by Alex Grayson
In the far back, hanging from the ceiling, is a big sign that announces a public restroom. With a sigh of relief, I head to the back of the store.
Once I enter the bathroom, I go straight to the last stall. Luckily, it is a handicap stall that’s big and has its own sink. I immediately strip my clothes off. Wetting the washcloth that I brought with me, I commence in giving myself an old fashioned “whore’s bath.” Once done, I pull on a fresh pair of panties, a bra, a pair of jeans with holes in the knees, and a “Walking Dead” t-shirt. After slapping on some deodorant and brushing my teeth, I flip my hair over the sink and wash my hair. I dry it the best I can with my hand towel. After brushing my hair, I feel almost normal again. I am as fresh as I can be without taking an actual bath.
Coming out of the restroom, I decide to wait on getting something to eat until right before I am due to be at Jaxon’s Pub. I don’t know how long the job will last so I need to conserve the money I have just in case it doesn’t work out.
On my way back to the library I see a volunteer fire station on a side street. Right across the street is the ‘Jaded Hollow Police Department’. Okay, good to know where that is, I think to myself. Every town I stop in I always look for the police station, just in case. On another side street I notice a tall building that says it’s an elementary, middle, and high school.
After dropping my backpack off at my car, the entrance to the library calls my name. It’s one of the smallest libraries I’ve ever seen. Straight ahead, once you walk in the door, is a counter where you checkout and return books. To the right, there are three small tables that have four chairs a piece. Beyond the tables, there are tall bookshelves creating aisles. Beside the tall bookshelves are two shorter bookshelves that hold children's books.
Pulling my book out of my purse, I sit at one of the tables. I discovered a new passion when I hit the road. I absolutely adore reading romance books. During one of my stops at the beginning of my trip I stumbled across a library that was giving books away. All you had to do was make a donation. In an attempt to keep myself occupied when I wasn’t driving I picked out two books and donated two dollars. Those two books were lifesavers. I’ve picked up several more since then at thrift stores. Now, I am completely addicted to reading how others get their happily ever afters. I know it is fake, but if I can’t have it in real life, I can at least enjoy it in fiction. My current story is about a couple that has been together since high school. The man and woman have teenage kids now. The hero of the story gets kidnapped and tortured while doing a tour overseas. Throughout the book it shows glimpses of the couple’s life together. It may sound like it won’t end well, but I know it does. I always peek at the end of a book, just to make sure. I only read happily ever after books. I’m already living a life that will have a terrible ending. I don’t want to read about bad endings as well. Nope, only happy endings for me.
I’m so caught up in my book that I don’t realize how late it is getting. I glance at my phone and shoot up out of my chair. It’s already 2:30! Crap! Thank God the town’s small or I’ll never make it in time for my first day of work.
I reluctantly stuff my book back in my purse and make my way towards the exit. On my way out the door, I note a small shelf of books. On top of the shelf is a box that has a sign on top of it. It advertises free books with a donation. Pulling out four precious quarters, I drop them in the box and pick out a book. I’m almost finished with my current book and it’s my last one. I know I shouldn’t spend the money, even though it is only a dollar, but I need the relief and release the books give me. After carefully putting the book away in my purse, I make my way out the door and quickly walk the couple of blocks back to my car.
Chapter Four
I purposely wear my hair down, hoping that no one will say anything. I know Jaxon told me I had to wear it up, but until he or Mia tells me again, I’m leaving it down. I’ve come to realize that I can be stubborn when I want and feel safe enough to be.
I pull my car around the back of the bar, where I’m assuming employees park. There is a little black four-door Audi A4 and a black motorcycle already sitting in two parking spaces. I park my car beside the Audi, shut off my car, and get out. After locking my door, I dump my keys in my purse and make my way to the front of the building. I try the door in the back but apparently it locks from the inside.
I ascend the steps that lead to the front door. My first thought as I walk inside is that the place looks a lot different during the day. There is no music playing and it seems brighter than it did last night. All of the chairs are flipped upside down and placed on the tables. The sign out front says they open at two, but there are only two patrons inside. One is at the bar and the other in the far corner. I slowly approach the bar where I see Mia wiping down some glasses.
“Hey,” I say.
She glances up and unhurriedly turns her body towards me. The first place her eyes land is on my hair. Please don’t say anything. Please don’t say anything, I chant over and over in my head. God must have heard my prayers because she simply shrugs her shoulders and continues drying the glasses.
After two more glasses she puts down her rag and walks to the end of the bar, lifts a portion of it, and motions with her other hand for me to come behind the counter with her. Once I’m standing beside her, she lowers the partition. It looks entirely different being on this side of the bar. There are tons of drying racks that house several different size glasses. There are also several small refrigerators.
“You can put your purse under the bar there,” Mia says while gesturing towards a small cubby hole underneath the bar. A small purse is already lying there, which I assume is Mia’s. I bend down to place mine beside hers. When I stand back up Jaxon is standing right in front of me on the other side of the counter. I jump and yelp.
While I try to calm my racing heart, I notice today he’s wearing a black thermal shirt with the sleeves pushed up to just below the elbows. His vibrant tattoos are peeking out. I can also see he has tattoos that run over his fingers as well. He’s still wearing his necklace and wristband. I can’t see below his waist, but I bet he’s wearing jeans again. He seems like a jeans kind of guy. Just as my eyes are taking him in his are doing the same of me. However, whereas mine are taking in his beauty, his are accessing the hair that still hangs in my face.
“I thought I told you to put your hair up. I can’t have you around food with it hanging in your face. The health inspector would have my ass if he saw you in here with your hair down like that. If you can’t already follow directions then you might as well leave now and save us both the trouble later.”
Well, so much for trying to get away with leaving my hair down. I knew it was a long shot, but I had to give it a try. I just hope the people here fall into the category of ignoring instead of being nosy and asking questions.
“No, please, I just forgot to pull it back,” I say as I reach into my pocket for a hair tie. Taking a deep breath I turn my head away from him, gather the mass of brown hair and pull it up into a low ponytail. Even with it up it still reaches past my bra strap. Other than the plain russet color I love my hair. It’s full, thick, and goes down to the middle of my back.
When I turn back around to face Jaxon, I hear a sharp intake of breath from Mia, who is still standing beside me, the side my scar is on. It doesn’t take Jaxon long to notice the scar either. I see him clench his jaw and his hands that are resting on the bar balled into fists.
“What happened to your face?” He asks.
It actually surprises me that he asks me. I pegged him as the type that would ignore something like this. I figured he wouldn’t want to get involved with issues that weren’t his concern.
I glance down at his question. This is why I hate showing my scar. I am never fully prepared when someone asks me about it. What am I supposed to say? Oh, you know, the usual. My husband was in one of his moods and decided to push me down the stairs. Nothing new there. Yeah, definitely not saying that. I normally try to stic
k closest to the truth as I can. It’s easier to keep up with the lies if it’s the altered truth.
“It’s nothing. I fell down the stairs a few months ago.” I tell him.
“Look at me.” He growls.
Startled at his tone, I quickly look up at him.
“What happened to your face, Bailey?” He asks again.
The intensity and anger that flashes in his eyes surprises me. It also scares me a little. He has no right to be angry. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know what happened to me. I can understand some men getting upset about women being abused, but he has no clue as to what could have caused my scar. Why give off such an intense reaction to my answer? And why demand more of an answer than what I have given him? Why would he care? The answers don’t matter. I’m not giving him more than I already had. It’s none of his business.
“I told you, I fell down the stairs. When I hit the bottom, my face smashed into a table.” I tell him defiantly. What is it about him that causes me to step out of my safe and protective shell and have the ability to take a stand for myself? Normally I’m shy and withdrawn around people. Not so much with Jaxon.
Eyes still blazing, he says, “You’re lying.” And then turns from me to face Mia. “Paperwork and then show her the basics for the next few hours.” He turns and strides towards a darkened hallway and disappears.
I can see frown lines popping up on Mia’s face as she watches Jaxon walk off. When she turns back around to face me, her expression has cleared and I wonder if I imagined the sad lines. Her eyes briefly flutter over to my scar before she gives her head a small shake and turns away.
“He’s your brother right?” I ask her.
“Yes.” Is her one-word reply. Obviously Mia isn’t much of a talker.
She moves down to the other end of the bar and I follow her. She reaches down and grabs some papers and a pen off the counter beside the register. Turning back in my direction, she offers me the papers and pen. “Here are the papers you need to fill out. It’s just a generic application to get some basic information from you. When you finish, let me know and I’ll show you how to get things ready for the evening crowd.”
I watch as she moves down to the other end of the bar and starts unloading cases of beer and placing them in the small fridges.
I set the papers down on the counter and rest my elbows on either side of them. The application in front of me is pretty standard. It requests the usual information; name, address, phone number, previous employment, etc. Unfortunately, giving the usual information could be dangerous for me.
Instead of putting down my married name, Montgomery, I put my maiden name, Winsor. Of course, my maiden name isn’t much better considering the life I had as a child. I hate being attached to either name. Steven knows I hate the name Winsor so hopefully he won’t look for me by that name. Luckily, I still have my old driver’s license in my maiden name. I had lost it when I went to get a new one in my married name. I found it again several months later behind Steven’s dresser one day while I was cleaning.
Now, on to the address. This is going to be tricky. As I’m currently living out of my car, I don’t have an address to put down. I don’t want people to pity me if they know. I decide to just leave it blank for now and if asked come up with a lie. I’ve gotten good at lying.
I write down my phone number, a few other snippets of information and move onto employment history. I told Jaxon that I worked as a bartender before, which I have, but I lie again about where. I don’t want to take any chances of him asking questions where I used to live. Steven has a lot of people in his pocket and if someone starts asking questions, it may lead him here.
After a couple more bits of information I set the pen and pick up the papers and start looking around for Mia. I glance down to the end of the bar where I last saw her but she’s not there. In her place is Jaxon.
He’s casually leaning on the bar with his hands in his pockets watching me. As I suspected earlier, he’s wearing a pair of jeans that hang low on his trim hips. The knees are so worn that there are holes starting to form. He has a chain that runs from a belt loop to the back of his pants, where I’m assuming it attaches to his wallet. His brows are puckered like he’s trying to figure something out, but just can’t quite grasp it. We both just stand there and stare at each other.
I’m frozen solid when I realize we are alone in the bar. I don’t do well being alone with men. Can you blame me? Every man in my life that was supposed to cherish and protect me has done nothing but scream, hit, kick, or do numerous other hideous things to me. Men scare me. I never know what they’re thinking or what they’ll do next. They’re unpredictable and I don’t trust them.
Jaxon suddenly stands straight and starts walking towards me. I become unglued from my spot and start moving backward. If there’s one thing I like less than being alone with a man, it’s being in close proximity with a man. I shiver and start to shake at the thought of Jaxon getting closer. My heart is racing a mile a minute, like it’s trying to beat out of my chest. My palms become sweaty and my vision watery. Jaxon continues to stalk towards me.
I bump into something behind me and glass rattles. It startles me and I gasp. As Jaxon gets closer to me, I realize that he’s not stopping. I break out into a sweat and my breathing has become ragged. What is he going to do to me once he reaches me? The look on his face has switched from confusion to a look that scares me. His odd colored eyes look hard and his jaw is clenched. His hands are balled into fists.
Why does he look so mad? Is it something I did to make him so angry? What if he fires me? Oh God, what if he hits me? I know it’s irrational to think this way. I know I’ve done nothing to warrant his anger. But I can’t stop the thoughts from forming in my head. Years of abuse does that to a woman. Many of the times I was abused as a child and then as an adult I never knew what brought on the anger.
My breathing becomes more erratic the closer Jaxon gets. My vision starts to blur because I’m breathing so hard. I’m backed up against the counter so I have nowhere else to go to get away. He’s getting closer. In my mind, Jaxon is replaced by Steven. He’s furious and I know the blows are about to come. Tears start to form in my eyes. He’s only a few steps away from me now.
In an attempt to ward off the blows, I duck my head and throw my arms up to either side of it, dropping the papers that are still clutched in my hand in the process. I clasp my hands behind my head and tuck my elbows in front of my face.
“No, please. I swear I didn’t do anything.” I whisper.
“Sweet Jesus,” I hear muttered in return. I feel hands lightly grab my arms and I huddle even tighter into myself.
“Please, don’t hurt me. I swear I’ll be good, just please don’t hurt me.” I manage to whisper past the lump of emotions stuck in my throat. My cries are becoming hysterical, making it hard to take in air.
“Fuck!” A voice hisses as I feel arms wrap around me. I stiffen. What is Steven doing? He’s never—not once—comforted me, especially during one of his rants.
Begging usually spurs him on more. I’ve learned to not give in to begging. It just makes it worse. It’s what he wants. I normally just lie there and take the beating. This time though I give into the impulse to beg. I thought I managed to get away, but he found me.
I slowly start to realize that it’s not Steven’s arms that I’m wrapped in. These arms are much stronger and firmer. They are gentle and warm. They wrap around me as though I’m in a cocoon. They’re not hurting me. They have a firm hold around me, but it’s not suffocating. They feel protective, like their purpose is to keep me safe, not harm me.
The smell is different than Steven’s as well. Steven always smelled of expensive cologne and the foul stench of his cigars. What I smell now is nice. It reminds me of nature; pine, fresh cut grass, and how it smells just before it rains. It’s soothing and calming.
Although I know I’m in another man’s arms I start to relax. It feels incredibly good to be sheltered in another
person’s arms, even if it is a man’s. I’m surprised at my acceptance of willingly staying there.
As I stand there crying wrapped in my own personal cocoon reality starts creeping back in. I know that it’s Jaxon’s arms that are wrapped around me. My hands are no longer wrapped around the back of my head; they’re resting on the firm, hard chest that’s in front of me. My face is planted smack dab in the middle of his chest as well. I take a deep breath and curl my fingers a little. I feel so safe at the moment that I want to grab on to anything and everything and never let go. I know that the feeling is a false hope. I’ll never be safe.
I slowly start to pull away from his welcoming warmth. I reluctantly drop my hands from his chest and take a step back. He doesn’t let me get too far. He grabs my arms gently and takes a deep breath. His eyes are intense again, but this time they don’t scare me.
I peek up at him through my eyelashes and mutter a “sorry.”
He bends down so we are eye to eye, but before he can speak Mia asks, “What in the hell is going on?”
I glance at her and see her standing at the other end of the counter watching us. The expression in her eyes carries worry. I quickly look at the two patrons that are still in their seats. They have their eyes trained on us as well. Embarrassed and ashamed that they witnessed my mental breakdown I look away from them and back at Jaxon.
He ignores Mia’s question and continues to stare at me with his stunning eyes, eyes that hold secrets. They’re sad, but I can tell the sadness is not directed solely at me. I don’t know how I can tell, but I know that Jaxon has his own personal hell that he lives in.
“What the fuck was that?” He asks me quietly.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and let out a shaky breath and say, “Nothing.”
“Nothing? You call that nothing, Bailey? You just freaked the fuck out when I all I did was walk toward you. That was not just ‘nothing’. Tell me what the fuck that was.” He says with a sharp edge to his voice.