by Savage, Kat
“Oh, hello. Sorry about that, what can I get for you?” I respond while pulling glasses up from the bottom rack. It isn’t like me to greet a new customer without making eye contact, but I need a moment to collect myself.
“I’ll just have a Heineken,” he says.
“Coming right up!” I say, turning my back to him to get into the cooler. I pull the bottle opener from my back pocket and pop the top off. I turn to sit the beer in front of him and stop in my tracks. Whoever he is, wherever he came from, he is next-level gorgeous. There’s a lot of things I can play cool about, but a beautiful man isn’t one of them. I have weaknesses and I am staring one of them in the face.
He smiles a very relaxed, natural-looking smile. “Hello again.”
I gulp, slowly sitting his beer down onto the cardboard coaster in front of him. All I can hear in my head are the lyrics to “House of Cards” by Radiohead.
“Oh, hello there.” I give my best fake bartender smile. The same crappy smile I give a hundred patrons a night.
“That’s not your real smile, is it?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.
Wow, calling me on my bullshit early.
He must notice my surprise because he chuckles. “I’m only kidding,” he says.
I return a nervous laugh. “Can I get you anything else?”
His eyes search around the bar. “I’m actually just waiting for my brother. I don’t see him here yet so I’m good for now, thank you,” he replies.
I nod at him and shuffle back a couple of steps.
Someone yells, “Excuse me, miss?”
And I redirect my attention to assist them and some of the other patrons, all the while stealing glances of him from the corner of my eye.
My favorite game to play with myself to pass the time is to create back stories for the people I run into. He has a ring on—of course—but he doesn’t really look like your average married man. He definitely doesn’t have the suburban dad bod or terrible husband haircut. His dark brown hair and beard look soft and touchable. A very touchable beard. His eyes are a beautiful blue-green. He seems taller despite being in a seated position. And lean, like a swimmer. Swimmers’ bodies are delightful. I try guessing his name in my head. Garrett? No. Andrew? Nope. Daniel? Nu-uh. I mindlessly wipe the counters in front of me.
This is exactly the sort of man my mother would tell me to run from, to keep a distance from. Men like that—the beautiful, unobtainable type—are exactly the type to hurt you. A beautiful man can break you down before you ever know what is happening. One moment you’re Kelly Clarkson’s “Miss Independent” and the next you’re Pink’s “Just Like A Pill”. It spirals out of control so fast, you don’t even recognize yourself and you’re lovesick all over the sidewalk and your favorite pair of boots. No way, man. Not me.
I glance over at the exact moment he tries to wave me over and I make my way to him. I swallow big again. “What can I get ya?” I ask.
“Well, turns out my brother is standing me up, which is not a big surprise, so I’ll have a shot of Jameson and the check, please.” He forces a small polite smile past his visible disappointment. His eyes are sad.
It makes me sad for him. “Well, I’m sure he’s got a good reason, right? I’m sure you’ll catch up soon.”
“Thanks, but probably not. We haven’t seen each other in eight years, even though we live in the same city,” he says.
“Oh, that sucks.” I grab a shot glass from the rack and turn it over in front of him. I spin around, grab the Jameson from the shelf, tip the bottle up, and fill the shot glass all the way to the brim.
“Whoa now,” he says, chuckling.
“Seems like you could use it,” I say, smiling.
He nods, taking the shot in his hand. Some spills down his thumb as he hoists it in the air and knocks it back. He doesn’t even flinch.
That’s hot. I have a thing for men who can handle the hard stuff.
He pulls his thumb up to his lips and licks the droplets from the back of it.
Christ on a cracker. I clear my throat.
“Thanks,” he says.
He is staring at me now, making entirely too much eye contact for my comfort. For anyone’s comfort really. No one does that anymore. No one just looks at someone, looks through them.
“So, the check,” he says, breaking the silence.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “It’s on the house.” And what I mean by that is I will pay for it out of my tips. I do that sometimes for sad girls that come in. Sometimes they’ve just been dumped. Sometimes, like this man, they’ve been stood up.
He is smiling again, though. “Well, thank you…”
“Dani Monroe,” I say.
He nods. “Thank you, Dani.”
“You’re welcome…”
“Lucas Kane,” he says.
“You’re welcome, Lucas,” I say, smiling a rare but genuine smile. It isn’t often one is provoked from my lips but Lucas just stole one and I am not complaining.
“I’ll see you around,” he says, stepping off his stool and turning away to leave.
I watch his triceps flex as he pushes off the bar. I watch the dimple form in his right cheek as he glances back. I watch him glide between people and out the door and into the night. Regardless of his parting words, I doubt I’ll ever see him again. It happens now and again. I happen upon a truly entertaining specimen and then they walk out the door and I never see them again. It’s a real bummer, but perhaps I’m only meant to have these tiny little moments with them and that’s it.
I start to think about all the people who have disappeared from my life. Sometimes with a goodbye, sometimes under a cloak of darkness, and sometimes without even looking in the rearview at what they left behind. I’ve been destroyed by too many goodbyes with no one nearby to build me back up. People don’t stay. We are nomadic at our cores. I lived in four different apartments in the four years before my current one. I never switch cities because I’m tied down here, as much as I don’t want to be. As much as I wish I didn’t have to be. I can’t leave this place.
So I stand here, while all the world moves around me, while all the people go on from this place and never look back. And I watch them. Usher them on. Maybe that’s what I’m meant to do.
4
Lucas
I step out onto the sidewalk and into the changing air. The sun’s gone down but the city is still all lit up. I bet I couldn’t see the stars even if I was standing on the tallest building. I inhale slowly and find myself still smiling from the brief interaction with that firecracker of a bartender.
She looked like she could be fun. To my surprise, I found myself stealing glances of her all night. She was perky. Her blonde hair bounced around in unison with her body as she ran back and forth serving people. She smiled those genuine, happy-to-be-here smiles at everyone. A couple of times though, I caught her when she’d drifted away to somewhere else the way she was when I first arrived. Her face changed. It became like glass, like if she let a tear fall, it would shatter. People like her have monsters under their beds and skeletons in their closets, and a suitcase full of demons at the door to pick up on their way out. People like her bail. I know, because I’ve fallen for that type before. So many people inside one body.
I check my phone for any word from my brother. Elliott is a real dick. In all my life, the only person I’ve ever been stood up by is a person that’s supposed to be my goddamn brother. Well, half-brother anyway. I should have known. He’s never really been a brother to me. He’s dicked me over on more than one occasion. I just thought we could move to a place of healing after all these years. He wounded me. And all I’ve been trying to do is get past that, but he isn’t helping matters.
I turn back toward the windows of the bar to see if I can steal one last look at her. Dani. I keep wondering if it’s short for Danielle. I’m tempted to go back in and ask. I’m tempted to go back in and ask a dozen questions starting with what her phone number is. If she says no, I’ll be
disappointed. If she says yes, I’ll probably still be disappointed. I look down at my left hand. If she were the type of woman who wanted to keep company with a married man, I’d be a little sad.
I turn back away. Perhaps the version of her in my mind, the one with gaps I fill in myself, is the best version in this situation. No need to spoil it.
I walk to my car and get in. I check my phone again. Nothing. I should go home and shower again just to rid myself of this disappointment and curiosity. No good can come from either. I make the short drive to my apartment and head toward my door only to be met by Chelsea.
The poor girl is sitting on my stoop, looking down at her phone. She hasn’t seen me yet and I wonder if it’s too late to back up. I pause for a moment and when I do, her head pops up.
“Lucas,” she says.
It isn’t a question or a statement. It sounds like a prayer, or perhaps what I think a prayer would sound like. I don’t really have a lot of firsthand experience with that.
“Chelsea? What are you doing here? How do you even know where I live?” I ask, afraid to hear what she’s about to say.
“I just thought…I thought maybe I could come here and make you see we are meant to be together,” she says.
I look down the sidewalk left and right and realize I need to shift into character. “Chelsea, you can’t be here. My wife is upstairs. You can’t do this,” I say, still wondering how she got here.
“I followed you home the last time you left. I sat here and watched for a while but I left before I saw your wife. I was too afraid. But come on, I mean there’s a reason you were in my bed. There’s a reason you don’t stay here. You’re unhappy and I can make you happy. I can. I know I can.”
I shake my head. Wow. This doesn’t happen very often but when it does, I feel like total shit. Chelsea is just a woman. She fell for a man who doesn’t want any part of falling. And now she’s going to be sad and I never wanted that either. I can see the pain and hope in her face. I can see what it’s going to do to her either way. I can drag this out to pacify her, to make her feel better for now. Or I can rip it off like a Band-Aid and get the crushing over with and she can begin to heal now. Either way, it still paints me an asshole. Either way, no one gets what they want.
“Chelsea. You knew what this was when we started. You knew what this was way before we got here. You know I can’t be with you. It’s complicated.” I sigh.
She is fidgeting with the bracelet on her left wrist, shaking her head back and forth in disbelief. “I just don’t understand why you don’t leave her,” she snaps. The desperation in her voice quickly turns to anger, to frustration.
“I just can’t, Chelsea. We’ve been through this. It would destroy her. She’s unstable,” I say, making my fake wife out to be the problem. God, that’s about as low as I can get. I’m not even nice to my fake wife. How the fuck would I treat a real one?
“That’s fine, I get it. Men like you string good women like me along for the sake of a crazy woman who obviously doesn’t give you what you need. That’s fine. I can find better, you know? I can. And I will.” With that, she turns on her heel and walks away with extra sway in her hips.
It’s the kind of walk a woman pulls out when she definitely wants regret to sink into you. I feel some, just not for the reasons she probably hoped for.
I stand there, rubbing the back of my neck. I close my eyes and exhale. I look up at the dark windows of my building, glad we hadn’t attracted any of my nosey neighbors to gawk. I walk up the stoop and stick my key in the door. I start to wonder if Chelsea is the type to push things, to make things harder. Hell, she had followed me home once already, staked my place out. Would she go further?
I shake the thoughts from my mind and let myself into my apartment, heading straight for the kitchen to pour myself a Jameson. At this point, I need it to sleep.
I check my messages. Nothing from my brother. Figures. I don’t know why I ever expected it to get better between us. It had never been good, in spite of how much I hoped for it. Maybe it’s because we had different fathers. Maybe we just inherited different shit from them that made it impossible to be close. Truth be told, I’m not sure I ever felt a bond with him. All I remember is trying make his dad like me, make him be proud of me, and nothing ever worked. I remember him treating Elliott better than me. He was the type of guy who wasn’t good at treating a kid who wasn’t his as his own. I figure I’ll never actually know the real reason me and Elliott aren’t close, but forming my own conclusions helps a little. His father being one of them. It at least gave me options. Perhaps if I keep trying, we’ll get there. Hell, maybe if I keep trying, we will at least get to a place where he doesn’t fucking stand me up.
I sit on the end of my bed and fall back. I have half a mind to fall asleep just like this, feet on the floor and all. But I manage to shimmy up to my pillow, grateful it’s the weekend and there’s no alarm to set or place to be. I can just sleep until I feel better about the mess I’ve made out of my life. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this lost. I had the map in my hand and couldn’t bring myself to use it. I roll over on my side, pulling the gold band from my finger and placing it on my nightstand.
With this one small gesture, I unpack all my lies. It’s easier to fall asleep like that.
5
Dani
I can’t say I’m surprised by what is happening right now. Of course Mark didn’t actually stop by my work like he said he would. Of course he texted me saying he was unable to make it. Of course I’m walking to his place late at night now to meet him there instead. Of course I can’t actually stay all night because he has to get back to his actual life.
So what am I stopping by for? A fucking booty call. A quick ass booty call that I have to walk home from afterwards. God, I’m an idiot.
I make the trip to his building pretty quickly, and buzz myself in. I shake my head the whole way up and ring the bell in anger. I cross my arms while I wait.
“Hey baby,” he says, smiling, as he opens the door.
It’s his cheese eating, I’m-the-fucking-man grin and it disgusts me. I don’t remember it always being like this with him.
“Hey,” I say coldly.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, as if nothing had gone wrong.
“Seriously? How can you even ask me that with a straight face?”
He scratches his chin and shrugs his shoulders. “So you want to do this or what?”
Wow. Fucking wow. He clearly doesn’t give a shit and that question was the last straw for me. “You know what, Mark? No. No, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this anymore,” I say, arms still crossed.
“I’m sorry, what? You’re rejecting me? You’re breaking this off with me?” he asks.
“Yes. I am.”
He scratches his chin again. “Listen, Dani, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but women don’t tell me no. I’m fucking Marcus Stone. You got that, bitch? You don’t break up with me, I break up with you. And you know what, I’m not fucking done with you.” He steps toward me, making fists with both hands at his sides.
I stand there in shock at what he just said. I don’t even know how to respond. Men like him think they can say whatever they want and we just need to obey, need to take it for what it is and step back in line. I don’t fucking think so.
“Listen Mark, I’m going to just go ahead and ignore the fact that you just said some stupid ass shit and I’m going to leave. You have a good night and a good life,” I say, turning to open the door.
Mark’s hand flies past my face and slams the door back shut. He pushes me face first up against the door and pins me there, his body pushing uncomfortably against mine. “I don’t think you heard me, Dani. I’m not done with you,” he says, as he runs his hands into my hair and jerks my head back.
“Let me go, Marcus,” I call out. I never called him Marcus until now. I feel him rubbing himself against my backside, taunting me.
“I don’t think
I will,” he says, sliding his hand down my side and around between my legs.
“I’m asking you nicely to think about what you’re doing and let me go before it’s too late,” I say, calmly. I know better than to panic or show fear in this kind of situation. That’s what he wants.
“I don’t think I’ll regret what I’m about to do.” He shoves his face into the crook of my neck to kiss and bite.
He leaves me no choice. I lower my arm and send my elbow back into his stomach as hard as I can. He drops his arm and head down to cup his stomach and I send another elbow back straight across the bridge of his nose. He screams out in pain and cups his face as he falls to the ground. I kick him for good measure and open the front door. I turn to him for just a moment.
“Don’t you ever think about touching me ever again. Lose my number, you fucking asshole.” I slam the door shut behind me. This will be the last time I ever see him. I’ll let the staff at work know he’s banned from the bar now and that’ll be the end of that.
I get out to the sidewalk and take in a few deep breaths of fresh air. Goddamn that feels good. I don’t know why I ever tolerated his entitled ass to begin with. I can already feel my phone buzzing in my pocket and I’m sure he’s sending me some very colorful texts.
I ignore them all the way home, carrying my mace and keys between my fingers. That’s one thing about being assaulted or nearly assaulted. You’re a little on edge after. I haven’t been seeing Mark for that long but something tells me he’s the vengeful type. I could just picture him trying to catch up with me and seek out some sort of revenge.
I make it to my building without incident and hurry in. I’m not too frightened to defend myself, but I certainly don’t want to spend any more time than I have to in a vulnerable spot. I lock up my apartment and see my hands shaking with both adrenaline and fear for the first time tonight. I walk into my bedroom and strip out of my clothes, putting on a long t-shirt and opening my closet door. Moving a few things out of my way, I sit down and lean against the wall. After a few short, jagged breaths, I begin to cry.