InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Gamera is really neat"

Caleb Ramsey (the_fix) wrote in cali_sl_rp,
@ 2008-09-15 21:50:00

Who: Caleb & Brooke
When: Monday PM - Tuesday AM
Where: S Bar - Ri Ra's Irish Pub - Caleb's apartment
Open: Why not?

Another night in this godforsaken city. Another night at S Bar. It wasn't that Caleb didn't like the bar -- there was a certain sense of smug "fuck you" satisfaction a person gets when they walk into a bar, and all the bartenders know their name. People think you're someone, or else they think you're an alcoholic, but eh, in LA does it really matter? Everyone has their dirty little secrets, their vices they indulge in too frequently. The usual suspects had been rounded up for the night. Blondie, Dylan, and Brooke, who had come...reluctantly, shall we say? Caleb smirked at her greeting "Hello asshole", outright laughed when she shoved him away as he attempted to dive in for an innocent kiss on the cheek. He teased her she was scared of not being able to stop at just a kiss, she gave him the finger and told him to go fuck himself. Ah, just like old times, hm? Dylan bought the first round of drinks. Then Blondie, then Brooke, then himself. He wasn't around when his turn came back again, since he'd ducked in the back of the bar, towards the pool tables and couches, where the music didn't scream in your ear and drown out your words. Where the skittish, dancing spotlights made it hard to make out the features of the person you were thisclose to. He made the mistake of letting his beer goggles guide him home the last time they came around. Turned out the woman who'd been grinding on him all night had been the fresh, jailbait age of 17. Ouch. In his defense, she'd been wearing enough make-up to be the spokesman for Sherman Williams, and her tits, uh -- her face didn't look underage. Caleb Ramsey was quite possibly the only person who'd ever defend R. Kelly. Minus the whole...bathroom olympics.

He nodded absently at the woman (emphasis on woman, emphasis on over 18) sitting near him, as she rambled on. She was incoherently, sloppy, drunk, and probably had no idea what she was saying. Her eyes were close to leaking tequila tears, and she kept rubbing his leg, telling him what a good listener he was, and he wasn't like the men in her life that used her. Like her ex-boyfriend, or the uncle that molested her when she was only thirteen -- what the fuck? Wait just a fucking minute. Caleb shook his head, brows furrowing together, and he leaned over, taking her hands in his, looking deeply into her eyes.

"You were molested?" A weepy nod. "That's awful." A pause. "So, you still put out right?"

Her jaw dropped as he slid off the couch, giving her a careless peck on the forehead. You know, when you get called an asshole so many times, it starts to sound like music to your bastard ears. He walked back to the bar, pushing aside the small crowd spread out, and it looked like he got here just in time. Right after the bell rang, signaling -- hm, what round would this be? Brooke vs Brady (when the fuck did he get here?); round 100. They were yelling at each other, causing the employees to signal for security, for other patrons to shift uncomfortably while still staring in unabashed glee. Caleb quickly stepped in, irritated that Blondie and Dyaln were too busy sucking each other's face off to pull damage control. Wrapping an arm around Brooke's waist, he pulled her back, muttering in her ear. "Easy, easy. Let's get outta here." When she strugged and gave him a glare, he eased away, loosening his grip, just a bit. "Look, I'm the lesser of the two evils. You KNOW, you can't trust me. But with Brady", a nod to her ex-whatever's way -- "if you turn around, he just might knife you in the back. At least with me, you'll be on your fucking toes. I know a place we can go to."

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brooklyntorres
2008-09-15 09:23 pm UTC (link)

One person could only handle so much, right? At least that's what she kept telling herself. Brooke had made it a point to cut out the middle men in her marriage, and Brady just so happened to be one of them. It was grinding on his nerves that he loved her, but couldn't be with her. Part of her felt the same way but she'd long ago accepted that she couldn't ever fully be with him. At least not the way that he wanted to be. Which was why every single night at S Bar, to have him shove things down her throat in an effort to get her to leave her husband and go to him ..was really starting to rub her the wrong way. It was after their fifth fight that week that she finally just slammed her hands down on the counter and ordered herself another margarita.

Caleb's presence wasn't even bothering her much anymore. She'd deduced that he was still a pretentious asshole, just like he used to be, and that some things never change. The loathing only increased when he spoke to her and his speech was riddled with sexual innuendos. She'd give him a roll of the eyes, the middle finger, or an insult to go along with it. It only seemed to egg him on even more, she noticed, but perhaps part of her liked that. After the margarita was served up, she turned just in time to see Brady approaching her again and she just went off. It wasn't until she felt the arm around her waist, tugging her back to make her stop. To hear Caleb's voice so close to her ear made her grimace, partly in disgust, and she half-turned to face him. "Not now, Caleb. Aren't there other whores around here that you can try to fuck around with?" But with one glance over Caleb's shoulder, she saw Brady, and her stomach did a somersault. Her voice dropped to a whisper, most likely ashamed that she'd even consider having a friendly conversation with Caleb, let alone leave with him.

She said her goodbyes to Chloe and Dylan, or at least what she could with them sucking face like a bunch of monkeys. Not allowing Caleb to be the gentleman about things, she let herself out of the bar, and also let herself into the car. His car, but that wasn't the point. She didn't care where they were going, as long as they got there and quick, she needed another drink. As they pulled into the parking lot and she climbed out, adjusting the black dress like her life depended on it, her eyes fell to the place he'd brought her to. "An Irish pub, hm. Figures." A quick roll of her eyes, and she led him inside. Her eyes narrowed through all of the cigarette smoke, and she was almost tempted to ask someone for an extra one, but instead she just pulled herself onto a barstool and ordered herself a drink.

There was no reasonable explanation as to why she came to this place with Caleb, other than the fact that she couldn't stomach being around Brady at that moment in time. Which was perfectly understandable, from her perspective. They had history, and drama. Though so did she and Caleb, except they didn't fight as much as they ..bickered. Sipping her drink, she made a face and slid from her stool, leaning in against Caleb to whisper in his ear. "Going to the ladies' room. If I come back, and your dick is half in some whore, I'm stealing your car and not looking back." Kissing his cheek, more sarcastically than anything, she turned and headed straight for the restroom.

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the_fix
2008-09-15 10:02 pm UTC (link)

Caleb was known at Ri Ra's as well, though the reasons had nothing to do with how many Irish Car Bombs he could inhale with Old Man Reilly before puking -- 7 by the way -- and more along the lines of what sort of multi-colored pills he was peddling out of his one man pharmacy. The owners weren't exactly happy with his job, but what could they say? He was a loyal patron, and seeing as how he usually made his deals in the back of their place, Caleb always managed to bring in a few other paying customers; was a walking advertisement for the small Irish pub that was on its last choking breath, dangerously close to being shut down for good. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Brooke as she adjusted her little black dress. "You used to like Irish bars back home. You weren't always such a stuck up bitch, try and remember that, sugartits." In his talk, it was a backwards as hell compliment. He was growing frustrated with his failed attempts to work his way back into Brooke's circle of trust, when once upon a time, he was the ONLY one he trusted. The man typically lived day to day and without regrets, but walking out on Brooklyn Torres was quickly becoming one, much to his irritation.

He laughed, despite his best efforts to turn it into a scowl half-way through at her comment, before shrugging. "I can't promise anything. A lot of woman find me charming, y'know." His dark eyes narrowed, lingering on the sway of her hips as she walked away from him, but they quickly turned into a glare as he counted a few of the other men (including the owner, said Old Man Reilly) doing the same thing, one even angling his head alll the way around to appreciate her attributes. Snapping his fingers in front of the older man's face, he snorted. "She's way outta your league, Reilly." Reaching for her drink, he downed it one gulp, nearly gagging at what was quite possibly, the worst goddamn margarita he'd ever had. Figures. That's what she got for ordering that in an Irish bar. "She's outta yours too, you little shit." Reilly grinned and chuckled, exposing a severe difference in a gum to teeth ratio, that made Caleb cringe. "Get her a hard cider, the big one, and then gimmie a few bills in quarters. Maybe letting her play DJ will get the stick outta her ass." Tossing a few bills the bartender's way, he paused, biding his time until just the perfect moment.

When Reilly turned around, Caleb quickly reached into the pocket of his lightweight blazer for a small baggie, and popping it open, three light blue pills were dropped into Brooke's drink, dissolving the second they hit the amber liquid, along with whatever fragile morals he had left. Dipping a thin bar straw into it, he quickly stirred it, just as Brooke came back, and the bartender was handing him his quarters. Nudging the drink her way, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Drink it. You'll like it." Though she gave him a very doubtful look, she took a slow sip. Then another one, and next thing you know, half of it was gone. Next thing Caleb knew, the drug was catapulting itself through Brooke's system, and her defenses were down. She was giddy and happy, laughing and tugging him on the dance floor. As he twirled her back to him in a fast circle, both arms wrapped around her waist, and he tipped her lips towards his. One that she returned -- but one that was unfortunately, cut off by his phone buzzing in his pocket. He ignored it, allowing the kiss to linger on before reluctantly pulling away. "I gotta take this. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

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brooklyntorres
2008-09-15 10:29 pm UTC (link)

Brooke made a promise to herself that she was going to let the olden days go, and not think about them anymore. While Caleb might have enjoyed her persona back then, she didn't exactly think it'd be a good fit in her life at the current time. So when he made mentions of her from back then, she'd shrug them off and pretend to not be listening. It didn't take her long to freshen up, a few simple primps to her hair and a touching up of the make-up, and she was right back out amongst the perversions of the pub. She'd noted that the drink was not her margarita, but she also didn't protest, going off of Caleb's word that she'd like it. Apparently he was right because she had it gone in a matter of a couple of minutes. Her head swirled back with a sudden round of laughter, followed by a slight dizzy spell, and her hands were against the collar of Caleb's shirt, trying to lead him to dance.

For all she knew, he'd loaded her up on an insane amount of alcohol, since she had no idea what the hell the drink even was. All she knew was that it was seemingly hitting her at a rapid rate, and all she wanted to do was laugh and be merry. The kiss didn't even take her by surprise, in fact, she dipped her head at just the right angle and gave back as much as she was getting from it. As soon as he pulled away, she surprised herself by urging him back towards her, not even questioning as to why. But he had to take the call, and that left her licking her lips through her frown.

Now, alone in the middle of the floor, she felt hands on her waist and turned to catch a glimpse, cracking a dazed smile towards the stranger who apparently took a liking to her black dress. He was tugging on her, pulling her against him, and she was so out of it that she didn't even hear her own protests over the loud roars of cheering as he slipped her up over his shoulder and carried her out through the back entrance. All she felt were fingers gripping her all over, pain searing through her body, but she was unable to call out to make him stop. Her knee jerked upward in reaction, knocking him in the groin, and she heard his groan as he backhanded her a few times and crushed his fist down against her to make her stop. The force caused her to glide down against the wall, sitting in a heap near the door, warily staring up at the man as he cowered over her. She felt her lips move into a scream for help but nothing came out.

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the_fix
2008-09-15 10:59 pm UTC (link)

Seeing as how this was his first introduction to using roofies (at least he had that going for him) Caleb was taken back by how quick they worked, but the guy he scored them from wasn't exactly the kind you wanted to associate more than once, not that he had any fucking room to talk. Brooklyn was the only one that ever accused him of having a conscience, and before it happened, even as he was dropping the pills into her drink, he questioned his every move. But he convinced himself that his motives were right, and if you think about it, part of her brought this on herself, really. He wanted to knock her down off her sparkling, squeaky clean high horse, make her remember that even she wasn't so sweet and innocent; and beneath the stuffed animals, and endless supply of fake grins -- her soul was just as dark and fucked up as his. The kiss was just the beginning. It was rough and hungry, and reminiscent of the old Brooke. It got right under his skin, made him want to fucking stomp on his phone when it began going off.

Caleb answered it, glancing over his shoulder at Brooke twirling and shaking her hips to the beat of Van Morrison blasting from the antique jukebox. Even if he hated her tomorrow, that image of her, and the taste of her would be forever frozen in his mind, and a triumphant smile twitched at the corners of his mouth as he exited the bar. Hanging up the phone, he lit a clove, welcoming the unfiltered taste into his lungs, idly pacing back and forth until his "client" showed up. He never wore a watch, and couldn't tell ya how much time had passed, but when he sauntered back in the bar, he was $100 richer, and Brooke was waiting for him -- isn't life grand? Or.

"What the fuck. Where did she go?" He looked around wildly, running up to the bar to ask Reilly if he'd seen her. Something akin to concern (since when did Caleb know what that was?) began building, and when he heard noises...metal knocking against cement, a man groaning in pain, he was surprised his heart didn't fucking make a leap of faith right outta his chest as he shoved open the backdoor. "Hey! Get the fuck off her!" He didn't think, and merely reacted, went along with the abrupt haze of anger that rolled over him like a thundercloud, as he jumped forward, yanking viciously the back of the guy's collar. For the moment, Brooke was forgotten, as her body slumped on the ground, because the stranger lunged for Caleb, and though he ducked, on the way back up, her ex got sucker punched in the face. Pain exploded, almost making him see stars, but he shook it off, knocking the guy on the ground, and punching him until he was out cold.

Quickly rising, he stood,breathing heavy, spitting out a wad of saliva and blood before going to Brooke. Ripping off his jacket, he wrapped it around her, gathering her up in his arms before running over to the car before the owners came out and saw them. The whole time, Caleb was cussing, and after gingerly placing her in the passenger seat, he took off towards his apartment.

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brooklyntorres
2008-09-15 11:20 pm UTC (link)

In her drug-induced haze, Brooke was barely even able to keep her head up straight, or feel the pain anymore, which is something she was thankful for. All she could feel was the heat surrounding her, enveloping her face and making it feel like it was a balloon. It was a good thing she could hardly keep her eyes open, or she'd be aware of the fact that one was nearly swollen shut. Through her delusions, she heard screaming and shuffling, and the sounds of fist hitting flesh. All she wanted to do was get up, or say something, or allude to the fact that she was in fact alive, but it was completely out of her control. With a wince as Caleb lifted her up into his arms, she clung to him like she never thought she would again. Her head fit into the nook of his shoulder, soft whimpers escaping with each foul word that came out of his mouth. She knew he was angry, but she wasn't able to understand what all had happened, and she wasn't quite sure she wanted to.

From the moment she was placed into the car and on, she was completely passed out cold. She didn't feel Caleb tending to her wounds, or the removal of her somewhat bloody clothes, or even being placed down to rest. Not until the next morning when she snapped awake and immediately regretted it, her hands quick to cover over her eyes to stop the stabs of pain she felt. All that did was cause her to cry out even louder. Her left eye was bruised and puffy, and on the brink of being swollen shut and none of that was making sense to her. The bed she woke up on wasn't familiar, and as she shifted around despite the winces it produced, she came to realize that she didn't have any clothes on under that sheet. Her jaw dropped, her hand coming to the other side of her head, the one that wasn't full of shooting pains, and she thought for a second that she might actually cry.

Moving around on the bed in an attempt to find her clothes, she started to sniffle until she heard movement and jerked her head to the side, only to see Caleb standing there in the doorway with a certain look on his face. At that moment, her heart dropped clear down into her stomach, and she thought for a second that it was gone forever. The nausea creeped up on her before she could even grasp what was going on, her hands tightly clutching the sheet around her. "What the fuck did you do to me? And where the hell are my clothes?" She felt like a mess, she knew something horribly wrong had happened to her face, and she was self-conscious about it, so in a moment of shame, she averted her gaze and instead stared directly down at the floor.

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the_fix
2008-09-15 11:39 pm UTC (link)

He hadn't slept much. After tending Brooke's wounds and putting her in bed, all he could do was pace. Travel laps around his apartment, from his bedroom to the living room, occasionally making trips to the balcony to smoke through an entire pack of smokes. Without them, he was anxious and twitchy, but the thought of leaving Brooke alone -- well, it just wasn't a fucking option. He shouldn't have gone outside, lost sight of her. Guilt made his limbs heavy, made the bourbon go down as smoothly as cut up pieces of glass, before settling uneasily in his stomach. When she finally came to, he was on his way into the bedroom after dumping her clothes in the trash can, no one wants a memory of a night like the one she barely made it through. He had a glass of ice water in one hand, a bottle of pain pills in his pocket, and an ice pack in his other.

Caleb hadn't changed out of his clothes from the night before, was still in his jeans and a plain white wife beater, and part of his eye and faced was marred and bruised. He seemed oddly hesitant, like he was dealing with a wounded, feral animal that would make a run for it any second; and in a way he was. Bare feet padded over to her, and he set the glass of water and the ice pack on his night stand, sitting down beside her on the bed. When he reached for her, his hands pulled the blanket up over her more, instead of down, as she may have expected. It physically hurt to fucking look at her. A thin line of red still scarred her lower lip, and there were bruises that he hadn't noticed last night. Clearing his throat, he gently drew his calloused fingertips along her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "We didn't fuck. I thought about lying and tell you we did, but what can I say, today I have a heart." Reaching for the water and pills, he popped the top off, handing her both. "Take these. I don't know what happened last night, one minute we're dancing and kissing, the next I run out back to find some piece of shit throwing you around like a rag doll." Sighing, he raked a hand through already mussed up hair before looking back at her. "Why don't you let those kick in and get some more sleep? I'll take you home when you wake back up."

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