Would You Like Some Sugar With That Wound?
Chapter Three: Clutch?
At three o'clock in the morning Ameya woke to the sound of someone trying to beat her door down. Groaning, she got up and stumbled towards the locked front door. She quickly unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open, not bothering to look and see who it was. Standing before her was tall, lanky, blonde male, a trucker hat covering his eyes, nervously smoking a cigarette.
"Meyas, baby, hey." He pulled the smoke from between his lips and let it fall to the ground, crushing it with his bare foot, leaving a little burn hole in the carpet outside her door and most likely on his foot.
"Uhm, who are you?" Ameya asked causing the male to twist his cap around backwards.
"I can't believe you forgot about your big ol' brother." he said, an annoying grin donning his face.
"Clutch?" she smirked and took in his appearance, "I thought you would've been in jail by now. And where are your shoes?" Clutch shrugged pointlessly and stepped past Ameya.
"So, didja miss me?" Clutch asked nervously, touching all the pictures frames on the wall on his way towards the living room.
"A little, what do you want?" She asked watching him anxiously play with the window blinds.
"I heard you had a kid while I was gone, thanks for tellin' me." Clutch mumbled, somewhat bitterly, dragging his bare tanned feet across the carpet.
"Yeah, well, I wasn't sure who you were running with at the time or how many crack dealers you ripped off." Ameya shot back, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Heard you've been chatting with Sethie Zamora," Clutch fell onto the couch and watched for Ameya's reaction.
"It depends on your definition of 'chatting'." She said, sitting down next to his feet.
"Yelling at someone across the street, that's as chatty as you get." Another grin slid across his face.
"We weren't across the street."
"Anyway, the point is, I've heard some bad shit is going to go down around here. You should probably take Seth up on his offer. Get out the country for awhile, is this apartment in your name?" he took an appraising look at his little sister.
"How stupid do you think I am?" Ameya snapped, leaning forward a little and shoving his feet off the couch.
"Pretty stupid, actually," Clutch immediately lifted his dirty feet back onto the couch.
"Is that all you have to tell me? Just get out the country for awhile?" she received a nod as Clutch patted his jean pockets. "What're you doing?"
"I thought I had some cigarettes still, maybe I don't. I can't remember." Clutch shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. "You know, I'd go with you." He mumbled off handedly.
"What?" Ameya tucked some hair behind her ear.
"I'd go with you." He said, slightly more clearly, his bright blue eyes staring into her brown ones.
"You'd help Seth? Are you high?" Clutch shrugged and looked up at the ceiling.
"Not more than usual." He proceeded to try and count the ceiling tiles.
"Clutch, stick with me here. Why would you want to help Seth?" she knelt in front of the Clutch and watched him carefully.
"I don't know really." He sounded calm, sober, but Ameya doubted its innocence, "I think I wanna just hang out with you. I haven't seen you for two years. I don't know the kid I'm an uncle to. I wanna be around, a little, I guess." His eyes were still hooked to the off-white ceiling.
"Then hang out here awhile. We don't need to go trotting off with Seth."
"Yeah, I don't know, did I tell you some bad shit was going to happen around here?" he was distracted, which in essence could have been a million things. However, the culprit was most likely whatever drug had found its way into Clutch's body.
"Yeah, Clutch, you wanna stay here for tonight?" Ameya had always played the big sister role in their relationship, even though Clutch was three and half years older. He'd proved at various points in his life, that he needed someone to take care of him, constantly.
"Nope," suddenly, Clutch rolled himself off the couch and stood up. "I have to leave now." He wrapped his little sister in a big hug and pulled a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, "I'll see you on the plane." He anxiously placed the cigarette between his lips and fumbled around for a lighter.
"What plane?" Ameya asked, even though he was halfway out the door.
"I'll see you then, Meyas baby." He called, leaving the door wide open in his wake. She watched him disappear down the staircase. Groaning Ameya slammed her door after him and sat down on the floor under the picture frames.
Clutch lit his smoke and leaned against the wall of the corridor under the staircase. He rapped his fingers against the slightly sticky, pale yellow, wall behind him. After a few moments passed another figure joined him.
"How's it going, Clutch?" the shorter male asked, trying to keep the situation friendly and light.
"Dude, she's my sister that was low." Clutch exhaled a cloud of smoke over Seth's head.
"She's not your sister. You're her mother's second marriage's kid who also came from another marriage and whom she ended up divorcing in the end. Legally, you guys are nothing, and you're no longer morally obligated to her." Seth kept a cold façade in front of Clutch, when in reality he was worried Clutch would lean down and deck him.
"Either way, it was still low. You shouldn't have to bug Meyas house to make sure you know her little plan. It's Meya; we both know what she's going to do." Another plume of smoke swirled above Seth's head.
"I just want to stay informed, is all. Make sure that dick of a boyfriend doesn't get in the middle or talk her out of it." His fingers ran over the tiny screen on the inside of his oversized jacket.
"Yeah, well, I just think you're playing with fire, and let's be honest, Ameya could kick your ass if she wanted to." Clutch let the smoke crawl lazily from his open mouth as he dropped the cigarette to the ground and stomped on it. "Just watch it, alright? I have a feeling you're going to really screw it up." Clutch's blue eyes blazed through Seth as he stalked down the hallway and out the door, running into a guy with a laminated ID card, which fell onto the floor. Shining up at the two young adults was a picture of Griffin. Clutch looked down, hitched his chin up in an effort of a greeting.
"You got a cool chick, dude," he mumbled, acting like the stereotypical Californian surfer, a feat he could get away with because of his looks, "Tell her to call me when she gets back." He grinned and closed his fist, then let his thumb and pinky out and shook his hand from side to side, "Hang ten, dude." Maybe it was because a little bit of Seth Zamora had rubbed off on him, that he felt the need to make Griffin a little suspicious.
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