“You ready?” he asks.
“Sabe…” I start.
“Why do you look like that? It’s just a song,” he says, preempting whatever I might have come up with. He’s smiling, but it feels forced.
Maybe I’m wrong. I hope I’m wrong.
“It’s a powerful song,” I tell him.
“That’s how I do things. Come on. Let’s go find everyone. Chris has probably had all he can take.”
He rushes out the door, and I go after him, hoping to say…what?
I want it to be a few minutes ago when we were locked together in a song. This? This moment feels shattering, as though we might be on the brink of our friendship turning inside out.
Chris and the rest of our group are only a few feet from the entrance. He watches them stumble and then rolls his eyes at me. “Well, I fed them cake. Still drunk though.”
Chris and I are parked in the same area, so we all walk together with us up front. Sabin has positioned himself behind the others, and I suppose that’s for the best. I put my arm around Chris’s waist and try to regain my sense of stability, to remind myself what the boundaries and dynamics are.
The sidewalks are filled with people leaving bars now, and traffic is tight. We maneuver around groups talking outside of clubs, and we’re only a block away from our cars when we pass two guys leaning against a signpost.
“Fucking homos,” one of them says loudly.
Chris slows to give them the benefit of his attention, but he keeps walking.
“Like this town doesn’t have enough faggots already,” the other says.
Chris comes to a halt and then moves in front of me as he faces the two. Eric and Zach don’t appear to have heard what was said because they are still talking with James and Estelle, but Sabin clearly has because he lowers his guitar to the ground and steps forward.
“Sabin, don’t,” Chris says sharply. “Don’t. Let it go.”
He’s not going to let it go though, which seems pretty obvious as he approaches the duo. “What the fuck did you say?”
“Shit,” Chris mutters under his breath.
The others have just bypassed Chris when Sabin lunges forward and grabs the guy with a baseball hat by the collar. “Tell me what you fucking said,” he demands through clenched teeth.
The guy smirks. “I said, ‘Fucking homos.’”
“I’m gonna rip your fucking face off, you goddamn piece of shit!” Sabin’s rage builds quickly, too quickly.
“So, you’re one of them, too? Bet you’re getting off from just touching me.”
Chris moves toward them and tries to intervene.
After seeing this, the thug turns his head back toward Sabin. “What’s the matter, little pussy? Can’t fight your own battles? Need him to come save you?”
My chest tightens as those words leave his mouth. That was precisely the wrong thing to say.
Before Chris can reach them, Sabin explodes.
He sinks a brutal kick dead center in the guy’s chest, forcing him to fly back. The victim knocks over several trash cans before he makes his landing, and I hear the hollowthudof his body as it slams mercilessly into the unforgiving concrete.
“Sabin!” I scream.
Blood pours from the victim’s nose as Sabin stands over him. His eyes are wide with fury as he pulls his arm back, poised to continue his attack.
Chris tries to launch himself into the mix, but the second guy grabs him and swings a punch. Chris is too fast though, and he manages to duck while reaching for Sabin, who is now repeatedly pummeling a fist into his partner’s face.
