Friends

Thursday 26th November
16:45

Fingers numb in the pockets of his hoodie, a skinny brunet a head-and-shoulders above the crowd kept his eyes down as his peers passed in droves. It had been snowing on and off for the past six days and it was finally beginning to build up on the pavement. The inner-city foot-traffic leaving mostly murky slush in its wake, which was not opportune for someone who only owned a single pair of battered Converse. The man in his early-mid twenties had been waiting fifteen minutes in the sleet at one of the side exits of his place of study when his name followed by a snigger caught his attention. Upon meeting the gaze of one of the small group, the man’s shoulder’s tensed.

The smallest of the trio of women, a petite female with caramel hair and sultry eyes asked, “why are you lurking behind the door, Sutton?”

Although the question could have been one of concern, the addressee - George Sutton - knew better than to give that woman the benefit of the doubt. Casting his line of sight back down to the slushy floor and the bottom of his jeans growing evermore soggy, the brunet told under his breath. “I’m not lurking; I’m waiting for someone.”

“Freya’s busy today, you know? You should find more friends.”

“I’m not waiting for her.”

Glancing to her friends, the beauty grinned before advancing for her target. “Say, Sutton,” she tilted her head back to look up at his face, “what do you think about the murders?”

Expression dropping, the man stepped back. “What are you trying to say, Priscilla? It was horrible what happened to them. No matter what-”

“-Both Jones and Brady used to bully you, didn’t they?”

To the left, a Joan Jett wannabe coughed a curt scoff, causing the cigarette hanging from her lips to wiggle. “A lot of people bully him, Pree.”

“Did you kill them, Sutton?”

The man’s face scrunched up and his shoulder’s hitched. “No, I did not.”

Giggling at the defensive reaction, the leader of the three women stepped back and wafted the hand not holding her bejewelled phone-case. “Yeah, you’re right. You look more like the school-shooter type. I bet you wouldn’t have it in you to get up close and personal to do a job like that,” she prodded him in the gut with an acrylic nail and snorted a cute laugh when he flinched.

Coming out of the doorway and stepping around the tall brunet, a slightly shorter man with striking features inspected the group barely reaching their chest height. “What’s your problem?” His accent gave him away as not being a local with only a single sentence. Accent aside, it was clear that the shorter man was either new or stupid as anyone from around there wouldn’t dare to use the tone he had when it concerned that group.

Scowling, the woman slid her line of sight to the newcomer, “and you are? In fact, I don’t care,” she cut him off before he could speak.

Looking past the two men who she knew to be beneath her, Priscilla waved her Gucci nails above her head and called out to a group of men in the university’s rugby team uniform as they headed her way from the practice field. In no time at all, the four men advanced for the congregating group. Stopping beside the women, the team members inspected the two outcasts.

Regardless of the weather, the four men were wearing their standard shorts and tight-fitted jerseys. Given, two of the men had various joint supports and another had been rubbing his hands together to gain some form of circulation in his fingers since they had come into view. Barring the things of necessity, three of the four men easily clearing six-foot braved the offset of winter with all the gusto people like them did.

“Do you have a problem?” The brunet at the front, the literal poster-boy and University golden child slung his arm around the petite woman’s shoulder only for her to pout when the band around his bicep threatened to mess up her hair.

“You should ask her that,” the foreign student gestured to the campus Princess and George discreetly elbowed his friend just as quickly.

Stepping in with his chest puffed and his teeth bared, the leader of the newcomers snarled. “Have you got something to fucking say-” Snow exploded against the side of his head, cutting him - and the rest of the group - off.

All eyes shot to the direction of the projectile only to see a bleach blonde holding a naked, tattooed arm up. “My bad,” she shook the melting snow off her inked hand while the other brought a cigarette up to her lips. “It was meant for Pree, but your stupid arse was in the way.” Heavy-duty military boots traipsed over slush as she advanced for the group.

Temper practically melting the remnants of the snowball dripping off the side of his face, the Captain bit at the air between himself and the tattooed woman. “Are you trying to pick a fight, Monaghan?”

Tilting her chin up once within reaching distance, the addressee stared the Captain in the eye, puffing on her vice as if it were some kind of neighbourhood committee gathering. “If I was looking for a dust-up, it wouldn’t be with you, ya'shitbag.”

“No, you’d probably ring that fucking loon you call a boyfriend,” the Captain huffed and gestured to Monaghan’s face, his buddies laughing behind him at what they knew was to come. “Or did the last black eye put you off for good?”

“A little slap and tickle doesn’t scare me, honey; I give as good as I get.” Licking her lower lip, the newly arrived female cocked her head. “It’s just not worth the time it takes to wipe your blood off my hands.”

“You’re getting too cocky.”

“Then do something about it, Wade. I’m right here. Or,” smoke flew from her nose as her brow quirked with a smirk, “do you not have enough teammates here to back you up?” She glanced to the three men stood behind their leader and then back to the person she was speaking to. "Because don't forget, you couldn't stop me from beating the shit outta ya the last time you hurt him by yourself, either."

Wade stepped in and the man beside George got mid-step of doing the same before his arm was grabbed. Looking at his transfer year-mate, George gave crazy-eyes and shook his head quickly at the foreigner.

“One of these days, that attitude of yours is going to get you in serious trouble.”

“Not today though, aye?” The woman rolled her eyes as she tut and clicked her tongue off her teeth at the same-old cycle.

Pushing Wade out of the way, Priscilla faced the woman she knew. “This needs to stop, Monaghan.”

“Yeah, it does.” Throwing the end of her vice on the carpet of snow on the grass verge, the woman with wild platinum hair stomped on it to enunciate her point. “I’ll meet you back at the house later. Innabit.”

Turning her back to show she was done with the conversation which always ended the same way, the buxom woman in a Gintama t-shirt extended her fingers to make them crack. Listening to the muffled curses of the group behind her, she wobbled her head in mockery. Sticking her hand in the pocket of her jeans, she scraped out a black carton and inhaled the frigid air which burnt her lungs more than any of her vices. Eyes on her task of lighting another smoke, the woman taller than the majority of her female peers ignored the stare boring into her.

“Don’t say it-”

“-Freya, why do you always have to antagonize people?” George pursed his lips and made strangling gestures beside the addressee’s neck while they walked in tandem.

“It’s a gift.”

“More importantly, why do you have to antagonize them, of all people?”

“Because pissing them off is some of the most fun of all,” she looked up with a grin as she sucked smoke into her lungs. “’Almost as fun as causing you to throw a fit every fuckin’ time.” Peering up at the man a head taller than her, Freya gave a squint and an exaggerated toothy smile.

“I don’t need you to look after me any more.”

“Of course you do. What do you think they would have done if I didn’t intervene?”

“You make it worse.”

“Worse than Mitchell Wade and his knob-squad beating the shit out of you in the middle of the quad in front of everyone?” George opened his mouth to argue but he was beaten to it when Freya continued. “Because I know you get pissy when even the bottom of your jeans get wet in the rain, so don’t tell me that ‘it’d be fine’ when I’d have to help you look for your teeth in the snow. Last time, I found you sobbing outside of the gym in a puddle after he broke your ribs. I don't know who was whining more: you, or the primary school kids coming out of their swimming lesson who saw what happened.”

George sulked. It was a fact - both the remark and the expression.

Verdant eyes surrounded with black slid to the stranger who had been silent since her arrival. The pair held their gaze for a few seconds until the tallest coughed obnoxiously. Looking to her friend, Freya jutted her jaw and shrugged.

“What?”

“You know what holding eye contact for more than six seconds means.”

“And?”

“You’re not that angry.” Quirking her brow, the blonde gave a haphazard jig and George scowled with the shake of his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Do I really have to explain?”

Holding out her hand like one of the bimbos who used to showcase the prizes on television game shows in the 80’s, Freya made a face George knew all too well. “If you want me to ‘not’.”

“One word: Adrian.”

“What about him?”

“You know what. The man is insane.”

“I haven’t seen him for almost two weeks.”

“When did you last speak to him, though?”

“Why are you so goddamn obsessed with my relationship with him?”

“Because he scares me. He should scare you, too.”

Scoffing, the woman rolled her eyes at the same-old carry-on about the topic. “Mind your own business. For your sake.”

“You’re my friend and I worry about you when it comes to him.”

“This is ridiculous, George. I’m not talking about him with you any more so just drop it; it really ruins my mood. You should know where we all stand by now.” Cracking her neck to the side, the blonde gave a warning glower. “And besides, there was Carrigan last month, and he’s still in one piece.”

“Carrigan was a job.”

The transfer student gave a bewildered glance between the pair. “You go out with people as a job?”

Both of them looked to the exchange student. Freya scowled at her friend. “Look what you did. He probably thinks I’m a hooker or something now.” Despite the foreigner shaking his head with his hands up in front of his broad chest, the blonde gave George an audible punch to the arm, the force making him teeter into a group of strangers in gothic-wear as they went the opposite way.

Whinging with his face construed, George shook his head while trying to inform his classmate. “He was gay; Freya was his beard in exchange for services.”

“Just stop talking, George.”

“You don’t want to get involved with her weird schemes. Ignore everything that comes out of her mouth.”

Twisted features relaxed and Freya rested her weight on one leg as she placed the back of her free hand on her hip. Head cocked and eyes narrowed, full bottom lip jut out with a scowl, “says the school-shooter?”

Attention zeroing in on the woman he’d known longer than he cared to remember, the mutual friend lost control of his upper body. “Just how long were you creeping around before you threw that snowball?”

“Long enough.”

“You’re really despicable, y’know?”

Nodding, the woman took a deep drag on her vice. Quickly turning her attention back to the stranger, she extended her free hand. “Freya Monaghan, this prick’s best friend and apparent despicable prostitute.”

“Nikolaj Laursen, second-year transfer,” he bobbed his head in as he shook her hand. The man’s eyes shot to the grip and the woman huffed a brief laugh at the usually surprised expression she got when she shook somebody’s hand. “Your hands are really warm.”

“Hot hands, cold heart.” Retaking the appendage with a coo at the vibration in her pocket, the female checked the screen of her phone and instantly answered the call. “Yo, bitch, where were you?” She turned away partially as she continued to hurl playful curses at the caller. Glancing back over her shoulder, she eyed the male pair, “wanna lift?” She jutted her head towards the car park and set off walking before any verbal cue could be given.

Within a minute of turning the corner of a dingy side-street, the trio made it to a car lot between the backs of a burger place and a medical supply store. Getting in the beat-up Mitsubishi from the early 2000’s, the male pair shivered at the icy chill which had taken to sinking into the worn-in upholstery. Tossing her phone on the little ledge beside the steering wheel, the blonde started the ignition. Or at least, tried to. The once premium engine coughed and spluttered just like its owner waking up on a Sunday afternoon after indulging in one too many of her bad habits.

“You’re on loudspeaker.”

“Who’s with you?” A strained yet sweet drawl came from the speaker of the scratched silver phone.

“Georgie and his cute new friend.”

“You’re incorrigible,” the woman on the other end of the line chuckled at the blunt reply.

“So I’ve been reminded once today already.”

“You know there’s a party for your lot tonight?” The caller drawled, the clear intention to irk the driver obvious in her voice.

“They’re not ‘my lot’. You’re my lot.”

“You live with them.”

“Don’t start that shit again.”

“You’re not attending then?”

Watching where she was going, Freya flicked the indicator and turned off the main road congested with people on their way home from the university they’d just come from and work. “Nah, I hit my quota for designer drugs, athletes and trust-fund kiddies trying to tell me about how they’re taking a gap-year to Tanzania or wherever the fuck they go to come back even more pretentious this month.”

“It must be so fucking tough on you, getting invited to exclusive clubs and having rich guys want to bed you all the time.”

“I have a paper to write.”

“Sometimes, I don’t even know how we became friends.”

“A shared love for sex, booze, and tattoos. Also, phenomenal taste in music.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Psychotic boyfriends, too,” George lurched forward to add his two-cents into the device.

“Listen, if you had one girl half as crazy as one of our ex’s, you’d know it’s a hard drug to give up,” the caller told in a sing-song tone.

“She’d definitely be pinned as a ‘crazy bitch ex’ by someone because guys can’t just accept that some girls are just wily. They start getting paranoid about them bugging their phones and stalking them.”

“I know for a fact some girls do that - I helped you both on multiple occasions prove it.”

“They weren’t our boyfriends,” the female pair rebuked in unison and George sunk back into the itchy seat. “It’s surprisingly good money, pretending to be a PI for rich little white girls,” the caller cackled as a light chopping and melodic rock riff played in the background. “Those bimbos really will pay anything to find out if Chad or Brad - the loves of their lives after six weeks - are banging another girl they met on the exact same hook-up site themselves.”

“Dom, I am a white girl.”

“Yeah, but you’re not that kind of white girl.”

“Whatever you say,” flicking her indicator and turning the steering wheel, she flipped off a middle-aged man in a new series Mercedes trying to cut her off. In the midst of putting her window down with a snarl, the driver grumbled. “This motherfucker-”

Immediately knowing what was about to happen, George tried to drag the woman with her head out of the window back inside the vehicle. “Freya, don’t-”

Easily fighting against the man with almost twenty centimetres on her, the driver barked at the idiot who thought he owned the road. “Did you pay off your instructor? When one of the side lights flash, it means the car is turning, dickhead. Back up.”

“Oh, God…” Shielding his face with his free hand, George felt his mortification fizzle throughout his entire body.

“Kyahaha, is she fighting with someone?”

“Don’t laugh, Dom, the guy in the other car looks like he could be part of the Saudi mafia.”

“You better hope she doesn’t get out then.”

Leaning forward a bit, both to get a better look at the altercation past the windscreen and to question his friend, Nikolaj spoke close to George’s ear. “Would she do something like that?”

Head spinning like the bitch from the Exorcist, Freya’s nose almost brushed that of the man between the two front seats. “Yes, I would. Just ‘cause I drive this piece of shit and I have a cunt, men in suits think they can get away with anything.”

Reaching back, she gauged the space behind her via her own eyes and then whipped her head forward. Hitting the accelerator, she swerved into the tight spot behind an already parked Honda on the main street. Ragging the handbrake up, snatching the keys from the ignition, and picking up her phone in one smooth quick motion, she made sure no other vehicles were about to take her door off before stepping out.

Taking the device off speaker, the blonde glanced around the city centre beginning to fill up as darkness rolled over with dangerous ecru clouds. “I’m near yours now. I’m picking up lunch from Yanny’s because I’m guessing you haven’t eaten anything yet.”

“I miss one day and you lose your shit.”

“I messaged you six times when you didn’t show up at our meeting place this morning.”

“Yes, and called fourteen times,” the caller cut herself off when a crash sounded down the line. “I know, I listened to the voicemails when I got back home.”

Walking around to the passenger side, Freya opened the door and unlocked the glovebox over George’s knees. Taking out her purse, she fingered through a roll of paper money and handed several to her friend. “Will you get my usual and something for everyone else while I get us something to eat?”
 
George eyed the driver suspiciously. “Don’t mess around, Frey.”

Exaggeratedly stroking his cheek with the paper money, the blonde wobbled her head. “Yeah, yeah~”

Waiting until the man had got out of the car and pulled the passenger seat forward to let his friend out, she tossed her keys to the tallest in an underhand motion, her phone still to her ear. Watching George jog across the busy main street, she jut her head at the stranger. “Come on.” Looking where she was going, Freya informed her friend on the other end of the line. “I’ll be up in about ten-fifteen.

“Good that; don’t forget my-”

“-Dr Pepper. Yes, I know.”

“If I could give up dick, I’d marry you.”

“I know, I don't blame you. I mean, what’s not to love?” Ending the call, the blonde shoved the device in her left hip pocket. Glancing back to her company to check he was still following, the blonde slowed her pace until he got the hint to hurry up. Waiting until they were walking in tandem down the busy street lined with take-out establishments, Freya examined his profile. She was only messing around earlier but looking at this guy close up with no distractions, it wasn’t untrue what she had said. He was pleasing to look at with his strong jawline and high cheekbones, deep-set crystalline eyes and sturdy physique obvious even underneath his winter coat.

Daring to remark on the shameless gaze, Nikolaj side-eyed the perpetrator. “Do you always stare at people so intensely?”

“It’s been known to happen on occasion.” Hopping up a tiled step, the woman opened the glass door to a kebab house and held the barrier so her company could enter. “What do you want to eat?”

The man took his wallet out and Freya pulled an expression he wasn’t comfortable with. “I asked you what you wanted. I don’t know how it works where you’re from, but when I ask if you want something, I’m the one intending to pay for it.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Don’t insult me.” Taken aback by the sharp tone, Nikolaj scoured the menus lit up on the wall to the left. “And don’t pick the chips just because they’re cheap.” She told as she held her hand up in greeting to one of the workers behind the counter. “I saw what you did when Priscilla tried to bait George.” Her expression went from a frown to a cheery grin as soon as the worker noticed her.

“You’re usual, Miss Freya?” The worker asked and the addressed nodded as she tapped her nails on the metal counter in time with the music playing low. “How have you been? It’s been at least five days since you were here; were you sick?” He joked and the woman chuckled at the teasing.

Nikolaj watched the interaction. It wasn’t antagonistic like with those upper-class bullies, nor frustrated how she had been with George, nor even snarky as she had been with the woman on the phone. It seemed genuine and friendly. She almost looked approachable.

“I’m telling you, you have to give me some kind of loyalty card. Look,” she grabbed her company’s shoulder and pulled him towards the counter. “I’m even bringing you new customers.”

“Ouah,” the Middle Eastern man behind the counter looked the broad-shouldered brunet up and down and then back to the woman. “it’s been a while since you brought a boyfriend around.”

“He’s not my b-”

The employee called back to the rest of his workforce and yelled in his native language. When he was replied with a chorus of laughter and celebratory noises, he turned back to the woman. “This is a cause for celebration, Miss Freya.” Looking between the pair, the worker clapped his hands in glee. “Such a handsome couple. What can we get for you, sir?”

Turning her back on the male pair, Freya chuckled to herself at the misunderstanding, or more so, Nikolaj’s perplexed expression for what was happening. The confusion melted into a polite conversation as the exchange student had his ear chewed about the complexities of living in a foreign country.

In what seemed like no time at all, their order had been completed. “This is all for you. Please enjoy and tell your friends.” The owner of the store came out from behind the counter and handed over a cardboard box to Nikolaj. Patting the pair on the shoulders, he gave well wishes and opened the door for them. “Take care and travel safe, Miss Freya and Sir Nikolaj.”

Making it out into the cold of evening setting in, Nikolaj shrugged the box into a better position at his waist. “That’s the first time I’ve ever been called sir.”

“If you go in there again, he’ll remember you, even if it’s in over a year’s time.”

“Not many people have customer service like that any more.”

“I’ve been going there for several years now. He’s called me Miss Freya since I was seventeen after I kicked an angry drunk out.”

“You really like to stand up for people, don’t you?”

“Most people call it meddling.” Freya reached out and tried to take the box. The man’s knuckles brushed her breasts and his grip slackened. Hips dropping, the blonde’s eyes went wide at the blunder. Catching the food in a contorted fashion, the woman exhaled a lengthy sigh peppered with an odd laugh. “That would have cost you more than money if that hit the deck.”

“I just didn’t mean to-”

“-It was an accident. Don’t worry about it.”

“Please let me carry it.”

“We’re nearly there now.”

“So let me carry it.”

“You’re not one of those macho men, are you?”

“You paid for it, so it’s the least I can do.”

“As long as that’s you’re reasoning, I suppose it’s fine. I don’t need people to carry my shit just because.” Approaching the vehicle, Freya opened the driver’s door and poked her head in and her hand rested on the cold metal of the roof. “We got freebies, let’s go and eat together.”

George looked up from his phone and frowned. “Who’s up there?”

“Dunno, but she’s gonna be hangry if we don’t hurry up.”

“I thought you had a paper?”

“I do, but I can spare an hour to eat with my friends.” Joy instantly lighting his face, George sprung from the car and made a dash around the front of the vehicle.

Watching his friend prance down the dark side-street, Nikolaj tilted his head at the unusual spring in the taller man’s step. “He seems happy.”

“That’s right, you haven’t met Dom, have you?” The man carrying the box shook his head and Freya smirked. “You’re in for multiple surprises.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He walked step for step with the blonde beside him as George held open a heavy-duty, wrought iron outer-door at the side of a nightclub.

“Depends,” flicking the end of her cigarette into the narrow road, she glanced up. “Are you a stick in the mud?”

Nikolaj frowned at the question, or maybe the look on the woman’s face as she asked it; it could have even been that he didn’t understand the saying. As soon as the pair had got into the dank ground floor landing, their shared friend had dashed up the steps and around the next lot within a few seconds. Converse squeaked on damp stairs as the tallest ran ahead.

“Is it supposed to be a race or something?”

“No, you’ll understand when you see the way he looks at her.” Brushing stray precipitation off her arms and hair, Freya yelled after the apparent adult. “Georgie, be careful. The last time you ran up these steps you slipped and fucked up your shin on the broken lino.” The words were promptly followed by a squeak, shriek, and then a whine.

Shielding closed eyes with her left hand, Freya huffed. “You silly twat, you did it again, didn’t you?”

 

Updated: 3rd August 2020 - 20:47