze of alcohol washes away and the sharp brown eyes take in everything, every little detail. Jessie Lee liked to play games, and the ball was in Tony’s court now.

“That bitch,” Tony mutters, feeling naïve, before jumping up and heading into the house that had been the venue for his wedding just hours earlier. He grabs the note off the table beside Casey’s laptop. The hacker stares at Tony surprised. Tony reads it, looking at each letter and racking his brain for every meaning of the words.

He makes a startling discovery.

“This is Ande’s handwriting,” he says, and suddenly feels sick. Jessie forced Ande to write this letter. Did she hold a gun to her head? Or threaten Alex’s life?

“What?” Casey says, taking the note back from Tony and staring at it. He clicks a few things on his laptop and a letter with Ande’s handwriting pops up. He can tell, immediately, that Tony is right.

“She forced her to write this,” Tony says, his voice cracking for just a moment before he has a realization. “Where’s the guestbook?”

Maria slowly walks down the stairs, dressed in her outfit from the wedding but her hair is no longer in smooth curls, but a messy bun piled on top of her head. She had finally gotten Tina to fall asleep, also, promising to be there when she woke up. The mother of two comes across all of the men she had known since they were teenagers, running around the bottom floor of the venue in search of something.

“What is with all this noise?” She asks in a low voice harshly, also ready for some sleep to ease her worried mind.

“Do you know where the guest book is, ma?” Tony asks, searching through a pile of papers on the front table.

“In the kitchen beside the drink table. Why?”

Instantly Tony disappears into the kitchen, and there’s a bang of pots and glass cups. Maria hurries after him, following the rest of the group.

Tony skims over each page, stopping momentarily over Ande’s signature that is at the top of the page right beside his, before looking at each name. It’s next from last.

However it is the last name that makes Tony’s chest constrict and refuse to take oxygen. He can’t breathe. He doesn’t want to breathe.

“What is it, Tone?”

Vic walks over, catching onto Tony’s frozen form, and follows his tan finger to the signature.

“Impossible,” he whispers, and feels his own chest tighten. Tony isn’t staring at the signature as much as he is the note beside it. It’s her handwriting, Tony is sure of that.

Alana Torres-Fuentes. A membership to a shooting range. You need to work on your aim, Tony.

Tony throws the book against the brick wall of the venue, yelling in anger that his forgotten past has caught up with him again. The book becomes unbound and the cream-colored pages slowly fall to the kitchen floor. But the words written in the guest log, whether from Alana’s hand or not, burn Tony’s soul.

He can remember that night. He had driven to the meet up point. He was the one that watched as a rival group pulled up and started shooting. He was the one that jumped out and started shooting back. When she got in his car and started to drive away, it was then that he realized she was shot from the front, and not from the back.

Tony had shot Alana, not the others. It was all Tony’s fault. How could he have been so blind to just leave her at the hospital and make a run for it? How could he believe that she would just be cremated? She faked her death because of him.

Everything was Tony’s fault.

Tony felt this burning sensation in his throat, and at first he thought it was all in his head but by the taste of vomit in his mouth it was from making himself sick at all the thoughts running through his head. It’s like high school all over again with the never-ending what-ifs and thoughts that seem to never quiet.

It’s like being stood up at Junior Prom by the girl of your dreams.

“Tony! Tony, dude, you gotta calm down!”

But Tony can’t calm down, and even though his stomach is empty of the half-bottle of Jameson he just drank, his throat still burns from the dry heaves that he can’t stop. Tony wouldn’t let himself cry, but the tears that seem to linger on his face and drop into the puddle of sick are as close as he’ll allow it to get.

Finally, when there is no more energy in his body, Tony leans against the cabinets under the counter and closes his eyes. He feels shaky and the sick feeling is still in his stomach. A cold, wet rag is pressed to his forehead to help him from overheating. There’s a strong smell of lemon-scented cleaner also coming from nearby, but Tony doesn’t even have the strength to open his eyes.

“Come on, sweetie,” Maria says softly, using the other males in the room as help to get Tony on his feet. He’s practically dragged onto the soft cotton couch in the front family room of the venue. They had to be out by the next day at noon, so they had enough time to rest, clean, and gather their belongings before beginning the search for the missing Ande and Lauren.

“She’s gone,” Tony whispers, and places the rag on his forehead over his eyes to hide the continuing tears. “She’s gone, ma, and I don’t think I can find her this time.”

“But you will find her, mijo. I have faith in you. Nothing can keep you two apart if you fight hard enough.”

Tony didn’t voice his doubts any farther, and simply fell into a fitful sleep.

-----------------------------------------

“Dude that show was crazy!” Jaime yells as he shakes out his thick, curly hair. Tony was slowly trying to get use to the bright blonde streak that Jaime had put in his hair barely two weeks earlier. It looked weird, but somehow Jaime pulled it off.

Tony just smiles and nods, taking deep breaths as he packs his guitar up and pulls off his sweat-soaked shirt. His tongue subconsciously plays with the little studs he had under his bottom lip and he grabs a fresh hand towel from on top of a lone amp to wipe his face and neck dry. Jaime bounces off with the rest of the guys, leaving Tony alone to finish packing up his gear.

Another band begins to set up on the stage, and Tony just takes a few deep breaths before pulling on a fresh shirt. He knows he still smells horribly of sweat and booze, but at least it’s not as bad as it had been. Tony walks from the back and to the front near the bar. The next band has just hooked up and started playing.

The bartender, who recognizes Tony as a regular player, hands over a bottle of water with a smile.

“Thanks, man,” Tony says, toasting the bottle in his direction before guzzling it. He turns to go check out the band and the jumping crowd, only to run into a small, thin body.

“Oh, shit!” Tony says, grabbing a hold on the counter to keep from falling back. The small body stumbles slightly and catches herself on the empty bar stool. “Are you okay? I’m sorry.”

She blushes and nods, quickly situating herself back onto her feet firmly.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ve had a little too much to drink.”

Tony just smiles, because damn is this girl attractive. She’s a petite girl, but with a definite Hispanic blood in her to make her curves more noticeable and her lips are full.

“Oh damn, you’re that cute guitarist.”

Tony feels his own face flush at the girl’s words, and he swears her face grows a brighter red.

The girl behind her, who Tony guesses is her friend, laughs and puts an arm around her buzzed friend’s shoulders.

“I’m Eliza, and this is Alana. You guys played really awesome up there.”

“Tony,” he introduces, holding out his hand for them. Eliza happily shakes it but Alana is too embarrassed to say another word. “And thanks, that means a lot.”

“Tone!” Jaime yells from the backstage door. His hair is still a mess, but slightly more tamed and not as damp with sweat. “Dude, c’mon!”

He looks at Jaime before back at the girls.

“You want to come to a party?” Tony asks, mainly asking the Alana girl but Eliza seems to answer for her.

“Yeah! We’re totally down.”

Tony smiles and nods as he starts to walk. “Well follow me. There’s enough room in our van for you guys.”

“Oh, a van. Did you hear that, Lanie? We’re going to have messy sex in the back of a band van.” Eliza winks at her friend, causing both Tony and Alana to blush deeply. He could see Andrew going after Eliza, but Tony had called Alana for himself. (Not like he was going to have sex with her tonight but he had dibs on her for any future times.)

And so begins the dwindling dark past of Antonio Cesar Perry.

Notes

As you can tell, most of this story will be told from Tony's side.
There will be a few moments where Ande's view will come in,
but this story will focus round Tony's past and how
it ties in with Jessie and Alana, and now Ande and Alex.
(that's a lot of A's, woo.)
Get ready for some surprises. ;)

Enjoy! I won't update for awhile since this week is my Spring Break
and I'm headed to Florida for a week. Peace Out!