Energy Drinks

Bobby peered into the fridge resting atop the small desk in his room when a scream echoed from across the hall. He knew not to question the scream because there would always be another one. That’s how it was in Quirk Hall. The screams that came from room 34 you learned to live with.

             Since there were no more energy drinks in the fridge, he checked the closet, behind the bed, and under the desk. The anger and frustration and headaches worsened every second he couldn’t find one. It wasn’t that he wanted one, he needed one. And when he couldn’t find any, he punched through the weathered wood of his desk, opening a cut on his index finger. The wood collapsed on the old carpet of his floor.

             Bobby pulled a dirty shirt and old pair of shorts hanging off the side of his hamper, and held his breath as he put them on because he knew they’d still smell like spoiled milk. The straps on his sandals were ripped, and despite the December cold he didn’t feel the need to dress any warmer because the library was only a block from his dorm.

             At the library café, he asked for two Monster energy drinks. He rubbed his head as he spoke, feeling the drip of cold sweat falling from off forehead.

             The woman behind the counter looked him up and down, and Bobby could feel the judgement spewing from her green ember eyes. The way she looked at him, like he were an animal in a cage because he didn’t dress a certain way. But what did he care? With his 4.0 GPA what did it matter how he dressed? He was lined up for MIT while she’d probably work here the rest of her life.

             “You smell awful.”

             The woman behind the counter stepped back. Covered her nose. Several students at a table behind the register looked up at Bobby.

             “I said two energy drinks. Please.”

             “We’re out.”

             “This is a university library. How can you be out?”

             “We are just out.”  

             Bobby leaned forward, his vision blurring because he knew if he didn’t get his energy drinks soon bad things would happen. The sour smell of coffee beans filled the warm air.

             “You think you are out or you know you are out?”

             “I know we are out.”

             “Well can’t you just look in the back or something?”

             “I think there is something wrong with you.”

             “Can you find someone who can help me?”  

A television sat in corner of the room mounted to the ceiling, the volume just loud enough that Bobby felt the need to grip the cold desk of the cash register to handle his frustration, though nobody else in café appeared to mind. A local reporter, who spoke like a tour guide as she ran through the tragedies of the day, reported on a slew of murders on college campuses.

             “All I want is a damn energy drink,” Bobby added.

             “Keep your voice down. Everyone is scared right now.”

             “What the hell are you talking about?”

             Two campus security guards walked into the library. Bobby backed away from the desk, but not because he was scared of campus security, the way that fat scum waddled from building to building, sporting a badge Bobby could’ve bought off amazon. No, he walked out because he felt other students  watching him, and they were out of what he needed anyway. So he headed toward the student center.  

He ordered two red-bulls, wiping the blood off his shirt, the result of a medical condition that caused his nose to bleed. The blood was dried,  but it had been weeks since he washed that shirt.   

             The man handed Bobby his drinks.  He placed his hands on the cold aluminum. Could already taste the sweet carbonation as saliva filled the corner of his mouth.  

             “Aren’t you worried?” The man behind the counter was short, his coffee breath filling Bobby’s nostrils. His skin looked like the before picture of someone who struggled with serious acne.

             “About what?”

             “It’s bad.”

             “What’s bad?”

             Bobby handed the man his debit card. He ran it, and then ran it again through the card reader. Then rubbed the chip as though that might make the card work.   

             “Something is wrong with your card.”

             “That can’t be.”

             “I ran it twice.  

             “Run it again, please.”  

             Bobby reached into his pockets. Prayed he had. His pockets were empty and all he felt were the brief notes from his statistics class. Bobby told the cashier his dorm was just on the other side of the building and that he’d be back momentarily.

The cashier told him that he couldn’t allow that, but he backed away anyway pretending he didn’t hear him. As he made his way back to his dorm, police sirens filled the streets

             Bobby drank the first red bull, but the headache still felt like a rope fastened around his head. He opened the second one. It was flat but he chugged it anyway. The dull pain radiated from his head to his teeth. He massaged his gums, felt  pizza crust and ramen noodles still stuck in his teeth. He needed something, anything.

             Music echoed from room 34, the classic Chopin that Bobby’s parents made him listen to because they thought it’d make him smarter. He walked to Room 34, and banged his head against the door, feeling its edges and creases. The adrenaline masked the pain, and for a moment, Bobby felt free of the pain even as he wiped the blood from his head.

             A tall man answered the door. Tall enough that Bobby wondered why the hell he hadn’t tried out for the school basketball team, or were you so uncoordinated that you still couldn’t make the team despite your height. Bobby didn’t understand the obsession of his school’s basketball team. You didn’t need his 4.0 GPA to know these guys would be mopping the courts when they were done graduating. The man spoke in smooth tones, his words like a calming breeze.

             “Do you want to come inside?”

             “The music. Turn it down.”

             “Your teeth.”

             “What about my teeth?”

             “Do you brush your teeth.”

             “I’m too busy.”

             “Do you play on the basketball team?”

             “Why would I play on the basketball team?”

             “You look tall enough to play on the basketball team.”

             Bobby peered inside the man’s dorm room. The room smelled of hospital grade cleaning solution. A bed sat on the far side of the dorm with ropes tied to the bed frame and a thick blanket covering the mattress

             “I’m offering you the opportunity to be strong. To feel better. To feel dominant. For those headaches to go away.”

             “How do you know I get–”

             “I can hear you complaining to your roommate, not that he cares. I can tell by the way he answers.:  

             Bobby looked back at his own dorm room, and then walked inside. The man introduced himself as Joel, and Joel told him to lock all the doors and keep his voice down. He walked toward an orange cooler and filled a plastic cup. In the dark he couldn’t see the contents of the cup.  

             “I’ve heard about this dorm room before. What goes on in here.”

             “Don’t believe what everyone tells you. What you hold is the opportunity for a new life. Energy to do all the things you want.”

              Bobby pushed it away. The plastic cup looked old, as though it had been purchased at dollar store 50 years ago. There was still dust on the plastic, and the orange cooler with  white top with dark smudges. The broken handle. It looked as though Joel had picked it up off the side of the road. None of this would have bothered Bobby if it weren’t for the stories he heard about this room. The screaming. The students that go missing. The campus security, the lazy shits, that come up here every week but find nothing other than forced exercise

             Bobby took a small sip. As soon as he swallowed, the metallic taste ran down his throat. He sprinted to the far side of the room and puked in an empty garbage can. The floor was cold and hard on his knees. As he stood up, he saw a young woman, pale, hooked up to an IV.     

             “Before you say anything, try one more sip. If you still don’t like it you can leave.”

             This time, when Bobby drank it, he finished the cup. Within seconds, the brain fog disappeared. The anger dissipated. He drank another cup, and a third, the rotten and metallic taste turning sweet, as though he were sucking grapes. The feeling of the headache disappearing was like being saved from a lifetime prison sentence, only this time the judge was a tall student who lacked coordination and who’s head almost kissed the ceiling every time he stood up.

             Outside the dorm rooms, sirens echoed. Bobby peered outside. Squad cars and fire trucks and the other students closed in on his building. Perhaps this was about the reports on tv, but Bobby wasn’t really sure. The smell worsened, as though feces were somehow tucked away in the far corner of the room.  

             Joel pulled the knife from his waist band and headed toward the woman with an IV.  Bobby followed as if to stop  to stop himbut before he could, the police and campus security were knocking over the door. He didn’t even have time to wipe the blood from his face. And that was when he saw the bloodless bodies underneath the Joels desk. Bobby looked down at the cup, and wondered how he would get another.