The Words She Left to the Waves

ONE

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Riley lifts a cigarette shakily towards his mouth and rests it gently between his chapped lips. He prowls through his pocket and pulls out a small lighter. He protects his interest from the humid seabreeze with his cupped hand. The wind is persistent, and protests the flame as best as it can. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and blows smoke downwind. “Don’t ever take up smoking, now, Scott.” His voice has a particular cadence to it that almost sweetens his words in my ears. “You’d reckon you wouldn’t dare like the taste, until someday you find the taste is all you do like.” 

He reminds me, just how my aunt used to do the same. While I inhaled the bitter, stale smoke on her back porch during sticky summer nights. She would interrupt seemingly never-ending conversations with my ma just to tell my sister and I that smoking wouldn’t do us any good. “It’s expensive, and so bad for you,” she would mutter. Back then, the smoke never seemed to get to her, but as she aged, her voice became more broken and harsh. Her eyes; they seemed to fall lower than her brothers’ and sisters’. Out of my sister and I, only one of us really listened.

I sit quietly in a plastic chair watching the waves crash into the beach, all poorly illuminated by pollution from high-rise condos and resorts which line the beach like a broken wall. Riley turns towards me, the wind pushes his dirty blond curls back over his ears. He pulls his cigarette from his lips and taps the ash away on the cold, metal railing. His young face doesn’t reflect the years bludgeoned through his forest green eyes, burnt brown around the iris by a yet fervent flame in his soul. 

Riley rests his wrist across his knee. The wind sweeps tiny embers from his fingertips, taunting him to finish his light before it does. He brings his hand slowly back to his face. He stares thoughtfully at his fingers, his gaze softens as he slumps down into his chair.

“I’m pretty tired,” I grumble. 

Riley perks up a bit, and then his shoulders slouch back to where they were. He checks his watch. “It’s barely ten.” 

I look at him. His face has gotten plenty of sun over the last few days. “Damn.” My voice trails slightly. 

I look down the beach, where flashlights flicker on the sand. Riley snubs the rest of his cigarette on the railing and stands. He stretches, slowly swaying while he grabs each elbow. He removes his shirt and walks inside. 

I sit in silence for a moment. I slouch and stack my chin on my arm, which I use as a cushion over the hard railing. Right before I stand, Riley returns. I look over my shoulder and up at him. He has a beer and a fresh cigarette trapped between his fingers. He runs his fingertips gently across my upper back, wrinkling the fabric of my shirt.

“Where’s everyone else still?” I ask.

“Probably out. Not sure but, not complaining about the quiet.”

“It’s nice,” I concur, my voice muffled from the weight on my chin. 

I hear the flick of his lighter behind me, and soon enough smoke fills my nose again. 

“You thought it through, yet?” Riley sits back in his chair and looks out over the beach.

“I’ve tried, but it’s a lot to consider for me. I don’t know if I want to commit to something like this.”

“What could help you?”

“Meeting more than half of the guys, maybe,” I mutter, half-joking. 

“You got the chance tomorrow.”

“What are we doing?” I perk up a bit, and my mind explodes with different scenarios.

“Giving you and some of the other PNMs a tour of our house. Some preliminary shit, too. Wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I think you’re probably the best bet to get in right now. You just gotta prove some other things.”

“Like what?”

“That– well, that I can’t tell you.”

The door to the balcony opens, and Michael walks out. 

“Hey, boys,” he smiles. He takes the chair next to me and sprawls out, resting his feet on the railing next to my hands. 

Mike and Riley are extremely close with each other. It’s rare to find them apart for more than a few minutes, but it seems Riley has been spending more one-on-one time with me than he had any time the rest of the summer. 

Mike and Riley both have green eyes, but Mike’s have a tinge of blue in them. He has short, curly red hair that swoops down over the top of his forehead. It’s trimmed tightly on the side, but he likes to keep it longer in the back. He doesn’t call it a mullet, and despises those who do, but it certainly is one. He rests his hand on his bare chest, also covered in a coat of red fuzz which thickens around the sternum and through the middle of his abs. He’s lean, well-sculpted. His muscular frame balances his softer face, but his raspy, deep voice commands any room he enters.

“Cig?” Riley offers him the box.

He waves them off and closes his eyes. 

“Where’s everyone else?”

“They’re,” Mike purses his lips. “They’re on the way up– they should be.” 

“I was thinking about telling Scottie about what we’re doing tomorrow.” Riley nudges Mike. His voice imposes more of a suggestion than a thought. 

“Nah.”
“Don’t you thin–”

“Nah,” Mike repeats, firmly.

“He gets to see it when the other boys do.”

Mike is on exec. He pretty much controls everything to do with new members and the pledging process. The few exec members I’ve gotten to meet are adamant not to call it a frat. They’ve preferred to say that it’s an athletic coalition, but it functions the exact same as a frat.

I make eye contact with him, and he reaches over to me. He rests his forearm on the nape of my neck and squeezes my left shoulder. 

“You still gotta prove yourself,” he states. 

“I can,” I reply confidently. 

Mike raises an eyebrow. He caresses his chest with his fingertips and gazes off over the balcony. “Give me a sec.” He stands and walks back inside.

Riley looks at me and then to the door. He snubs his cigarette on the railing and then drops it over. He walks inside. I hear the deadbolt latch. I grab the doorknob, shake it, but it doesn’t budge. 

“Come on, bruh,” I groan. I can hear furniture moving inside, but I get no response. One of them draws the blinds before I even thought about peering through. 

Maybe five minutes later, Mike opens the door again. He removes his nose ring and I walk in. A dozen men piled into the room, most of which are standing against the back wall or leaning on the kitchen counter while their eyes track me obsessively. On the floor are two mattresses shoved together where the coffee table had been, and Mike takes position on the one further from me. He hands his nose stud to one of his brothers, and pulls his shorts off. He gestures for me to do the same. 

“You wanted to prove yourself?” He seems to announce this to everyone, but his eyes pierce mine.

I swallow hard. We’re both wrestlers, but he’s several inches taller than me, and at least twenty pounds heavier. He gestures at my shorts again. I slide them down and step onto the mattress. 

“Here’s your chance.” 

Some of the boys holler, but within my own mind, everything almost seems fuzzied.

“Submission match. No pins, first to tap or first to pass loses.” Mike raises an eyebrow, daring me to step forward and take the first move. I don’t, but he finds a way to take advantage of that. Mike lunges at me, and before I can think, I slip out of the way, and push my hand hard down into his back to stay standing. He lands on his stomach with his head hanging off of the edge of the mattress, but pops back to his feet quickly. My heart knocks at my chest. His eyes blaze, and he bears his teeth like he wasn’t human. It was time for me to lock in, maybe reconsider my surroundings. For everyone who stood around me was faceless, meaningless while Mike had become my adversary. 

Take away his humanity. I murmur to myself and let my lips reflect that for the split second I have before Mike chases me again. I swallow the thick air in the room, and when Mike’s hands make contact with my shoulders, I push back. I lock my own hands onto his shoulders, pressing my thumbs sharply into his collarbones. I lose ground against him, though. He’s too big for me to win squarely. At least two weight classes above those I’m used to wrestling. And I don’t have experience with college wrestlers either, so the double disadvantage I own presents itself pretty quickly. Mike leans his weight into me, and the mattresses begin to slide apart, but before I can counter, he has his muscular arm snaked behind my knee. He lifts me into the air and slams me down on a mattress while I grab at his back. The impact with the mattress brings me back to reality, and the group of men scramble a mess of expletives and exclamations. 

Mike sprawls himself out over me and he presses his elbow into my Adam’s apple. I begin to feel like his objective wasn’t to let me prove myself, as his aggression seems to bear the crushing weight of humiliation. His chest smothers me while he adjusts and rises into a riding position, maintaining an undeniable control over my own muscular body. I kick and thrash like a child, inexplicably ignoring all the years of training that had taken me through several state champion-capped runs in high school. He smears his body all over mine, grabbing and probing relentlessly for a space to end our match as soon as he demanded it start. 

While he occupied himself with my body, I latched onto his massive thigh and began to pry at his control. I separate his legs enough with my own and my arms to slither out from under him while he tries to lock his own arms around my neck. I grab his neck and dig my fingers deep into either side. He pulls away quickly and I rise to my feet. Mike rubs his neck and cocks it. 

“Dirty,” he growls.

I don’t wait for him to make the next move, this time. I meet him in the chest and push him back hard, securing my shoulder in his ribcage and lifting him from his calves. He grunts while I lift him. I contemplate using the same move as he did on me, but I need a clean advantage– I can’t leave any space for him to get free. I hold him over my shoulders, and he continues to grab at my chest, wrapping his arms around mine. I let one of my arms loose and flip him down to the mat, using my experience to slither between his limbs and flip him onto his stomach while I fold his arms against his shredded back. I use my free hand to press his head into the ground, which elicits a wave of hollers from the surrounding men.

Below me, Mike grunts and squirms. His muscles glisten under the fluorescent lights while beads of sweat begin to dot his hair. He thrashes his legs like a bull, just enough to get my body unsteady. Mike reaches around and paws at my head, orienting himself on his side before snapping out from under my slippery body. My legs squeeze Mike’s belly, but he’s too strong to keep down. He fights to rise to his knees, and he does so successfully. He launches me off of his muscular back and I land on my side on one of the mattresses. He springs into action immediately, securing one of his massive arms between my legs. He anchors his arm around the inside of my thigh and flips me onto my back and forces my legs up into the air. He presses his kneecap into the side of my face and huffs deeply while his fingers trace the waistband of my underwear. He exposes my muscular ass and cheering follows immediately. I reach around to cover myself, but Mike knew exactly what I would do.

After what seems like several hours, really only seconds of torture, Mike flips me almost effortlessly onto my back. He stands on top of me, burying his foot right into my stomach. I grunt loudly and try to shake him loose by shimmying my sweaty body under his weight. He places his other foot on my neck and begins to apply pressure. 

He flexes his biceps and pushes my face down into the mat by shifting his weight over to my neck. He bathes in his success momentarily, and slides back down on top of me until he’s straddling my lower back. 

“Give in.” 

I try to push up off of the floor in rebellion. In response, Mike puts his weight down on me, driving his arm into my upper back until I collapse back to the ground.

“Give in,” Mike taunts. His hot breath makes the hair on the back of my neck stand. “It’d be better for you.” 

He controls my body in a way only a few had done before. It seems so easy for him, effortless. My mind flashes back to a recollection of less than a handful of times when my opponents had done the same. In front of my friends and family, it was humiliating. But, now, in front of complete strangers whom I need to prove myself to, I feel almost dehumanized. He seems to be having fun, too, almost playing with me and teasing me. His body language practically begs me to fight back again, just so he can humiliate me again.

“Guess not,” he grumbles, reaching around my neck and fastening his arm securely against my throat. He applies pressure slowly at first, calculating my reaction. I struggle for breath, laboring with each one. My head feels fuzzy and so does the world around me. I grab his meaty forearm with my hands, but my grip loosens and my arms fall to the ground while the world around me turns into night.

I rouse a few moments later alone on the mattress. 

“I got dogs stronger than you, Scott.” Mike waves my underwear while I look up at him. Sweat beads on my forehead and my eyes sting. I huff, and push myself up to my knees, covering myself with my right hand to salvage my dignity.

“Give ‘em back.”

I choose to ignore Mike’s comment, but I’d always been too vengeful a person to let any dig at me slide completely.

“These–,” he holds my underwear by the waistband and shakes them in front of my face, “are proof you aren’t ready.”

“You’re like fifty pounds heavier than me, how is that fair?”

“You said you wanted to prove yourself, did you not?” Mike raises an eyebrow and looks around for approval. His jury of brothers nod proudly.

“That’s bullshit,” I pipe, “that’s just not even fair, bro.”

“Why would it be fair? You’re not one of us.” He backs into his group of men and gestures at them.

I couldn’t have been any smaller, more othered by people whose names I didn’t even know. But they all knew mine, and they know it well. With my hand still begging for respect. It stings, more than I could have imagined, too. Nothing which comes to mind is enough to warrant a response, for I feel they would laugh and ridicule me, and after they might do it behind my back.

Is this what true humiliation feels like? My eyes flick almost involuntarily to Riley. He’s staring directly at me, but doesn’t say anything. My face boils with anger, but I don’t even know if I have any grounds for it. 

“Asking me to prove myself by putting me in a situation I was going to lose from the start is a dick move.” 

Mike’s faint smile falls. “Why’s that?” He approaches me and pushes his chest into mine like a mule. 

I lower my head slightly. I breathe in, out. I’m plenty strong, just not here in front of these other judgmental men. 

“Did you even care what I said?”

“No,” Mike maintains his bravado. He needs approval from his boys, but admittedly so did I. I want to punch him– I want to punch him bad. I know that will only worsen everything else.

I push him in the chest and take a step back myself, and I turn around. Mike replies with one of those wolf whistles, and everyone laughs. I shake my head in disgust, and I run at him and tackle him into one of his boys. I smother him under my weight while the other men watch the spectacle. I move quickly to keep him disoriented enough so he can’t use his formidable body fully against me. I tear his underwear off of his massive glutes and stand up, wiping a string of drool from my mouth. 

Mike pops up fast, angry albeit less cocky. Cheers erupt, and although it wasn’t submission, I got the job done. 

“Cheap,” he huffs.

“I thought you didn’t care about what was fair?” 

Mike was struck speechless for a moment. “You’re gonna get it now, bud.”

He starts across the room again, but one of his brothers pulls him back. “Simmer,” his friend mumbles firmly. 

“I think I proved myself,” I pant, yet I stand triumphantly for my small accomplishment. 

Riley nods slowly while Mike wiped his lips and lowered his chin in an all-but-happy way. 

After the raucous atmosphere calmed, I go to my room and grab a new pair of underwear. The boys make admittedly great company, though more than half of what they say are barks of advice and orders, the other portion are useless comments about who they think they’ll end up with out of the many women they have caressed unfairly with their eyes.

They make great ceremony and matter out of simple things. They mock and jeer others for not being too drunk to stand or speak right. The ones I’ve met are nevertheless a fun group. They mock everything serious, too. Even over the last few days that has landed them in a bit of trouble, but it’s fun trouble.