There were three-- four of them, maybe. Peter wasn't sure how many he had lost and how many had joined the small mob that were on his heels. It was raining, the water felt more like ice on Peter's skin as he sprinted past a shallow body of water on the pavement, soaking through his suit pants and leather shoes.
This was the desert, wasn't it? Why was it raining? Why now, why at this time of all the times it had to be raining. But of course, maybe it was for the best that it was. It came down hard, pounding into the cement, sending harsh shivers down Peter's spine as it hit him in the face and filled his mouth.
"Shit," He growled, slamming straight into a fence that had manifested only seconds ago. It was so hard to see. There was no other way out of the alleyway. He could hear the men yelling, howling like bloodhounds who had a hot trail. Peter scrambled on top of the dumpster and hurled himself over the fence, falling straight onto one of his elbows with a yelp. Now warm blood was bleeding down the elbow of his suit, pulsating with pain with every heartbeat drumming through his ear.
He heard the men enter the alley way and felt the himself inhale sharply. They yelled at him, seeing his grey figure standing on the other side of the fence, nursing his arm with round, dark eyes leering at them. Immediately, Peter turned and ran, realizing he had wondered into a familiar neighborhood.
But before that, the night had been calm. There was no rain, but there were a few heavy clouds in the sky that swallowed up the moon as Peter entered a bar. It wasn't the typical slimy shops that seemed to be seeded through every neighborhood in this city, but a rather well established joint. The men were dressed well and the cigar smoke in the air did not reek of cheap quality. It was the perfect place to land a couple of bucks.
Peter had sat down the bar and ordered himself a drink. He sat there with the glass to his lips and his head pointed in the direction of the pool table. There, a couple of men were playing a game. They were friends, possibly co workers as well, drinking and having a good time. When the time was right, Peter approached the fellas, a mouth full of sharp white teeth and a certain swagger about him that had the men exchange looks with one another when Peter asked to join them in a game.
It started out as one, then a few. Peter spoke when prompted; never too much or too little, painting an elaborate story about himself. The other men grew comfortable around him. Some of them were a couple of blue collars, nothing extravagant. The others were a couple of business men and their associates having a casual night out together. Peter decided to play himself off as one of their own, mimicking their lingo and fabricating his own stories about troubles in the office and characters that came in and out of his door. As they spoke, Peter had came to the decision that Kenneth, a stout man with a long face and too much gel in his hair would make an easy target. He was the type of man who talked loud and often about himself, building up his appearance in front of his friends to make him seem more important than others and often looking down at his peers, which screamed insecurity about him. He had a constant need to prove himself to others and Peter was going to seize him by the throat for it.
As they played a couple games, a pattern was occurring. Kenneth would win and Peter would place second. Each and every time, Kenneth would grin wildly, pumping his fist and looking smugly at Peter as he feigned some kind of disappointment on his face.
"That's the second time in a row, good game," Peter congratulated, shaking the mans hand. The heavy man chortled at Peter, making a bold statement that it had been too easy. But what he didn't know was setting him up was even easier.
"Well if you're feeling confident about your winning streak, then why don't we make things more interesting? Place a bet, winner takes all," Peter stated, meeting his gaze.
The older man turned slowly to face Peter with a thin smile.
"What?" He asked. Peter knew that he had heard him.
"If you're not too confident with your skills, that's fine. Beginner's luck comes and goes..." Peter continued, nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders.
That made the long faced man's cheeks burn a furious red. His friends guzzled down their beers to muffle their snickering in the background. His jaw flexed as he glanced around the room and then slammed his fist onto the table, crumpling a twenty dollar bill.
"If you want to lose so badly again, then fine," The man snarled. Too easy. It took everything in Peter not to smirk as he placed a twenty on the table as well.
They played another match just between the two. Peter lost. The man was thrilled, laughing loud and obnoxiously as he raked in Peter's bill and put it in his pocket. Peter did not leave with his tail tucked. He demanded a rematch, throwing more money into the bet this time, around a hundred dollars. The man, high on his recent winning, blindly agreed, throwing the same amount on the table. Peter lost again. The man and his friends were all laughing now. Peter's wallet was becoming skinny and the man's ego had grown fat like himself.
"I think it's best you go home boy and wipe the egg off your face..." Kenneth suggested, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hairy hand. Peter wasn't particularly bothered by this comment, it was expected of course. But he played up the energy in the room, breathing deeply, coiling and uncoiling his fists as he fished into his pockets.
"I want a rematch. Right now," Peter said, taking everything out of his wallet and throwing it on the table. There was three hundred dollars there. The men paused and looked up at each other. They thought Peter had gone mad.
"C'mon, you have to. My old lady's gunna be pissed if she finds out I gambled my pay away."
"She's gunna want to have nothing to do with you if she sees you throwing that kind of money around," One of the men mumbled, gesturing to the bills on the table.
"C'mon, pal. What do you have to lose?" Peter prompted, looking at the man who appeared hesitant with him.
"It'd be too easy," Kenneth replied ignorantly.
"Then put your money where your mouth is and prove it. If you think you're so damn good, why don't you raise the stakes even higher?" Peter challenged, which had done exactly what he wanted. The man's face turned red again and he cursed at Peter, telling him not to go crying when he had to return to his wife with nothing in his pockets. He threw five hundred dollars on the table, which Peter scoffed at. His goading had prompted the man's friends to step in, throwing more cash onto the table until they pooled in nine hundred dollars all together. It wasn't about winning or losing anymore, but a man's reputation on the line. Now the men were eager to tear Peter down, teach him a lesson for being so damn greedy to begin with.
But as soon as the game began, they realized they had made a terrible mistake. They discovered that every game Peter had played with them and Kenneth had been mere child's play, that he was just loafing around to gauge their skills. Peter easily kicked Kenneth to the curb, playing with precision they had never seen before. As Peter knocked the last ball into, he looked up and smiled sweetly at them.
"Good game."They all stood there in silence as Peter grabbed the money and stuffed it into his pants. As Peter began to droan on that he should head home before his fictional wife would worry, Kenneth blew up, slamming his fists into the table, causing everyone in the bar to jitter nervously and turn their heads towards them.
"You're a fucking crook! You set me up!" He snarled, pointing one of his stubby fingers in Peter's face.
Peter didn't flinch at the remark or the violent gestures. His eyes grew wide, looking shocked at the accusation. He chuckled and glanced at the other stoney faced men.
"Now, now. There's no need to be making those kinds of statements. It was a fair game. We all saw what happened. How about I buy you fellas a round of beers and we call it a day?""Fuck you. I'll fucking kill you. You piece of shit--" The man lunged at Peter, but his friends grabbed his shoulders and restrained him. Peter held his smile, gracefully taking a step back and placing the stick back on the wall. It looked like it was his time to leave. He dipped his head and bid the men a farewell, mentioning he had to make a call before heading out. He could feel their eyes piercing through them as he made his way to the back of the bar, down the hall towards the payphones and the washrooms. He neglected to make any kind of call and instead disappeared into the bathroom, where he could hear the angered men all waiting outside in the hall way, Kenneth still screaming how he had been conned, that he was going to wring Peter's neck and punch out all his teeth.
But seconds past and then minutes and the men soon realized that Peter was not coming out, so they marched in and found no one there. The rain was pouring in through the small window that was left open.
And that's where Peter was left off, running blindly into the rain with the men just a few feet behind him, trying to shake them. After he jumped the fence, it hit him where he was now. He was in Sophie's neighborhood, a beautiful blonde girl he had met not too long ago. Someone who he tried to play the same tricks on, but she was not as innocent and oblivious as she appeared to be. In fact, Peter quickly learned that they were very much a part of the same world, the one full of violence and money and greed and blood, which had become the glue of their relationship.
He was very familiar with the street. He had walked down these sidewalks more than a dozen times, dropping Sophie home when she insisted that she needed someone to accompany her. The city was dangerous and was not safe for a girl to walk alone in, at least that is what she said. But there had been times where they merely walked around the block-- one, twice, sometimes three times, like sophie was not ready to go home just yet--her hand on his arm as they talked, sharing stories which Sophie always enjoyed to hear.
Peter recognized the back of her house, despite the weather making it difficult to navigate. He could see a her window, but it was pitch black. Was she home? The entire house was swallowed in darkness, appearing as though it was completely vacant. Still, he was desperate and needed to get out of this weather immediately. Eventually, the men were going to outrun him if he kept up with this, so he jumped the fence and climbed the gazebo that was just below her window. Frantically while looking back, he tapped on her window. There was no response. He could hear the men shouting and the echoes of their steps down the street. They said they could see something standing on the gazebo. Peter looked back and tapped more urgently this time and finally, the window opened.
He practically jumped in before Sophie could slowly call out his name. Thankfully for him, her arms grabbed at him, assisting him inside where he immediately fell into a plush, white duvet cover. Gasping and shaking from exhaustion and the bitter rain, Peter's eyes flew open as he felt her hand on his face, her palms spreading their warmth against his clammy skin.
"Peter...What's wrong? What are you doing here?" The chattering in his mouth refrained him from answering her right away. He stared into her blue eyes and immediately felt a jolt of pain in his elbow, forcing his other hand to reached out and hold it. His face pinched with pain and he grimaced, but forced himself to open an eye to look at her again.
"A...minor mishap has happened...." He chuckled nervously, flashing a smile which immediately broke as he gripped his elbow again with a low groan. He would have just left it as that, not wanting to worry Sophie about the mishap, but then there was a heavy, furious knock from the front door that Peter could hear. It made him sit up right and shoot a look in the direction before looking at Sophie. Fuck. It looked like they had seen him climb into the window.
"Sophie," Peter addressed quickly.
"Whatever you do, don't answer the door." He said, vaguely again. He thought maybe they would give up and leave, that the situation would die down before he ever had to actually drag Sophie into his problems. He was used to dealing with them on his own, not relying on others to fix it, especially not someone like Sophie who he didn't believe was equipped in doing something like that. But the pounding only grew worse, more violent, so much that he swore that they were trying to kick down the damn door. He closed his eyes and sighed. Fuck, this was a bad idea, definitely not his greatest decision. He crawled off the bed and looked at Sophie.
"It's okay, I got this-- I just..." He trailed off, gears working in his mind to decide what his best options were. Going back out the window wasn't an option anymore. He didn't want them breaking in, thinking Sophie was his wife, potentially hurting her. It crossed him as strange that he even thought that, he wasn't one to be considerate about other people. He was usually happy to shed his problems onto others, but not her.
NOTES: f u | WORDS: too many as always what's new | OUTFIT: soaking wet suit
