Gangsta’

Written by Jia Zhang

A knock on the door.

He goes to open it. Outside, it was raining.

A pitiful pair of blue eyes smile at him sadly. His mouth twists in anger and disgust; his eyes quiver.

“What the fuck do you want?”

The blue eyes shudder. “I wanted to talk…”

“I have nothing to talk to you about, you fucking freak.”

“Please, Damien—”

“I told you to leave me alone! I—” A pained moment of silence, loud and thunderous. “I’m not a fucking fag! So just leave me the hell alone!”

“B-But Da—”

The door is shut with a loud slam.

He crashes to the ground, eyes staring plainly at the wooden floor. He placed a trembling hand on the door. He hears a quiet sob, and then footsteps that slowly frayed into oblivion.

He sits there on the ground for a long time, saying nothing, thinking nothing, feeling nothing, being nothing.

He didn’t break. There was nothing left to break. Without another word, he stood up and went into the kitchen.

II.

Julian met Damien by accident.

They did not go to the same school, or were they from the same part of the city. They were from completely different worlds, with completely different lives. The chances of them meeting were very low—but nonetheless, they did.

Julian had been downtown to visit his sister; on the way, a couple of thugs beat him up, and stole all of his money. They left him on the sidewalk, bleeding.

Sitting on the dirty ground, Julian was in desperate pain. That is when Damien passed by. He saw Julian on the edge of an alley way, and decided to help.

Julian would always be very grateful to him for that. Julian would always be grateful to God for that day.

It was raining that day too. Now, every time it rains, Julian remembers that day—the sound of Damien’s voice, the colour of his hazelnut orb, the feel of his chocolate skin as he helped him up. Later on he would remember the rain for something completely different.

“Hey, kid, you okay?”

III.

Monique was ten years younger than her older brother Damien.

It was always just the two of them, and their mother. And because their mother worked a lot (as a nurse downtown in the hospital), Damien took care of her the most.

Monique rarely liked any of her brother’s friends—they all dressed funny, talked funny, smelled funny, and looked funny. She thought them mean and scary; a little girl, Monique was at a very impressionable age.

It wouldn’t be till she was in her teens that she realized what kind of men her brother was associated with.

But Monique liked Julian—she liked the fact that he and her brother were friends, very good friends. They looked very different, but they seemed to always get along. They practiced music together all the time—piano and violins resonated through their little apartment when Julian was around.

Julian was nice too. He’d always bring her something sweet when he visited. He smelled liked lavender when she’d hug him. He was a very beautiful man—something she realized as a child, and realized even more as an adult.

He had golden blonde hair that radiated like the sun; a pair of sparkling, ocean blue eyes; and clear, creamy skin. Sometimes, Julian reminded Monique of a doll.

When she was much, much older, with grandchildren, Monique would smile and tell stories of her life in the Bronx—how good it was, how bad it was, and of all the things she remembered.

She would them all about Julian—and what it meant to love, no matter how much it hurt.

When she was older, Monique would always regret not telling that to her brother.

IV.

“Yo, Damien. Who was that guy I saw you with the other day?”

“A friend.”

“Oh? Really? Ya don’t see many white dudes like that around here. Jesus! What he was wearing! Is he rich or something, ‘cause he was driving a freaky Porsche!”

“Maybe.”

“Ah, c’mon, you can tell your ol’ pal Teddy.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Fine, fine. So how didya and that kid make friends?”

“He got beat up by Razor’s men.”

“You kiddin’? And he lived? Whoa…”

“He only got cut; not stabbed. I found him in the alley, and took him to the hospital. I dunno, after that we just hung out a couple of times. He plays the violin.”

“Lemme guess, lemme guys. Piano and violin, right? Jesus, are you boring sometimes. I’ve never met a brother like you, you know.”

“I know.”

“So, wanna go to Lenny’s later? Chantel will be there…”

“Sorry. Piano practice—I’m meeting Julian.”

“Ah, c’mon. Chanty will be so fucking pissed again—you’ve been ditching her a lot, you know.”

“I know. I’m sorry about that—got things to do, you know. But tell her I’ll call her later. I gotta go now—I’ll see you later, Teddy.”

“Sure, sure…sure, sure…Later…”

V.

There were two major gangs in the Bronx—at least, to Teddy they were big.

The Skins and the Blades, they were called. One lead by Andre “Razor” Walters; and the other by Dennis “The Demon” Norman. Both had meanings for their names.

Andre Walters was the oldest son of four—father deceased, mother works at a diner. Andre used to be part of another gang before forming his own (The Blades). He used to hustle as a kid on the streets of Brooklyn, before getting into the drug business. He gained the name “Razor” because he always carried a razor blade with him—it was his trademark.

Dennis, or Denny, Norman, middle child of five, grew up with a drunken father, and an druggie mom on the other side of the Bronx. When he was ten, Denny met Jacko Jamison, the former leader of the Skins. He showed Denny the ropes, and eventually, after Jacko was sent to jail for beating up and killing his girlfriend, Denny took his place. People called Denny “The Demon” because whenever he got into fights, he was truly like a demon—with fearsome eyes, and a powerful build.

Teddy was the neutral guy—an informant sometimes for the cops, despite having an affiliation with both gangs.

The Skins and the Blades did not like each other very much—to the say least—and Teddy knew that they’d fight it out sometime soon. And when they did, it was going to be bad.

So, Teddy tried to stay out of it as much as he could—the same, though, couldn’t be said for Damien. After all, he was dating Denny’s little sister Chantel.

And Teddy knew that was going to get Damien into some major shit in the future.

Of course, Teddy never knew just how much Damien would have to lose.

VI.

“You like him.”

Julian looked at Vivienne strangely.

“What? What are you talking about, Vi?”

“You like that guy Damien.”

Julian shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t like Damien—we’re friends. That’s it.”

Vivienne smirked at her little brother. “I see the way you look at him. You like him. A lot. Hell, I’d say you love him if I knew better.”

“No, I don’t. Besides, he has a girlfriend.”

“So?”

“SO! He’s straight.”

“Right.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing. But he’s got some Blue in him, I can tell.”

“Right, the straight woman can tell…”

“Hey, I’m your sister, remember…I know these things.”

“Whatever.”

A smirk. “See. You like him. Just admit him. He probably has a thing for you too. Otherwise he wouldn’t be spending so much time with you over his girlfriend.”

“Right…Whatever.”

Vivienne smiled a little. “You so like him.”

VII.

Chantel only met Julian once—when she stopped by Damien’s place one day, completely unannounced. She hadn’t seen him for a while, and thought he’d be glad that she’d popped in.

Julian answered the door—Damien had been on the piano.

It had been a very awkward afternoon—Chantel would try to make conversation with Damien, but he seemed much more enthralled in discussing things with Julian.

Chantel would be lying if she said she wasn’t jealous.

She was. Very much so.

She didn’t like Julian—she didn’t like the way he looked at Damien. There was something about that look that seemed odd—that wasn’t right.

And what was worse was the look Damien would return.

Leaving that afternoon, Chantel knew that something was going on—something that she didn’t like, and she was determined to find out what was going on.

Because Chantel liked Damien very much. He was a rarity among the men in their area. He was kind, with a future, and very good looking. Chantel liked everything about Damien—from the first moment she met him (care of a casual meeting through Teddy), she knew that he was the one.

Only a week later, they started dating.

Everything was going great—until Julian showed up, and then Damien devoted all of his attention to him.

Chantel wasn’t happy about this. She wasn’t happy at all. She had to get Julian out of their lives. She had to. Because she loved Damien too, too much to see him…with someone else.

And she wasn’t the type to give up without a fight.

VIII.

Tongues battled for possession, mouths hot and sweaty, they were entangled in a mess. He was invisible in the dark, and he stood out like the moon in the night sky. They were completely contrasting, completely opposite—ying and yang; they made each other complete. He ran his dark hands across the white flesh, tracing every little bit of the lover beneath him, chuckling as he heard him moan in pleasure. He sucked at smooth, alabaster skin, kissing lips, touching, holding, embracing. He was consumed with need, dominated by desire. He heard him gasp as he slid inside—he was warm, hot, sweaty, dripping with passion. He heard him cry out; he told him to be still—he moved, slowly, hauntingly, patient as a tiger hunting his prey. His lover cried out in pleasure, calling his name over and over and over, over and under and over again—nails digging into his back, drawing blood. But he didn’t care—he was whole; he was complete. He moved with delicate care as he drew in, and out, and in and out and in, out, in, out, till he was completely delirious, and lost of control and sensibility. This was love—this was perfection, and within the dark womb of the night, they embraced, holding on to each other desperately, afraid that the other would fade forever if they parted. In this moment, they were one. They were whole.

IX.

Denny punched him across the face—hard, till he bruised into a plum.

Denny the Demon chuckled as he circled the man on the ground. A group of fourteen lined in a circled around them.

“You dicky little piece of shit.”

He laughed, as Damien got up—and punched him across the face again, hitting him on the back as he attempted to get back.

“Hahaha…you fucking piece of shit!” Another punch.

“I’d never thought I’d get a fucking fag in my ranks.” He shakes his head mockingly.

Damien says nothing. He shakes as the Demon circles him hungrily.

“You fucker. You fucking piece of shit.” A punch, and punch, punch, punch, punch, punch.

“Got nothing to say you fag! Huh!” Blood splatters on the ground, painting a Pollock pattern.

Slowly, Damien gets up—“I…m…not…”

“Your not what? Not a fucking fag!” Punch and blood. “Not according to Chantel, you aren’t!”

“I’m NOT!”

With one hand, the Demon drags Damien up from the ground. “You better not be. If you dare to fuck over my little sister, I’ll fucking beat you into shit. And kill that fucking little white fag.”

He dropped Damien from his hands, and the gang departs.

Damien spits up blood on the ground.

X.

Julian would not accept it. He would not accept what Damien said.

He would not accept it—because accepting what he said would be accepting that everything had been lies. That what they felt was a lie. That their love was a lie.

Julian could not accept that.

So, even after what Damien said—all those poisonous words, all those cuts and bruises.

No, Julian didn’t believe him.

So, as Julian waiting for the R-22 downtown to the Bronx, he thought of all the things they have said, everything they felt, and all the things they will say.

Julian smiled. It was raining.

He had so much to tell Damien.

Like just how much he loved him.

fin

Author's Note: This was an idea I had been playing around with for over a year, and I finally wrote it done. I'm really happy with how it turned out, and I really enjoy the melancholic atmosphere. This style is usually not one that I write in, but I like it. This story is based on true events, and are dedicated for two people who I care for very much.