[Hobie and his neighbor R/n accidently get thrown into jail (their just in Holding) after an incident, R/n was going over to Hobie’s flat to yell at him to turn down the music, while they’re arguing a woman comes rushing down the hall almost knocking R/n down.
the woman drops her bag in the process and R/n picks up the bag (Despite Hobie telling her not to touch it.) And calls out to the woman only for a scary amount of drugs & money to fall out of the bag, Next thing they knew, R/n and a facepalming Hobie were surrounded by Bobbies and hauled to jail for suspicion of robbery and drug smuggling.
the police chief believes that they’re innocent, R/n knowing how Hobie acts around the police, made sure he kept his mouth shut while they were questioned. but until they can get the footage from the building crappy cameras the two are stuck there. While they’re moping about it the chief’s wife comes in and while hugging her husband the wife looks at the guard standing in front of Hobie and R/n’s cell with bedroom eyes she blows him a kiss and winks.
Hobie snorts trying stifle a laugh while R/n’s jaw drops at boldness of the wife. Their guard smirks gives the wife a little nod than stands up a bit straighter when the Chief, completely unaware, turns to look at the stunned detainees and assures them they’ll be out soon.
Cut to an hour later Hobie and R/n are watching their guard and the chief’s wife vigorously making out in full view of their cell.]
Chief’s Wife: *breathless* Aron stop!
Guard *aka Aron*: Melissa you’re trembling, what’s wrong?
Melissa: Ian’s getting getting suspicious! You know he’s been asking questions at the gentlemen’s club! We have to get out of here!
*Hobie rolls his eyes as R/n follow them completely enthralled.*
Aron: … And say goodbye to all that money? I don’t think so.
*grabs Melissa’s hands*
Aron: We just need to bide our time.
Melissa: *slaps Aron hands away* How can I trust you Aron? when you haven’t even told Charlene about us yet?!
Aron: *appalled* have a heart Mellissa, the woman’s still in a coma!
*Melissa scoffs and looks away, R/n’s jaw drops, Hobie couldn’t care less.*
R/n, whispering in disbelief: a coma?
{Cue Ian walking in, Aron runs to the break room.}
Ian: Hi Honey! *Melissa smiles innocently at him*
Ian: *dropping the nice act* I just got back from the ambassador’s office, he thinks he going to kill our little real estate deal...
Melissa: We can’t let him do that, what about those pictures of him and that male escort?
Ian: There on their way to the news papers right now... We’re gonna destroy the old bastard!
Melissa: Perfect, Now all we have to worry about is Old man Jenkins... Maybe we should send your friend Eric to pay him a visit?
[They giggle to each other as another officer brings in a man who looked homeless, the man hurries into the cell and stands next to R/n excited.]
Vagabond: What did I miss?
*Hobie shakes his head*
[later, R/n and her new friend are enticed listening to Ian tell Melissa a tragic story of his past, while Hobie stares at cell wall seemingly in his own little world.]
Ian:... And as I pulled her from the wreckage, She was so..*chokes up* d-disfigured, that I didn’t even know... It was my own sister! *breaks down crying*
Melissa: Don’t worry, Dimitri is the finest reconstructive surgeon in the world!
R/n: *whisper* Who’s Dimitri?
Vagabond: *whisper* He’s the head doctor at central Medical, him and Melissa had an affair last year then he-
Ian” SHUT UP IN THERE!
*R/n and the vagabond jump away from the bars startled, as Ian breaks down crying again.*
[later.]
Melissa, to Aron and Ian: We can still pull this off!
Aron: You’ll never get passed the DNA test Melissa, Even you’re lies aren’t going to be enough this time!
Ian: But Aron If you didn’t buy the mining rights, Than who did?
Aron: Don’t either of you see what’s going on? the perpetrator who bought the mining rights, is the same person who stole Ms. Margret’s diamond brooch,
*R/n and the vagabond look at each other slack-jawed, Hobie pretending to nap cocks a brow.*
Aron:...They're also the same person who framed Nathan for Andre's murder that horrid night! And that person’s name is...
Prison Guard: Okay Missy you and Your buddy are free to go.
R/n: Awww...
Hobie: *jumps off the cot outraged*What?!
Prison Guard: Move it.
[R/n complies while dragging a protesting and struggling Hobie behind her.]
Hobie: No! Five more minutes, You can’t just do this to me now! dammit!
R/n: C’mon... Brown, Don’t make this harder than it has to be.
Hobie: It was the Ambassador right? or Thurston?! No no The janitor...Wait no he’s Ian’s amnesic brother! Ekk!
*He gets yanked out the office by one of the guards, while Ian, Melissa and Aron look at him like he's insane.*
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Chapter Twenty-Four (Part 2)
We meet Claire’s friends in the upstairs lounge of a swanky bar on George’s Street. I never came to these kinds of places while I was still the going-out type, mainly because they were too expensive, but also because Marnie and Fiona would have disapproved.
“The girls who go into bars like that,” Marnie had said to me before, “Are the same kinds of girls who, like, know about the Kardashians and wear peplum tops,” She was talking about Claire, really, because she liked to prod her fingers around in the distasteful fact that I was friends with someone so completely opposite to the way that she was, and as I recall the memory I realise guiltily that Claire is wearing a peplum top tonight. As I watch her strut towards the bar to buy cocktails for the table I feel bad. I never agreed with Marnie, but I never defended Claire either, but it was just like that back then, I don’t think I ever really said much of anything to rock the boat.
“Your hair is lovely,” Jaz says to me into the dead space that accompanies the loss of our person-in-common. “It’s gotten really long since I saw you last.”
“Hm. Yeah,” I wind a strand of it around a finger, “I suppose it’s been a good while since we’ve hung out.” I’m not sure that we ever really hung out though. Jaz and Serena were often in the apartment but I’m having trouble recalling a single time when we actually sat and had a conversation.
She says something else that I can’t hear. The music is loud and thumping, but I don’t bother asking her to repeat it, so I just smile and nod, which seems good enough for her. She and Serena want to talk to each other anyway, and that’s what they do until Claire returns. I stare out the window over the roofs of Georgian Dublin and think about Jude and what he’s doing and how I wish I was in Berlin instead.
When the barman comes to whisk away our empty glasses Serena stops him and offers to buy the next round.
“No thanks,” I say, “I think that one is enough,” And I mean it, because the last one was too sweet and too strong and cost an eye-watering seventeen euro that I’ll never get back.
“Oh, go on,” She says, “We’re all having one.”
“No, seriously, it’s fine, I’m actually grand.”
“I can get it. On me?”
“No, it’s-” I clear my throat uncomfortably, “I’m trying not to drink that much honestly, I got a really bad hangover when we were in Cyprus and it’s kind of put me off.”
“I can get you a pint of water too?”
“Maybe a water without the cocktail, though.”
She shrugs, “Alright,” though she’s not acting like it’s alright. She’s acting like not wanting to drink is a really weird thing to want to do which kind of makes me want to shrivel up and die.
“Are you kind of gone off drinking?” She queries once she’s ordered, “I just remember before you loved going out and stuff.”
“Yeah I went out a lot at one stage, I suppose, but I don’t really do it that much anymore.”
“I just remember,” She grins and nudges Jaz, “That time that we were over at Shane’s old house for a party and you showed up really late and then immediately fell asleep in the bath.”
“Oh yeah!” Jaz says, “It was so funny, everyone was bursting to go to the toilet and we couldn’t get in or wake you, do you remember Claire, we were banging on the door for ages, and then one of the lads had to go in the bushes outside!”
Claire grimaces, “Yeah, kind of.”
I am horrified. I don’t remember that at all. I remember being invited to Shane’s birthday party and that I spent half the evening in some dingy bar in Phibsborough with my college friends beforehand, but I had no idea that I had passed out in the bath for any period of time. I’m so embarrassed that I don’t know what to say.
“Oh,” I say, “Yeah I think I remember that, that was pretty stupid I suppose.”
Claire jumps in quickly, “It wasn’t stupid, it was fine, I think you were just, well, I don’t know. Nobody cared that much, it was just a funny thing that happened. Serena, I didn’t hear when you ordered, which cocktail did you get for me this time?”
I sink into the cushioned seats in the booth and stare down at my legs because it’s easier than looking at anything else. God, I think, I’m so fucking stupid. Nobody else does stupid things in the same way that I do. I can’t believe that I’ve even done stupid things that I can’t remember, things that other people probably talk about when I’m not there. I sit consumed in the anxiety of it, imagining the extent of the horrors of what those things might conceivably be. Claire reaches out and subtly squeezes my hand and it is warm and steady, and she shows me that it doesn’t matter, or at least that she never cared about it in the first place.
I eventually do have another drink, then another, mainly because I can’t stop thinking of myself passing out in what I’ve now decided was a dirty bathtub, because it had to be. Shane lived with three boys and none of them ever cleaned up, so the chances of the bath having been scrubbed before I climbed into it is pretty close to nil. I like the feeling of being a bit drunk anyway, I always have, even when I was fourteen and sampling beer for the first time in some rural field it was something to lose myself in. When I’m drunk, for at least some period of time I’m not preoccupied with myself and the ways that I come across and whether the things I am saying are sufficiently interesting. In fact I don’t really think about the things I’m saying at all, which is liberating, even when Claire gently tells me that I am shouting a bit, which I’m not, I’m just being enthusiastic.
When Jaz comes back from the bathroom she tells us that there was a girl in the stall doing a bump of cocaine off her fingernail. She says this as though it’s juicy and scandalous, which I remind her that it is not, because she lives in Dublin, and probably everybody is doing cocaine anyway, but this makes her a bit defensive.
“I don’t do cocaine,” She says, “And I’ve never done it, I’ve never even seen it before now, so maybe you’re talking about a different kind of person to the ones I know.”
“You haven’t seen it because you haven’t been in the right places then,” I say, and try not to worry that she’s beginning to swim around in my vision like I’m viewing her through a tank at an aquarium. “Everyone is. Well, most people.”
She pats Serena’s knee, “Are you?”
“No, and I guarantee that Claire isn’t either. Why would any of us do something like that?”
“I suppose people find it a bit fun,” I shrug, which is probably the wrong thing to say because she scrutinises me. “Do you take it?”
“No,” I say, “Although, yes, once I did.”
“Up your nose?”
“Yeah.” Obviously. Where else did she think I put it?
Claire’s mouth drops open, “When?”
I wave my hand about vaguely, “Oh, ages ago, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter really.”
Jaz’s eyes are saucers, “What was it like?”
“Weird. It burned a bit, I suppose. It was really good for maybe ten minutes and then it was the worst thing ever. I never wanted to do it again after that.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Oh, I don’t remember. From a girl in my class, maybe, like it said it was ages ago.”
“Evie!” Claire is scandalised, “What would your mother say to this?”
“Nothing because she’ll never know about it,” I have the sudden urge to pee and raise myself onto unsteady feet, “Nobody actually probably would need to know about it. It’s a boring thing that happened to me ages ago and I don’t care about it anymore.”
“I think that’s mad,” says Serena, “But honestly out of all of us I’d have said you’re the most likely to do something like that.”
I paw around the booth for my phone which has become wedged between two seat cushions. “Would you have?”
“Yeah, I don’t know why though.”
“Is it because I seem a bit unhinged?”
Claire laughs uncomfortably, “You don’t.”
“It’s alright, I am a bit unhinged, I think,” I force a loose, easy laugh, and I see Serena grin, but I can’t tell anymore if I’ve made things weird by saying that. “There’s like, probably something wrong with me, but,” I throw up a peace sign, “In a cute way. Where’s the toilet?”
They tell me to go downstairs and I do, only to find a queue snaking out the door. I sigh deeply and join it, slumping heavily against the wall. I look at the glaringly bright screen of my phone to discover no new messages from Jude, which bothers me, so with heavy, lumpen thumbs I try to compose a message.
“Hey!” I exclaim as a passerby is shoved in my direction and bounces against my arm.
“Sorry about that,” they say, “Crowded.”
“Yeah.” And I glance up for a split second only to feel my blood turn cold, but it’s a false alarm. It always is, and it’s never him. I invent him, I see him everywhere, all of the time. He’s the jumbled face in the crowd, the man on the bus with his back to me who will turn his head and have me flood with relief, because it’s a stranger instead. I’m drunk now, I’m making things up, and I know that if I squeeze my eyes tightly and think of something else I’ll realise that this is just some kind of strange hallucination, a manifestation of my anxiety, and he will be another stranger in another bar.
Expect this time he is real.
“Oh, it’s you, Evie.”
I don’t even know what to say. I’m dumbfounded. Dean looks awful. Hair longer than it’s ever been, lank and greasy, tucked behind his ears and his face is a grey mask, bloodshot eyes sporting dark circles beneath them punctuated with broken blood vessels. He’s not well. I clench my teeth and I don’t say a word.
He waves his hand around in front of my face, “Earth to Evie, is anyone home?”
I inhale sharply through my nose. “Hi.”
“Didn’t think I’d see you here. I don’t see you around at all anymore, actually I was starting to think that maybe you’d moved out of Dublin.”
“Oh.”
“Did you drop out of college?”
I stare at him and he breaks into this nauseating lopsided grin like he believes in some world that he’s a charming man, “Woah, you’re chatty tonight.”
“I don’t have much to say.”
“Well you’re looking well, you look healthy.”
“Mm.”
His smile falters, “Are you pissed off at me or something? Have I done something?”
I’m incredulous. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean like, you seem a bit annoyed at me or something, or am I after picking that up wrong?” Somebody shoves past him from behind to get to the stairs and he has the audacity to lean his arm against the wall behind me to steady himself. I outwardly shudder at the nearness of him. The smell of cigarettes from his clothes invades my nostrils and it’s familiar in a hideous way, making me feel as though throwing up wouldn’t be off the table. I shrink away from him as much as I can, but it’s crowded. There aren’t many places to go, so I cling to my phone like it’s a life raft, as though somehow I’ll be okay as long as I have it heating up in my palm.
“Is that so?” I grit out. “Can’t really think of any reason why I might feel anything negative towards you.”
He sighs and shakes his head like this is all so silly, “Oh, come on like, I know that things went wrong but like, can we not be adults about it? Hook ups end all the time, I don’t know why you have to hold onto that, it’s not a big deal, it’s a pity you think we couldn’t be friends after the fact.”
I frown, “You think that we were just innocently hooking up and then it ended? That’s what you’re going to pretend was happening?”
“It’s grand, it just wasn’t a good match, we didn’t click, you know? I know that you’re young and you were a bit immature. You probably think something like that was a big deal, but it really wasn’t. That’s just how things are with adults, I thought we’d at least be normal around each other afterwards.”
“Are you serious? After everything that happened at-” I swallow hard against the lump in my throat and feel my control of the situation sliding, “-at Marnie’s pool party, you-”
“Hm? What party?” His eyes do a slow tour of my face, “At Marnie’s house? Was I there? When was that again?”
“Are you messing?”
“No,” He looks genuinely lost, “When was that party? I dunno if I was there, was I?”
“Jesus, Dean.” I try to wriggle further away from him, but a girl in the queue shrugs me off when I get too close to her and traps me there. “You were there, and so were Marnie and Fiona,” I say their names pointedly, as I really don’t think I should have to explain, but I didn’t expect the nostalgic, contented look that crosses his features. “Oh, yeah, Fiona, the brunette, she was nice. You know I hooked up with her too at a different point? We had a thing there in like, first year, maybe, and like she wasn’t all weird about it after, she was mature and we were still mates until she dropped out of NCAD…”
He keeps going on, but I don’t hear him anymore after that. I’m grappling with a new realisation, something I never anticipated in all the times I imagined this. During any of the nightmares I had about running into this man again, this was never a feature. It almost makes me want to burst out laughing with the horrible absurdity of it.
He doesn’t remember what he did to me.
He doesn’t remember the cruel things he said and did, it’s like it was all nothing. The things that wake me up at night and follow me around like a curse, cling to my psyche like glue, he can’t even recall what they are. That’s how little it all mattered to him. Actually, he thinks that I’m the one who is being unfair, he thinks that he’s the victim here, just because I’ve dared to be not-very-nice to him.
“Sorry,” I say, cutting off his monologue, “Can you let me through? I have to go.”
“What?”
“Um, I just need to…” I try to keep the tremors from my voice as he stares at me, but I stare back, right into his blown out pupils, and say again, “Please, I don’t want to be rude, I just have to go.”
He looks annoyed, “Do you not want to talk to me or something?”
I hesitate, “Well, I dunno, I just-”
“Am I not being nice? I thought I was being nice to you, am I not?”
“Yeah you’re being nice.”
“So what? Do you think you’re too good to talk to me now?”
“No, I don’t think that.”
“I dunno what’s wrong with girls now,” He is ranting. “You can’t just go up and have a normal conversation anymore, like they get all offended if you even look them in the eye or try to say hi.”
“Well I don’t know anything about that, I just-”
“You seem like you’re too stuck up to talk to me.”
“I’m not, it’s, like, nice to see you, I just have to go, I actually feel sick and I think I might throw up,” It’s a lie, but there’s a brief moment where I’m convinced it may actually come true judging by the way my body recoils when I move closer to him to force my way around.
He takes his arm away from the wall and moves away from me, out of the landing zone in case I decide to bring up the last four drinks and the microwave lasagne I had for dinner. Immediately I hurry away, through the crowd and up the stairs, but I don’t miss the last thing he mutters to himself, or perhaps even intended for me as I pass him.
“Stupid bitch.”
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