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With the street getting dark, Joey convinces himself the guy on the other side won’t see, and looks around.
Fuck.
It was him.
Joey would remember that face anywhere. It had yelled at him enough; towered over him enough. Smiled when it kicked him.
Of course, he wasn’t a coward so he just kept kicking back. And never fucking told. It had been his kid sister that saw, when she was waiting for him at the gate, and of course she cried to mom who cried to Miss Carlan and…
Now, Joey didn’t really give a shit who told. Or who Jason thought had told. The asshole got kicked out just the same.
Except, that might be the whole problem now.
Now he’s apparently fucking following him??
But Joey’s not about to start pleading, or explaining what really happened. For one, this dipshit wouldn’t listen, and for two, he doesn’t give enough of a fuck. Let the wanker believe what he wants.
He does kind of think he should probably try to avoid a beating, though.
It’s dark but he’s nearly at Corey’s, and all the guys are there. Jason wouldn’t stick around if he saw a bunch of seniors running at him.
But when Joey pulls the phone to his ear, picking up his pace on instinct, he’s met with endless dial tone. He puts his head down and darts down the corners the moment he can.
Jason’s still there when Joey chances a look.
“Yo. ‘s Corey. Talk your shit,” comes the answer message, and Joey forces himself not to curse out loud. His hand does not shake as he clicks the phone closed and lowers it to his pocket. He just breathes, deep through his nose, and looks up to the street ahead.
His next step stutters.
It’s the wrong fucking street. Turning his head, he aborts the movement at the last minute, remembering the footsteps pacing very unsubtly after him. He can’t let Jason know he’s lost.
Well, not lost. He knows that takeout whose lights glimmers on the distant corner. His panic must have made him turn sooner.
Joey eyes a side-street coming up next to him. And at the last minute, he bolts.
As fast as he can bolt while still walking. Which soon turns into not-walking. Screw pretending. He weaves through a couple of smaller streets, moving faster when above his quickening breaths he can hear steps behind him. Looks like both of them have given up the act.
He spills onto the next street, and he’s course-corrected enough, only one road away now. But he won’t get there fast enough.
Doubling back, he piles into a neighbouring alley that goes nowhere, only piled with trash.
If the guys aren’t around to pick up, at least Joey’s smarter than Jason. That argument did run a little thin considering the fact he got himself lost, but hey. Only by a couple streets, and the moment Jason passes him, Joey’s going to sneak the other way and round the back.
He backs up against the wall, even though the shadow is the same everywhere so it doesn’t hide him any more effectively. Even though his blood boils under his skin, his smart side wins for once. He stays put.
Of course, he’s not afraid of this guy. Except, he is a little afraid that Jason might get the impression he is, if he sees Joey cowering in an alley corner like this.
Joey draws his shoulders up with a hissed breath as the daunting footsteps get louder. They echo off the opposite wall and back in his face. And in the corner of his eye, he sees him.
The shape of one foot emerges, and then the entire shadow of his stalker unfurls from behind the wall. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t see Joey, and it feels impossible. Joey’s staring at him, and he’s within kicking distance but he just doesn’t see.
Somehow, Joey’s heart is calm, like his body knows to hush itself up. His only movement is a miniscule push backwards, brick catching on his collar.
The sound, when it happens, shoots through Joey’s entire body like he’s a firework just been lit.
A high, resonant chime that sends his stomach swooping low. It cuts through the dark street and the fuzz that takes over Joey for a split second. It’s like that moment you’re ripped from your body in a dream, and plummet…
Only he lands slap-bang back in his body. The scene is the same. Only, eyes look back at him this time.
No, not like this…
Joey’s hand is around his phone, and the snatched glance at the screen shows it’s Corey. Calling him back. His timing had always fucking sucked.
Joey’s mortified glare snaps back to the predator waiting for him. It’s almost a smile, what passes across his face, but it’s far too angry.
“Jordison.”
Joey’s instinct is to run, for all his talk of fighting. He does.
And since Corey’s decided to be useful now, albeit in the least useful way, Joey finds his thumbs fumbling to answer.
“Joey, you nearly here, dude?”
“Corey, you fucking-” Joey pants over the line, phone jostling near his ear as he sprints.
Strong hands grab his arm, and less than two steps later he realises he’s not running anywhere anymore. So the second item on his list comes into play, and he wheels around swinging. Jason still has his hands clamped on Joey’s jacket, and his head’s unguarded as Joey’s fist connects, phone still in it.
He never hears the surprised “Joey?” that crackles over the line. With a grunt, his opponent drops the grip on his shoulders and lunges. The solid force of two hands smashes into his neck. The impact winds him, sending him down and feet flying from under him as Jason all but pounces.
Joey’s back meets the ground hard, head thwacking back and phone skidding away over the road. The panicked confusion on the other end goes unheard by both guys struggling on the street, but Jason’s words pierce loud and clear into Corey’s ear when he sticks his red face close to Joey’s and yells.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you!”
Joey snarls up at him, but can’t help but feel he really means it.
Desperate, he claws hard and with satisfaction at the hands around his throat, launches a boot at Jason’s crotch.
As Joey scrambles back, he hears a shout go up. Some faint call of his name that could only come from Corey (being as loud as him has its uses sometimes, it seems). See, Joey knew he hadn’t gone far wrong! It’s still muffled behind a house though.
His crazed attacker never gives him much space, even after Joey’s retaliation forced him off with a shout. Apparently, Joey had only poked the bear. Jason doesn’t appear to have heard the friends calling for Joey – either that or he doesn’t care.
“Fuck you, Jordison,” he snarls. His feet are already pounding after Joey, who flees in the direction of his friends – a couple more yells sail past the streetlights.
But Joey’s never been faster than Jason. Again, he’s shoved from behind. This time he’s flung sideways, face-first into the wall. Rough scratches paint his face and he gasps into the brick before he turns, right into the path of a fist into his stomach.
He would double over, but he’s saved the trouble by the forearm that meets his neck with bruising force.
Nostrils flaring, Joey glares back into the face that comes close again, breathing heavily. He grits his teeth against the heavy stench, but he’s forced to drop his jaw again if he wants to fucking breathe because of the force on his throat, and he wants him off, off-
“Bitch-boy,” Jason spits, “you’re in trouble now. I’m gonna make you scream. Mommy won’t come this time…”
Joey doesn’t listen to that last part. Scream? He can get along with that idea.
Joey summons all the breath he can around Jason’s attempts to choke him. His throat burns.
“HEY!” he yells.
A confused flicker on Jason’s face tells him he didn’t expect him to comply.
Then he registers the stampede of feet thundering towards them.
For one hazy second, the pressure increases on his neck and Joey swears there’s nothing coming into his lungs. He sees the flurry of dirty blond through a mist of grey, and next second air is punching back into him, hard enough to knock him back against the
wall.
Corey's already thumped Jason’s head into the dirt by the time Joey finds himself blinking up at Paul. Sid isn’t far behind leaping into the blur of shouting and fists.
Mick looms over, and Joey knows well the icy glare Jason is getting right now. If he can see it, that is. There doesn’t seem to be much movement coming from his end when Shawn drags Sid out of the fray by the back of his hoodie.
The way Corey yells down at the guy might mean he’s still conscious.
Corey stays at the head of the pack, glaring at Jason until the last as they flank Joey. And eight whole guys might be overkill, since Joey is perfectly able to stand on his own without wobbling, but he definitely feels safer with all these bodies between him and that psychopath.
There are hands on his shoulders. He doesn’t even look back, already shaking off the spectre of being followed earlier.
When Paul looks back around at him, Joey pretends he's fixing his hair instead of rubbing his neck gingerly, and smiles back. The strands fall over the red scratches he’s been newly adorned with.
Once they turn the corner, there’s a familiar click. Corey reaches across Jim to press Joey’s phone back into his hand.
“D’you plan this?” Corey grins, loose and easy from the steam he just let off through his fists. “Most dramatic call I’ve ever fucking got.”
Joey rolls his eyes.
“Just pick up next time, asshole.”