The Lawyer and The Stripper

02 | Pop, Crackle, Snap!

As far as I can recall, I have always been a morning person. As a kid, I used to wake up to water the garden, even arguing with the gardener to let me do the task. When I was older, I moved on to more interesting activities, such as jogging with Bomber, our beagle, or playing tennis with my dad. Then, I had summer camps and varsity training. I looked forward to those so much that I didn’t even need an alarm for them. There have only been a couple of occasions when I would flat-out refuse to be dragged out of bed, and today is one of those times.

The front desk has phoned thrice for the wake-up call, but I would not be surprised if what’s-his-name is ringing me up again, ensuring I am awake. Right now, I cannot decide which I want to do first: break the damn hotel phone, take a pain reliever, or strangle whoever is pounding on the door and making my throbbing headache worse. The fluffy pillows, however comfortable they are, do not do anything to block the curses and demands to open the goddamn door. Add the blinding sunlight pouring into the room like ten-thousand-lumen LED lights, and my entire morning can be described in one word: insufferable.

And very unluckily, this room belongs to one of my cousins so, despite my vigilant efforts, they finally open the door by using their heads and tapping the keycard.

"Tang ina ka, nothing happened?" barks my insolent older brother, Albert.

"f*****g faggot. Are you still a virgin?" Blaise, the room owner, adds.

Great. Just f*****g great! I shove my head further under the layers of pillows, hoping that doing so would block my hearing or make them disappear. After all, ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ right?

Wrong.

"Well, well, well. You f****d her, didn't you?" the eldest among us, Anderson, slaps my back harshly, making me bounce on the bed a few times. I know they paid Ruby Red to do just that, but do they have to ask? As if barging in was not enough disrespect. But then, there was no better target in the early morning than the youngest and goody-two-shoes cousin whom they forced to have a one-night stand.

My cousins are pigs.

"What? This loser?" Albert asks incredulously. “Bet he couldn’t even if he tried his hardest.”

"The semen-filled condom says otherwise," Anderson snickers, lifting the thing from the floor using the ice tongs.

I stare at the disgusting latex filled with something, denying that that something came from me. For all I know, it could be Bailey's or spit. It could be anything!

But the real mystery is why there is a used condom lying on the floor. Did something happen between Red and me last night? Is that really mine?

“Holy s**t, did I just lose it to a f*****g p********e?”

"Correction, you lost it by f*****g a p********e. But I'm damn proud of you," Anderson says smugly before flicking his wrist, sending the d**k glove flying across the room right smack into the window.

"Permission to present evidence, your honor," he laughs and the room erupts with hoots and cries of disgust.

"Jesus Christ! Will you guys stop that?" I scramble out of bed, desperate to get to the glove but I am efficiently blocked by Clyde, a first cousin who is five years older but almost fifty pounds heavier.

"How the hell did you get on the team? You're so f*****g weak!" he sneers, shoving me once again with his hooves. I stagger to find my footing and once I do, my focus is back on the condom. I try my luck again, dancing around him, careful not to trip over the bottles or the trash bin strewn across the floor.

I successfully grab the filth off the window and sneer at Clyde. "I got in because I'm smart and quick."

"Doubt you're that smart, though, kid," Carson, Clyde’s twenty-eight-year-old brother smirks. "Do you know where that condom came from?"

I feel sick at the realization and immediately drop the thing like it burned my skin, flicking my hand several times before wiping it on the curtains. "s**t!"

“Not exactly. Unless you did her from the backdoor, too?” He raises an interrogating eyebrow, his eyes turning into slits. My own eyes widen in horror, but before I can protest, the room is again filled with hoots, claps, and condescending laughter. My cousins and their friends find my mortification all too amusing while I’m holding myself back from knocking out their teeth.

Instead, I do what I always do when faced with the same situation for the past seven years: I sigh, shake my head, and walk away. Fighting back would solve nothing and I would just end up with a bruised body, and an even more injured ego. I know. I’ve tried a few times before.

And even if their friends would not jump in today, there was no way I could win with a seven to one handicap and an i***t of an older brother who was always against me.

"Aw, isn’t she sweet? She even left a note," Anderson nodded towards the mirror. There was one word written in bold, cherry red lipstick.

Pop!

One word that did not give away much but probably meant the one thing my cousins aimed for. It ended with an exclamation point, too, as if we ended with a bang. I internally cringe, praying to God that no atrocious popping happened, but that if it did, at least let me recall how it felt.

Doubt is laughing in my ear and eating my self-respect. How could it have happened? All we did was talk and laugh, and drink into a stupor.

“I’m so buzzed right now,” I complained.

“You don’t say?” she teased. She knew how to hold her drink. Unfortunately, the same thing could not be said for me and after what seemed like hours of us talking and her making drinks for us, I stood up and staggered, accidentally toppling the glass table over. The empty bottles bounced and rolled on the carpet but she saved the drinks in our glasses. She laughed at me but I wasn’t mad; I was laughing with her.

“Alright, big boy. I think you’ve had enough,” she giggled, putting my arm around her as she guided me to the bed. The collar of her robe slipped, and when I touched the smooth skin of her bare shoulder, something inside me ignited.

"Oy, pay up, suckers! Toldya my soldier boy is gonna get that snarky b***h to change her mind." Andersons sneers and holds out his palm.

"The hell? You guys placed a bet on me getting laid?" My heart rate shoots up and my blood immediately boils, the steam rising to my head and seeping out of my ears. I am having trouble controlling my breathing and my shaking fists, and I am pretty sure that if Albert opens his mouth, my fist will go flying into his face.

Crackle.

Last night, something inside me ignited, but did I act on it? My memory is still so hazy, I am not sure what I did or did not do.

"Correction, we made a bet on whether you’d let her pop your cherry or not,” Blaise laughs loudly, clips a crisp blue bill between his index and middle fingers, and hands it over to Anderson as if he was merely buying fruit from a street vendor.

“You owe me a grand each. Chop chop!" Anderson claps his hands, and the rest of them grumble and pull out their wallets unwillingly.

“What the actual f**k? Why would you assholes do that?”

“You should be thankful we helped you get over your stupid ‘save my first for my f*****g girlfriend’. What are you, twelve?” Albert scowls at me as he slaps two yellow bills on Anderson’s palm. “Are you even a Gochino? Because right now you sound like a whiny little bi–“

Snap!

Maybe he is right; I sound like a whiny little b***h, but that’s his problem. My only concern is to pound his arrogant pretty-boy face so hard he’ll end up swallowing even his gums. My vision had just zeroed in on Albert’s shocked expression when heavy hooves pull me away from him and I feel a sting on my left cheek.

For a while, I stay still with my eyes closed, steadying my breathing and listening to them bicker, hearing the unease in their words. That slap was either from Albert or Carson, and the pudgy arms holding me in a bear hug belonged to Clyde or their other corpulent friend.

“What the hell, man? Do you have a death wish?” The panicky whisper opens my eyes and I take in the scene in front of me. The upturned table and chairs, a torn curtain, broken lamps, and all my cousins on one side of the room attending to my half-conscious brother, and Anderson standing between the two of us, his left hand c****d and ready to give me another backhand.

“Let go of me,” I order the pudgy bastard holding me.

“No, you’re going to do something stupid.” He tried to sound firm but there was a slight tremble in his voice.

“Aiden, stay,” Anderson commands me like a dog, and despite the burning desire to run amok, I obey, but not without a condition.

“I’ll behave if your thug will let go of me,” I grit out.

“He’s not a thug. He’s the recently instated Fiscal in one of the regional trial courts in Batangas. Show some respect,” he hisses.

Anderson has always been particular about titles and power. He can be friends with anyone, but he would rather be good friends with those who he can benefit from, a trait ingrained into him, and the rest of us cousins, by his father.

A practice I am still bent on not following.

Did I respect that the guy holding me was likely at least twenty years older than me? No.

That he weighed twice as much as me? No.

That he has just been installed as the city fiscal in some Philippine court? No.

“Ah! f**k!” The fiscal quickly loosens his grip and reels back after the back of my head hit his face.

“I cannot give what I do not have,” I tell him, my glare never leaving Anderson’s once our eyes lock. The room suddenly falls quiet, too quiet that one could hear a pin drop even on the carpeted floor. Albert’s empty threats stop as his mouth hangs open, the rest of the imperious goons look like they had just heard a ghost speak.

Anderson looks like he is about to pop his carotid, his eyes threatening to bug out of the slits of his eyes. I have never seen him livid. Perhaps because no one has ever dared to go against him, much less talk back and engage him in a glaring contest. His usual cool and smug composure is replaced with something menacing, and when he takes one slow, threatening step toward me, everyone in the room goes still.

Everyone else but me. I cross my arms and shift to one leg, my glare unwavering even with the thirteen-year gap evident between the two of us, from the way his lean body is built to the sheer dominance he commands.

A surge of insolence flows inside my chest as I raise my head and level with his glare, unbothered by his show of machismo. I have had enough. To hell with broken bones and bruised egos. If he releases his guard dogs at me, I will not hesitate to use the Glock 43 tucked in my ankle. I have enough bullets to shoot all seven of them anyway.

A minute passes and we are still at an impasse. He inhales deeply and I know I have won our little game. I clear my throat and uncross my arms.

“Tánggē Anderson, if you will excuse me, I have basketball practice,” I say and take my jacket off the bag stand, breaking the silence and shocking them even more from my blatant patronizing of the eldest and supposedly most feared cousin.

Chinese honorifics are a must to address each other, especially when talking to our elders. It is a practice of respect in our culture and, therefore, I believe that our generation should forgo such appellations, seeing that we hardly respect each other anyway.

Sadly, this practice of blind respect has been indoctrinated in us since birth, it is difficult to shake off overnight.

“Ahia, I will see you at home. Unfortunately,” I add before leaving the room, mildly surprised that none of the goons or dogs follow me, and that even Anderson remained silent.

I keep my guard up as I stroll past the security details littered along the corridor, some in uniform, others in civilian clothes. Their faces remain stoic save for my bodyguard, Rivas, who could not fight the evolving grin, making him look more constipated than happy to see me.

“You’re glowing, son,” says my forty-year-old bodyguard the moment we are alone in the elevator.

“I just destroyed Albert’s face and humiliated Anderson in front of his friends. Of course, I’d be glowing.”

“You’re father wouldn’t be happy to hear that.”

“Can’t wait to see how unhappy he’d be when he sees Ahia,” I chuckle. The adrenaline in my veins slowly drops, but I remain calm and unapologetic as I replay the morning’s events in my head.

I have put up with my brother’s s**t for far too long. It was about time I gave him my two cents, or in this case, my two fists. As for Anderson, I can only hope that he’ll stay off my case from now on. He rarely initiated the bullying; the problem was he also did not lift a finger to stop it. He had all the power, being the eldest of our generation, but he always turned a blind eye. In fact, he occasionally joined the bullying, making my cousins even more brazen and ambitious.

What happened this morning is a shock to all of us. I did not expect to snap with such little provocation, but I suppose that was bound to happen when I have years of resentment bottled up in my chest and a throbbing headache messing with my patience.

No, I do not blame the alcohol. That was all me; I did all of that of my own free will and I do not feel any remorse, not even when I thought of using my concealed carry against them.

“What will you tell your mother?” Rivas asks as he opens the door to the black Range Rover, triggering my headache once again. Morning questioning is bad. Morning interrogation with a splitting headache is worse.

“Albert deserved it,” I curtly reply, hoping there would be no more questions after.

“Do you think that’ll sell?” he chuckles and I clench my jaw.

“I don’t give a s**t, Rivas. Now, shut up and drive.”

He slowly turns to me and raises an eyebrow, his finger hovering on the ignition button. I sigh deeply and summon my manners. Rivas may be my bodyguard, but he isn’t part of this crazy family. I should remember not to take my s**t out on him.

“Please,” I say, sounding more like my usual decaffeinated self this time. “And let’s pass by a Mocca Master on the way.”

“As you wish, sir,” he grins, understanding my apology offer, and starts the car.