Free The Book of Living and Dying by Natale Ghent

until Nick’s irate face appeared in the doorway.
    “You get outta here!” he yelled.
    “You get outta here!” Donna yelled back, copying his accent.
    “Jeez, Donna.” Sarah shook her head.
    Nick jabbed his arm rudely in the air. Donna did the same until Peter squeezed past the gesticulating Nick and out the door. He put his arms around Donna and Sarah, Donna talking loudly, singing, making people look. Peter squeezed Sarah’s shoulder, laughing.
Dream on.
Sarah turned away just in time to see Michael stepping out of the arcade at the end of the block. He squinted down at her from the doorway and watched them walk by. Watched her walk by. Their eyes met, his opinion obvious. Donna grabbed the back of Peter’s pants as they passed and stuck her tongue out at Michael. Sarah averted her eyes to the sidewalk; she’d have to explain later. Tugging the hat playfully from Sarah’s head, Donna put it on her own as Sarah squirmed to get away from Peter, who only pulled her closer.
    They stood outside the club, a line of people shifting like zombies behind them, drawn to the same place without knowing why. The music throbbed through the walls, blaring when the black-painted door opened, dampening when it slammed shut.
    “They’re friends of mine,” Peter yelled to the bouncer as the door opened again. “Sarah plays a little guitar.” He moved his fingers like he was playing a heavy riff so the bouncer would understand him.
    Sarah covered her mouth with one hand to keep from bursting out in derisive laughter. The bouncer nodded sternly at her. Looked at her chest. The music swallowed them as they pushed their way in, the crowd seething, surging, parting, fusing together. Peter’s face so close to hers.
    “What do you think?” he shouted.
    “They have to be breaking some kind of fire regulation,” she yelled back. “All these people …”
    “Yeah, on fire!” he said. He put his arm around her again and waved to his friends as if to say, “Look who I’m here with.” He turned to kiss her, trying to cop a feel under her jean jacket.
    Sarah pushed him away. “I need a beer,” she said, pointing at her throat. “I’m so dry.”
    Peter disappeared on a quest for beer. Sarah shoved through the crowd, past men looking fierce, looking hopeful. The room swaying, faces blurring. The music pressing against her, into her head, pounding to the rhythm of the pain thumping in her temples. Someone grabbed her. It wasDonna, dragging her toward the washroom and the glare of fluorescent lights.
    “Look what I found,” she said, placing a little white pill into her hand. “Merry Christmas.”
    Sarah shook her head, stumbled into a bathroom stall, slammed the door and locked it.
    “Come out and dance with me,” Donna said. “Don’t be a drag, Wagner. You’re being such a drag.” She banged on the door, kicked it, waited, then finally left, the music surging and receding as the bathroom door opened and closed.
    Sitting on the edge of the toilet, Sarah made up her mind to ditch Peter and Donna both, now that she could slip out unnoticed. She flushed the pill and left the bathroom.
    But Peter was waiting for her outside the door with a pint of beer. He handed her the glass and leaned toward her, slobbering against her face. She took a gulp of beer, spilling most of it trying to dodge Peter’s groping mouth, and thought she would scream.
    “Could you hold this for a minute?” she said, sloshing the beer against his chest. Before he could figure out what was going on, she squeezed through the crowd and bolted through the rear exit into the alley, where she started to run. Afraid he would follow her, she kept running until she was over the bridge toward the park, slowing down only when she reached the stand of pine trees, the cool air helping to clear her head. Over the night-washed landscape, the moon was strapped to the sky by the crisscross of hydro wires, the forked path up the hill like frozen lightning in the grass.