Some men have an effect on the air in a room. Some enliven it, cajole the elements and heighten the mirth of their surroundings, uplifting the environs as they exhale. Others take from the air. They suck in the goodness of a room, taking the energy of a group and adding no positive. They make the air heavy. Weigh it down with their presence. They create discomfort, uneasing those who share the oxygen with their menace. Dean and his gang were such men.
They cruised into the bar, exchanging mocking smiles with the bouncer’s dirty look. They walked with shoulders back and heads thrust forward, palms upturned like catcher’s mitts. Dean fronted the arrowhead, all white trainers and swagger. Hazel eyes glowered at other patrons from the small gap between his scrunched brow and high cheekbones. His face fell away into a thin chin and fat lips. The nub of his skull poked through the back of a shaved head, legs of gelled hair hanging over his forehead like an octopus sitting on a rock. People shifted aside nearly as quickly as their eyes darted away from Dean’s stares. He licked his lips, winked and blew kisses. He inhaled deeply, taking pleasure in sucking away the comfort of those he passed.
He dropped into the sofa, the dust mites jumping into the space he previously filled. As they settled in a haze cast by cheap bar lighting, Dean looked every bit the cheap godfather imitation that he was. The sharp lines of the overflowing gold jewelry played off the finely cut shirt, but were belied by the bleach spattered denim and street-hood’s tattoos. “No welcome kiss?” he sneered.
“Go fuck yourself Dean.”
The group went silent for a second, before the men erupted in laughter, revelling in Holly’s audacity. None of them could ever speak to Dean like that. Silently he fumed, the high cheeks momentarily reddening. He wasn’t angry at Holly, he loved her and her baulchiness – but he was angry at his friends for thinking they could laugh at him. He sucked air through his teeth and quickly calmed himself – he knew Holly wouldn’t stick around if he lost his temper. He spat out the laugh and pulled her towards him, aggressively licking below her ear. He pretended to push her away as he brought his tongue towards her mouth, unwilling for others to see the recoil he could feel in her neck and shoulders.
“Cheers cunts.” He raised the beer bottle and sprayed his friends with the venom from his eyes. “Cheers” came the mumbles along with nervous laughs and hastily swallowed beer.
Dean hadn’t always come to the bar. In fact he fucking hated it. The teens, the sappy pricks, the wanker on the door. The shit music. The gurning little fucker on stage screaming like a strangled cat. He dreamt of pulling out his gun and emptying a few rounds in the little shit and anyone else in the way. Stabbing some of the drunken kids as they cried and sticking his tongue down the throats of the horny schoolgirls, making them beg for their lives while they felt his hardness. He saw the girl watching him across the room. He hung his tongue out of his mouth and grabbed his crotch, convulsing in laughter as she screwed up her face and disappeared into the crowd. He fucking hated this place. But Holly loved it. Fucking bitch Holly. He hated everyone in this bar except for Holly. And he knew they hated him. Ungrateful little fuckers. They knew who he was and where their goods came from. What they stuck up their noses, what they used their beer to wash down and what they hid from their mothers in their schoolbags. He wouldn’t touch any of that shit and yet these fucks thought they were superior to him. That was the only reason other than Holly that he came to the bar. To torture them – watch them look down at him knowing that they depended on him to make their shitty little Saturday night fun.
Dean had known Holly when the only gun he owned was bright blue and and made whooping noises with flashing lights when he pulled the trigger. She used to laugh when he pointed it at her. They ran through bushes and broken glass, in tatty shorts and scuffed sneakers. They tore chunks from their flesh on brambles and helped each other pick the gravel from their knees. Laughing and playing with guns. Dean didn’t play any more. Shooting was a serious business now. Holly wouldn’t laugh if he pointed his gun at her now. She didn’t have a gun but Dean tried to keep her by his side anyway. First he gave her new shorts, new sneakers. Then the jewelry, the holidays, the car, the rent. The path of Holly’s life satisfaction closely mirrored that of Dean’s criminal involvement. He’d heard the whispers, the stories, that he’d built himself up, become a violent dealer to save the love of his life from her batshit mother, to make her life better. Bullshit. Dean was a criminal because he fucking wanted to be. And what the fuck else was he going to do? All the snotty pricks in their suits and ties would turn their noses up at him just because he didn’t have a “formal education”. Not one worth discussion. Well good thing he had no patience for discussion in the first place. Society put the blue gun in his hand and society put the bullets in his pocket when sirens and lights weren’t enough anymore. Society took his drugs and gave him its money. So society and it’s formal education could go fuck itself. He didn’t do any of it for Holly but he’d do his damned best to keep her with him anyway.
Dean might not have been smart, but he wasn’t stupid. He could tell. Holly hated the drugs, the guns, the violence. He knew that truly, she hated him. But she loved his money. She happily took it. She took it, the jewelry, the holidays, the car, the rent. She paused to say no but she still said yes in the end. Maybe she judged him in that pause but she still said yes. Fucking bitch Holly. That’s what money does to people. Some saps can’t get enough powder up their noses, others just can’t get enough of the green in their pocket. Dean was neither – he just couldn’t get enough of Holly. Fucking bitch Holly. Dean lived a vicious cycle. He wasn’t a nice person but he became worse when he tried to please Holly. He wanted more money. He dealt drugs. He hurt people. But that made Holly hate him. Which made him angrier. More evil. And made him try harder to please Holly. Fucking. Bitch. Holly.
“I’m going to the bar” she announced and stood up. Dean fought the desire to chase her legs right up to her arse. His eyes remained locked forward. He grunted acknowledgement before catching the eye of another schoolgirl. He forked his fingers over his mouth and flicked his tongue. The girl whitened and spun away.
“You’re fucking disgusting Dean.”
“Haha, whatever.”
“Fuck, you Dean.”
She turned to the bar and Dean watched every step.
Peter McFeely 
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