In Dark Places

by Darryl J Keck

  Chapter 4

  Mandi

  I cannot believe that Jackie would abandon me with Robbie seated a mere fifty feet away. What a perfect conclusion to a distressing fucking day. I will continue to nurse this tequila sunrise until he either clears out or makes his move. He stopped sending letters about two months ago, so he may finally be over me. Regardless, if he does plan to confront me, I’d prefer that it happened inside a tavern with close to a dozen witnesses. Aaron might be too busy with the customers to notice if Robbie makes an aggressive move.

  Being a bartender can be very distracting. In addition to filling drink orders, you often get caught up entertaining the regulars. I get so tired of men calling me doll face, honey, sweetums, and cupcake. They act as if assigning me with a pet name will get me weak in the knees. I paint on a smile while wanting to gouge out their eyes with a plastic stir stick. The guys sitting around the bar tonight all lack rudimentary social skills. Like Billy, they love to spin yarns that will put you in a state of yawn. When the objective is to get a decent tip, your purpose is to give them a false sense of importance. That type of attention can be confusing for some patrons.

  My older customers like Clancy and Francis know that my sweetness is a plastic part of the game. Young guys are not clued-in to the way it all works. They don’t realize that striking up a conversation about Lord of the Rings is nearly the last subject a girl like me wishes to discuss. A bartender is paid to act interested in whatever gibberish exits from the lubricated vocal cords of their customers. You can quickly lose your regulars if you aren’t heedful of their delicate sensibilities. Single people would stay home and drink by the glow of the television if they wanted to be ignored. For them to pay $3 for a draw, they expect a bit of validation for the inflated cost of their suds.

  As soon as Jackie departed, I could feel Robbie keeping a watchful eye on me. After refusing to glance in his general direction, he finally walked out the front door. After fifteen minutes clicks by, I decide to make the short but shaky stroll to my car. I feel a bit jittery about leaving the safety of the bar, but I’m not about to quiver in my boots over Robbie’s untimely release from the clink.

  My vehicle is parked less than a block from the entrance, but it feels like it’s taking forever to reach the driver’s side door. Getting plastered most certainly has its drawbacks. I reach inside my purse and fumble around for my keys. Oh, shit—Jackie annexed my set of keys to prevent me from driving home impaired.

  This is just fantastic!

  Even when I’ve been unable to walk in a straight line, I could proficiently operate my car. Although I didn’t show it, Robbie’s arrival had me so shook up that I was unable to make a sound decision. Shit, I could call Jackie, but she only lives about three blocks from Town Square. Even though I have a mild case of double vision, I can hoof it that far.

  As I stumble down Main Street, each clunky step takes longer than usual. Walking to her house may not be such a brilliant idea.

  “So, where do you think you’re heading?” asks an unseen man from the alley. Even in this inebriated state, I can tell it’s Robbie’s husky voice.

  Oh, shit!

  I turn to see him leaning against a brick wall while sucking a long drag off his Marlboro like he’s James Fucking Dean. Even if he commandeered a leather jacket, he’d never be that cool.

  “I’m heading to Jackie’s,” I tell him. I should make a run for the bar, but it’s over a block away. I’m too sauced to walk without swerving; sprinting would definitely be out of the question. He’d surely block the entrance or knock me to the sidewalk before I reached the door.

  “Why don’t I accompany you, M&M? We need to have a friendly discussion.”

  “Please don’t call me that,” I say, repelled by his sophomoric nickname for me. He claimed M&M had less to do with my initials and more that I had a hard outer shell with tasty filling. “There’s nothing left to discuss. We’ve been over all of this before.”

  “I read your side in a letter. Now it’s time that you hear mine,” he insists. “Since you refused to write more than one note, I assume you didn’t read any of my detailed letters.”

  “I skimmed a few of them.”

  “You can tell me some of the things I wrote to you. Come here.” His massive hand motions to join him in the alley, but there is no way I’m stumbling into that darkened passageway. Rob is obviously not happy that I dumped him in a seven-line letter. It was about as cold as being jilted through a text message.

  “I’m fine where I am. The alley is nothin’ but locked doors, garbage bins, and a rusty fire escape. It’s no place for a girl.”

  “I didn’t ask you to inspect the alley; I just want you to hang with me until I finish my smoke. You seem a bit wobbly. There’s a nice firm wall to lean against so you don’t tumble over.”

  He’s acting like Mr. Sensitivity. After living with him for eight months, I happen to know that being aggressive is his preferred state. Macho guys like Robbie are wired to believe that silence equals agreement. He’ll keep pushing until he wears me down. He needs to come to terms that reconciliation is not a possibility.

  “I’ve had a few, but I’m still able to stand vertically. I’m fine right here.” I cannot believe I’m even conversing with this asshole. Why the fuck didn’t I leave when Jackie walked out? That last drink wasn’t worth being ambushed like this!

  “If you’re on the sidewalk when Delaney drives by, he’s gonna nab both of us for public intox. After all those months behind bars, I’m not ready to face that asshole again. He would put us both in the tank without blinking an eye.” I’d hate to be locked in any room with Robbie all night. I’d rather vigorously slurp the 40-weight oil directly from Billy’s stained fingers.

  Delaney or the deputy will make the rounds before too long. It might be a good idea to be obscured from the sidewalk. Despite all inner warnings, I step forward to get this bullshit over with. If it’s not tonight, he’ll find another way to slither into my path.

  “What do you want to talk about?” I ask nicely, trying to keep from pushing the asshole into a fury.

  “The word on the street is you’re not dating anyone.”

  “If you must know, I have no interest in dating anybody. I can practically guarantee that I will not be dating anyone in the upcoming weeks either—present company included.”

  “Meaning what exactly?”

  “It means that I refuse to get dragged through the dirt again,” I say, dispelling any hope of rekindling our relationship. “I’m trying to find myself; I’m on a sublime journey of self-discovery.”

  “You’ve let some meaningless fights stand in the way of what we had,” he says, stroking some wild strands of hair from my eyes. Either this gesture is making me sick to my stomach, or the José Cuervo is doing a number on my acid reflux.

  “That was a long time ago,” I remind him. “I’m so over it. Our time together has been scrubbed from my mind. I’d like to keep from rehashing painful memories.”

  “That’s great for you, but not a night has passed where I haven’t thought about what we could still have together. Don’t derail what we could have in the future over what was nothing more than a senseless crime of passion. I’ve served my time for that mistake.”

  I better reject him in a genteel way. “Rob, I admit that we did have some wonderful times together, but I just don’t, uh, need that level of stress anymore. When it was good, it was nice, but when it was bad, it was reprehensible. You put nearly a dozen holes in the wall that were, uh, meant for my face. A girl cannot blossom in a hostile environment like that.”

  “That is all ancient history,” he claims, earnestly. “I’ve been working on my anger with a counselor. With the exercises I’ve been doing, my rage has been completely under control. Why else would I have been released early?”

  This is complete bullshit! Rob is only claiming to be in the middle of some type of self-improvement to gain a little leverage. Trust me, his best just doesn’t cut it
.

  “That’s sensational, Rob,” I commend, making a pretense of sincerity. “All of your hard work will benefit the next girl you date. Her life won’t be like living out Nickelback’s ‘Never Again’ like it was for me.”

  “Quit referencing those stupid rock songs I’ve never heard,” he says, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Do you know how lonely it was being stuck in prison? There was nothing but time to think about how to fix your wrongs.”

  “I figured you’d get bonked against your will each Thursday night and have lots of TV time to rest your aching crapper.” I’m trying to keep this light even though it is unnerving as hell.

  “I see the wiseass hasn’t vanished,” he says, huffing. “You know, my dad had to take care of the farm by himself after I was sent away.”

  “I didn’t turn you in,” I remind him. “You were caught in the woods with my blood all over your clothing. Delaney also found the knife you used with your fingerprints all over it. Blame him if you need to point a finger.”

  “You need to make everything right with me.”

  This is bullshit! I am not about to leave the door cracked even a sliver! It’s time to quit dancing around the obvious. “My heart shut down after you hurt me like that. Had that blade cut me one inch to the right, I’d be pushing daisies. Being stabbed told me—loud and clear—that you didn’t want me anymore. There was no other way to look at it.”

  “You’re wrong. I don’t want to be with anyone else.” His coolheaded tone has crossed into slight irritation. “Maybe you’ve forgotten a few things that I need to remind you about.”

  He whispers a set of promises, most of which I ignore because not a word contains a lick of truth. I can’t even meet his eyes because they lack sincerity. Because of my inattention, his arm is suddenly around my back while his oversized hand has a tight grip on my left wrist. Regardless of my struggle, I lack the strength and dexterity to break away. I built up some forearm power from my volleyball days, but my compact muscle mass is no match against his farm-boy brawn.

  How can any woman feel safe in the arms of a brute that can overpower her? It’s like a rabbit wrestling with a bear. He positions his leg in a way where I can’t even knee him in the grapes. I swear he’s been practicing this stance with a farm animal or something. Maybe this is how he kept the mutants in prison from giving him a loving reach-around.

  He nuzzles in close; his hot whiskey breath is moistening my neck. With the right person, this would be a turn on, but Robbie is expelling that heat. Between those lungs pumps a heart the size of a walnut.

  He glides his fingernails down my arm causing an involuntary shiver to run through me. Even though I’m terrified, his touch indicates passion, although the gentleness is transitory. The profuse release of testosterone always immobilizes his underdeveloped sweet side. He’ll eventually clutch my arm to the point of bruising my delicate skin. I swear the sadistic fuck gets off on inflicting pain.

  Robbie lowers his mouth to my lips, forcing me to kiss him back. His tongue intertwines with mine, the tip gently swirling around. His breath is a mingling of Wild Turkey and filtered cigarettes. Man, he could have popped a breath mint before forcing me to taste his saliva. Although I have not been kissed in months, those lips are attached to one seriously messed-up individual. As I try to pull away, he pushes his lips tighter against my unwilling mouth.

  The hand that was touching my arm is now under my shirt cupping my left breast. I flinch as his finger traces the contours of my nipple. He thinks this ‘seduction play’ is erotic, but I’m grimacing at his touch. He has felt me up in this manner countless times, but I was a consenting participant then. This impingement could be considered romantic assault—if such a legal term exists.

  “Doesn’t that feel good?” he asks. “You must miss my touch.”

  “Knock it off, Rob,” I plead. “Let me go. I do not want you to be touching me like this. This isn’t consensual. I have not given you permission to put your hand under my bra. Remove it now!”

  “Give it some time. I’m just getting to the good stuff.”

  What good stuff? This is the equivalent of getting a pap smear from a doctor with long nails and a shaky hand. He pushes me against the brick wall that houses the pharmacy. I wince as my shoulder and the back of my head take the brunt of the impact. Being pushed against a durable, solid surface looks sexy in a romantic thriller, but movie-set drywall must be more forgiving than a stack of century-old bricks. Right now, bruises are the least of my worries.

  I try to breathe steadily to redirect my mind from being held against my will. My happy place doesn’t have much of a view when I’m unable to move my arms freely. Claustrophobia can be a stubborn bitch. By closing my eyes tightly, I try to conjure up any soothing image that may relax my tortured mind. Nothing works.

  “Let me go, Rob. I beg of you.” I am practically sobbing. Why can’t he just see that I’m the woman he loved and lost? I try to wiggle out from his grip but lack that gymnast agility to reposition my arms. I finally yell, “Damn it.”

  “You used to like it rough,” he says, practically inhaling the perfume from the pores in my neck. At least he isn’t sucking on my neck yet. Knowing Rob, he’ll brag to everyone that we made out instead of this unreciprocated attack. I’m not in any position to rat him out; the last thing I need is the law digging into my affairs. I’m at a total disadvantage here.

  “You’re such a fuckin’ pig. We have no chance of working! Just move on to a new victim. I’ve wasted too many precious heartbeats in your company.”

  “I’ve been waiting too long for this,” he moans, squeezing my boob as if he’s checking the ripeness of a pink grapefruit.

  When bad things happen, a tender soundtrack does not keep us company as we’re enduring pain and discomfort. All I can hear is Robbie breathing and the fearful thumping of my heart. That grim reality separates life from the movies.

  “Couldn’t you at least . . . ” Before I can finish, he forcefully grabs my mouth to mute what I was about to say. How demeaning to be shut down while being held down!

  “I’m in no mood for another insult,” he orders. “You’re gonna fucking listen. I tolerated some boring stretches in the joint. It gave me time to think, mostly about what I should have done. When I saw you out tonight, it felt like a sign.”

  After he lets go of my mouth, I tell him, “It wasn’t a sign, Rob. I just came out to see Jackie.”

  “When she left you behind, I knew it was the right time to have our talk,” he insists while nibbling on my right earlobe. He’s still clutching my breast like he has outward title to it. He lost access to everything pink the second he came after me with a knife.

  “This isn’t a talk,” I point out, flinching to get his mouth off my skin. “I’m being held against my will. Rob, let go of me!”

  “You heard her,” an indistinct male voice calls from the street. “Take your hands off her.”

  The kissing on my neck ceases. Robbie’s tight grip prevents me from seeing the mystery man. I let out a deep breath, taking temporary comfort that I’m no longer facing this nightmare alone. I can only hope Delaney is aiming a loaded revolver at Rob’s fucking face.

  “Get lost, Billy,” Robbie demands.

  Okay, it sucks a smidge that it’s Billy and not Sheriff Delaney. At least Billy would be willing to crawl over shattered glass just to kiss one of my bare ankles. A guy this smitten would never leave me in harm’s way because he’s outsized. Then again, I flung insults and tattered the poor boy’s self-image tonight. Great timing as usual, dipshit!

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Billy confirms, proving that he has some balls packed in those oil-stained dungarees.

  “I guarantee that the last thing you want to do is interfere. You don’t want any of this.”

  “Either does she,” Billy says, firmly. “Are you fucking deaf? Just remove your hands and step away.”

  Rob is liable to knock Billy into next week if he tries to free me. Be
ing on parole, Rob can’t afford to have a witness to this assault. Regardless, I’m still at a disadvantage. With the amount of alcohol surging through my veins, not to mention my immodest clothing, everyone will think I was acting like Jodie Foster in The Accused.

  Without Billy’s assistance, I’ll be totally helpless. I need him to be dauntless—even though I don’t deserve his intervention after my cruelness earlier.

  “Billy, help me,” I scream viciously. “Run and get Aaron. Tell him to bring his little thing under the bar. He’ll know what I mean.”

  Billy stands his ground. Although everything looks a bit fuzzy, it seems as if Billy is going for the brave move rather than the secure one. If he gets me out of this jam, I will probably have to give the little shit a chance. I’ll agree to an obligatory dinner and movie to see this sexual assault come to a close.

  “You heard me, Rob,” he repeats. “Get your fucking mitts off her. Just walk away, dude. We’ll all go home, sleep it off, and label this moment as a misunderstanding. No cops, no nothing. No one will have to know this happened besides the three of us. Isn’t that right, Mandi?”

  “Uh, yeah, it’ll be nothing more than a misunderstanding.” I’d agree to almost anything to get beyond this horrific circumstance.

  “I don’t think that’s gonna work,” Rob tells him. “I’ve waited a year to share a tender moment with her, and no little fuckstick is about to stand in my way.”

  “Can’t you see she isn’t into what you’re doing?” Billy pleads. “She’s struggling to get away from you. Nothing I observed was tender and certainly isn’t love; it’s nothing more than control.”

  “You don’t know shit. Our unfinished business is of no concern to you. We’re discussing our future.”

  “There’s no future, Robbie,” I reiterate firmly. “Give up that notion already.”