Chapter 6
"Ladies who play with fire must remember that smoke gets in their eyes."— Mae West
It’s a Thursday night two weeks into my job at the club and my stupid piece of shit land yacht has decided to bail on me on my way home from the club. I’m two miles from the trailer park, sitting in the car that decided to just die on the side of the pitch black road, and cussing like a sailor. I am exhausted from my shift. I don’t sleep enough in general and by the time I get home from my shift and relax it’s almost sunrise anyways. It’s messing with my head and I know I need to find that routine of sorts. Tears threaten to spill down my cheeks but I’m doing everything humanly possible to not let that first tear fall.
I swing the door open, pull the release lever for the hood, climb out of the car flashlight in hand, and stare at the engine. I have no idea what’s wrong with it. I know virtually nothing about cars. I pull the elastic from my hair and let my long black locks tumble freely down my back before I kick the tire. Headlights shine off in the distance and my spirits perk up a bit. A big truck comes into view and my perkiness instantly goes away. That stupid neighbor, Bentley. The truck slows to a stop next to me, and the window scrolls down revealing Bentley’s horribly handsome face. Somehow he manages to irk me and intrigue me simultaneously.
“Hey there!” he booms over the music from the cab. I cross my arms over my chest and straighten my shoulders.
“Hey,” I clip, hoping for indifference.
“Get in. I’ll give you a lift,” he says.
“No thanks.” I scrunch my nose up at him.
“Jesus, it’s not safe out this time of night, just get in, Magnolia,” he grumbles.
“No thanks. I’m a big girl,” I quip.
“What do I have to do to change your mind?” he asks, seeming genuinely concerned. I really am not in the mood for him. I just want to lock up the car and start walking. I’ll deal with the stupid P.O.S. tomorrow. I’m grumpy and tired and generally lacking the ability to be nice.
“Listen up, cowboy, I don't need my mind changed. I’m perfectly fine the way things are and you don't know a damned thing about me so if you don't mind, I really need to get home. Goodbye.” I grab my purse from the car and lock the doors before slamming the hood shut and start walking.
“Princess, get in the truck, I’ll give you a lift,” he calls.
“No!” I shout over my shoulder, and keep walking.
“What’s a man gotta do for a date with you?” he shouts back. Oh my God? Really!
“For starters use proper grammar!” I don't look back as I keep walking, but I swear I hear him busting a gut laughing which irritates me even more as I boil with anger. As I stomp my way home, Bentley’s truck speeds past me until it’s out of sight. As soon as I can’t see the taillights anymore, I relax slightly. It’s so dark out here and unlike home there are no street lights brightening the road. I sigh and wrap my arms around myself and keep walking.
I’d been on edge all day from our fight the night before. Cane had peeled out of my driveway after I’d stormed out of his car and into my house. Aster handed me some peanut M&M’s. I popped two in my mouth and crunched down on them. “God, these are good,” I groaned.
“Yeah, tell me about it. I only let myself have two,” Aster grumbled.
“Oh come on. You can’t live like that, Aster. Eat the damn candy.”
“You don't have to count calories, Cy. You can eat whatever you want and still look like that!” she stressed, pointing to my waist. I popped two more delicious candies into my mouth and stared out the window.
“You okay?” Aster asked.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I’m just confused.” Aster gave me a sad smile and did what any cousin/best friend would do, she handed me the rest of the bag of M&M’s. Why were boys so complicated? One second they’re showering you with love and the next they’re flirting with someone else and talking shit with their buddies.
He looked beautiful. A beautiful mess. His jeans hung from his narrow hips and his shirt clung to the ridges in his stomach and the bulges in his arms. I want to go to him, to hold him. I want to not be fighting. My pride holds me back though, and I stand unmoving at the bottom of my porch steps staring dumbly at him. Luckily, Cane didn't give me a chance to work through any of my thoughts. In three strides he was off the porch and in my face. “I don't exist without you. Please, Mags, forgive me. I was a total dick and I’m sorry.”
My heart thumped in my chest. I knew I should put up more of a fight, but his eyes, his words, they all pointed to him being honest with me right now. I just needed to be brave and say this.
“I’m not a doormat, Cane. I’m not a gym junkie, and...and I’m not hard like the other people you’re around. You have to treat me with respect. Always.” He smirked at me as relief washed over his features.
“Come a little closer, Mags, so we can talk without the words,” he breathed at me as his hand splayed my waist and he tugged me to him. “Your heart is beating really fast,” he said in a low voice.
“I know,” I whispered, just before his mouth collided with mine. And just like that, all was right again with the world. I didn't exist without him either.
I wake with a jolt. Tears stream down my face. Status quo. I quickly wipe them away and steel myself. I will not let my memories dictate my days. I throw the covers off me and shoot out of bed. I let the scalding hot water of the shower wash away all my memories and calm me. After I’m dressed and have a sufficient amount of caffeine in me, I sit at my living room window and watch the random happenings of the trailer park. The lady across from me is old, wrinkled and ornery. She spends almost an hour out of every day yelling for her cat - a cat that I have yet to see. I think if I were that cat I’d leave home, too. In the trailer to the left of hers lives an older worn-looking couple with more kids than I can count. The mother constantly looks haggard as she commands the kids to do this or that while her husband keeps permanent residence on the small porch stoop, drinking. I suck down the dregs of my mug and push down the feelings of pity and disgust for the people surrounding me. They all look hopeless. Sad. Beaten down. Exactly how I feel. I am no better than they are. I am one of them. The only difference is I have money and choose to live here, and they don't. A little past eleven I call the club and let Penny know that I need a ride to work or the night off. She says a night off isn’t what I need and that she will send Brock for me and a tow truck for the car lingering on the side of the road. Sometimes I really hate Penny.
At three on the dot the loud roar of a bike engine rattles my windows. I peek out the window and see Brock's formidable figure straddling a crotch rocket. Instantly I’m nervous. I can’t get on a bike with him. I can’t touch him. I don’t want to. It’s too intimate to me. My heart starts beating erratically in my chest and I haven’t even opened the door yet. The idle of the bike still rumbles outside when the knock at the door startles me from my fears.
“Mags? You in there?” Brock calls.
“Uh, yeah, just a sec!” I return clumsily. I grab my purse and make my way to the door. Swinging it open, a very handsome Brock waits at the bottom of my steps smiling up at me, full of confidence.
“So, uh, where’s the car?” I ask, trying to shoot for humor but definitely failing.
“Bike. Thought it’d be more fun. Really get to know each other,” he winks, making it seem like we would have some secret romp in the hay instead of a ride to work together. It gives me a total queer attack. I feel my lips twitch and my ribs start shaking. I can't help it. I often laugh at inappropriate times, not because I’m nervous or anything, mainly because I think inappropriate things are funny. I burst out laughing. Brock stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have, but at this juncture I really don't care. He cocks an eyebrow, shakes his head at me and moves towards the bike.
“Brock, it’s cute that you, ah, are interested in...getting to know me, but I can’t ride that bike with you,” I inform him.
“Well, how the hell do you expect to get to work then?” He raises an eyebrow at me and smiles. I haven’t touched the bike behind the trailer since I moved in and I really don't think I want to. Too many memories.
“I don’t really like to be touched,” I blurt.
“Yeah, baby girl, I noticed. Too bad though, you need a ride, I gotta bike, seems like you wanna get to work...you’re gonna get on the back of my bike.”
“That’s rude,” I return, offended.
“Not big on repeatin’ myself. Get on the bike, Mags.” He pats the seat behind him. I shudder. Not because I’m scared of Brock, I’m scared of the contact. I take a step back unconsciously and shake my head no and stare at the ground. Maybe I should just call out. Two hands grab my shoulders and turn me towards the bike. Before I can freak out from the touch, the hands release me and smack my ass, hard, in the direction of the bike. Brock chuckles as I stumble a step forward. His chuckle quickly ends when he sees a tear streak down my face. I know it’s irrational, beyond irrational to be so terrified of riding with him but I can’t seem to get a grip. His face sobers and without touching me he stands as close as possible. “Mags, come on, I’m not going to hurt you,” he says gently. I stare at him, willing myself to be stronger than I feel, to banish the girl Ezra has turned me into.
“I know. I know, Brock, it’s all me. I know that. I...” I fumble for the right words to explain.
“Okay, listen, you get on, if you don’t want to hold on to me, I’ll ride real slow so you don’t fall off.” His eyes twinkle and his lips twitch. I can tell he’s trying. He’s trying so hard to lighten the mood. I don’t really have any other options but to not go to work so I nod my head and wait for him to get seated on the bike. Very carefully I sling my purse strap over across my chest and sneak onto the bike behind Brock. My inner thighs touch his outer thighs but I try to keep my legs spread wide. I slide the helmet on and fasten it. Without touching our torsos together I lean back, keeping my hands on my thighs.
“Hurry,” I squeak. The bike roars to life and, gently, Brock makes his way out of the park.
The ride is a true test of my will to change. To overcome the things I’ve let control me for so long now. I push all my thoughts of shame and being tainted out of my head. I’m a good enough rider to not need to meld myself to him to stay on. It’s the thoughts of betrayal that I can’t seem to get past. He would be so hurt, so upset, so...angry to see me riding on the back of another man’s bike. I don’t want to cause him any more pain. If he can see me, he’s fuming and it’s just one more way I’ve hurt him.
Twenty minutes later we pull into the parking lot at work. The bike idles and before I let myself process any more morbid thoughts, I strip the helmet off and jump off the bike. My legs start to give way but before I lose the ability to stand, I lock my knees and rigidly stand facing Brock. He towers over me and removes his helmet.
“I’m not that bad, am I?” he asks, smirking.
“Nah, not that bad, but I’m glad my car will be here when we’re done tonight,” I chirp, and make my way inside. Brock catches up to me in a few long strides.
“Hey, I know you’re ahh...different and all but, would you wanna grab dinner sometime?” he asks, and my breath falters. I can’t imagine being with anyone ever again.
“I don’t date. Don’t take it personally,” I offer.
“Aww come on. I don’t bite...much,” he returns playfully.
“I don't date,” I repeat.
“Why?”
“Because, Brock, I don’t make mistakes, I date them. And I need another mistake like I need a hole in the head, not to mention finding a good guy, a real man worth fighting for is like coming across a unicorn in your backyard. Legend. Myth. Fairytale. Does. Not. Exist,” I state firmly, but I know differently, I know because I did find it once and then I lost it. Brock's face falls and he shakes his head at me.
“Well shit, girl, aren’t you just the optimist,” he mumbles, while holding the door for me.
My first two weeks at the bar have been good. Work agrees with me, although the hours are hell. I’m tired after every shift and my feet hurt. But the music that blares from the club, combined with me trying to avoid touching people as I deliver drinks and fend off men’s advances, keeps my mind thoroughly occupied. It’s a nice reprieve from the whirlwind of emotions that normally consumes me. And I know the social interaction is good for me. It’s helping. I can feel it. I feel more like a human being, more like a bitter woman with a chip on her shoulder than a helpless sad mess.
By the time my shift is over my car is fixed and parked in the lot out back. It’s dark and painfully quiet outside. I take one step out, letting the door click closed behind me. A light breeze whips my hair around my face as I force myself to keep walking. Keys in hand, I make my way to the car, careful to keep an eye out on my surroundings. The smell of motor oil and cinnamon hits me as I near the big clunker. I freeze as the memory plays out in my head.
“Kissing requires a total of thirty-four facial muscles, and one hundred and twelve postural muscles. The most important muscle involved is the orbicularis oris muscle, because it is used to pucker the lips,” Cane recited. I giggled and tilted my face to his.
“Sounds like someone’s been on Google.”
“What can I say? You totally make me a pansy,” he laughed.
“I do?!” I squealed.
“Woman, I wasn’t complaining! Now shut up and kiss me.” He grinned.
I pressed into him, and when I felt his mouth move with mine, I wrapped my arms around his neck. When I caught his bottom lip between my teeth and tugged he opened to me. His tongue slipped into my mouth and it kindled a fire inside me. He smelled so delicious, like motor oil and cinnamon. I nibbled his neck, kissing and biting as he ran his hands down my back and up my stomach. I was going to explode from want.
A hand at the small of my back startles me. I jump a foot in the air and scream bloody murder before even bothering to look at who it is. Bentley stands a foot away from me laughing, hard.
“Jesus, Bentley!” I screech. “What the hell are you doing here anyways?!”
“I was passing the lot and saw your car still here. You were just staring off into space. I wanted to make sure everything was alright.” I sigh and shake my head at him.
“I’m fine. When are you going to learn to just leave me alone?” I snit.
“I’m thick-headed and pretty stubborn, so it could be a while, a long while,” he smirks and rubs his palm over his chin stubble.
“Right. Okay, well, I’m going home now,” I stammer, and unlock the driver’s door. He watches as I fold into the seat and slam the door shut. I start the car up, throw her in reverse and peel out of the parking lot, fuming. Why is he always around and why the hell won't he just leave me alone already?
I skip my nightly drink outside in favor of curling up on my couch and texting Aster. She’s surely asleep at this time but I know it will make her smile to wake up and see a message from me.
I miss your ugly mug so bad. <3
I pick up my Kindle and dive into the world of Stella, my new favorite fictional woman, from By A Thread. I want to be more like her. I want to be strong and smart and cunning. Moreover, I really just want to be a badass who doesn’t mind cussing and who drinks all the time.