by K. L. Savage
When her eyes land on me, I nearly trip over my big, bulky boots. Her pink lips stretch into a wide grin and her blue eyes remind me of crystal-clear oceans, bright and inviting. The longer I stare, the more I never want to leave. She’s a vacation, the break a man needs from the world.
Her auburn hair is vivid against the green shirt, and I imagine myself running my fingers through it to feel how soft it is. The ends curl up from the heat and she’s flushed which shows the freckles she has dotted across her nose.
It’s so hard to control the impulse not to kiss every single one. I have to squeeze my hands into fists to stop myself from kissing her and treating her the way a man is supposed to treat a woman.
I won’t be the reason a woman cheats, not that Charlie is like that. I don’t think she is, but damn it, the bad man in me wants her to be.
I’d never lay a hand on her unless it’s on her ass while I’m ten inches deep inside her tight cunt.
My cock twitches at the dirty image running wild in my head.
Damn it to hell, I’m screwed twenty ways to Sunday.
“Charlie, we need to talk.” I press my hand against the middle of her back, not her lower back because I don’t want her to think I’m trying to get frisky and guide her through the thick plastic tarps so we can be alone.
Being alone with her is a bad idea. I want to erase her pain and give her pleasure. I want to show her that love doesn’t live in lies. Charlie would never have to lie again because I’d give her what she needs.
Adoration.
Truth.
Love.
“What’s wrong, Whistler?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
It isn’t in defiance, but protection.
She’s creating a barrier between us, so she feels safe. That’s alright. One day, she’ll see she doesn’t need to do that with me.
“How did you get those bruises, Charlie?”
She lifts her fingers to her eyes and laughs, but it’s forced. “It’s silly. You won’t believe me.”
Oh, I can’t wait to hear the reason she comes up with. I know my sister can get pretty creative. “Try me,” I state, leaning my shoulder against the wall. I lace my fingers behind my back and Charlie’s eyes follow.
I can see the relief when her shoulders sag. It’s less stressful for her to not see my hands. Noted.
“I tripped while carrying the laundry into the bedroom and slammed my face in the corner of the dresser, then the basket fell out of my hands, and I tripped over that and hit the bedpost.” She won’t look at me. Her hand rubs the back of her neck and there is a small bead of sweat gathering along her temple. I watch her chest and her breathing becomes quicker.
She’s lying but smiling through it.
Damn, how many times has she had to pretend?
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Charlie. Not here. This is a safe place. Is someone hurting you?” I keep my voice low and her eyes dart to my face quickly at my question. She opens her mouth and there is a slight hesitation to tell me the truth.
“What? No. No one is hurting me. My husband loves me. We are happy,” she says in defense. “He loves me.” She sounds like she’s said this in her mind on repeat, hoping to convince herself.
“Listen, there is better out there for you. I don’t believe you for a damn second, Charlie. I know what you’ll do, you’ll go back home and hope everything changes. You’ll give him chance after chance, hoping he loves you like you need him to.” I take a step closer and tighten my hands together to stop myself from reaching out to touch her face, showing her how gentle a man can really be. “But he won’t. He’ll keep beating you until you’re in the hospital or dead. You’ll never be able to do anything right in his eyes. No matter how hard you try. No matter what you do. No matter the extremes you go to please him, nothing will work. It isn’t you that is broken, Charlie. It’s him.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she answers poorly, and her eyes begin to water.
I take a chance and remove one hand from my back and lift it slowly. Her breath catches and she watches in terror, frozen and trembling. Charlie flinches when the pads of my fingers slide under her chin. “I’m never going to hurt you,” I explain. “I’m not that kind of man. I’d never hurt you.”
“He doesn’t hurt me,” her voice shakes as she swallows.
“He doesn’t love you.”
She yanks herself away from me and her lips frown in anger while her eyes scream something else entirely.
Denial.
“You have a lot of nerve talking to me about something that is none of your business. Even if he was hitting me, which—” she scoffs “—he isn’t. I wouldn’t just blab it to someone I hardly know. Do not talk to me as if you know me and my situation. God, you have a lot of audacity.”
“My audacity will save your life one day, Cupcake.”
She takes a step forward and shoves a finger into my chest. “If anyone is going to save me, it’s going to be me.”
A tarp parts and One peeks his head out from between them. “Everything okay?” he asks.
“Just peachy. You need to put a leash on him,” Charlie scowls at me. She stomps away and shoves her shoulder into my arm as she passes.
I blow out a breath and tilt my head back, throwing my hands on my hips. She’s got fire left in her. Good. She’s going to need it.
“Was I right?” He steps into the spot Charlie was standing in just a minute ago.
“I think so. She isn’t a very good liar.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t let her get hurt, can I? I have to protect the women in my life, whether they are strangers or not. It isn’t right to look the other way.”
“Whatever you want to do, you know I’m here.”
“I can’t go around yanking wives from their homes. Husbands won’t like that very much.” I listen to her talk while she speaks to her dad.
“I tripped. I’m okay, Dad.”
“You’re the clumsiest woman alive, Charlie-Ann. What am I going to do with you?” her dad chuckles.
One and I share a look. There’s no way her dad believes her. He can’t. Why hasn’t he done anything?
“I need more information. I want you to dive deep into her past, her husband’s too.”
“That’s a little out of my expertise. I’ll have to sick Princess on it since he goes deeper than Tutu.”
“Do it. I want all the information I need before I do something crazy.” Like kill her husband with her watching. “I need another drink.”
And I need my head examined for getting in the middle of this, but when a man hurts a woman, it becomes my business.
Nothing pisses me off more than domestic violence.
Charlie is young and she deserves everything she wants in life.
Love isn’t meant to be a prison.
It’s meant to be a sanctuary.
I can give her that, even if it means I’m not a part of the haven she’s going to find herself in.
It’s been two weeks since I’ve been to the jobsite. I told my Dad I had a bad case of the flu, but really, Kenneth locked me in the guest bedroom for being disobedient.
I’m still here.
It’s like a jail cell, only I have a bed, TV, books, and a bathroom. But I’m only allowed to eat once a day when Kenneth decides to slide a tray of food through the small opening in the middle of the door.
Honestly, it sounds horrible, and it is, but it’s a nice break from getting hit. How terrible is that? I’d rather be locked away in isolation than step foot outside of this door where he can get me.
When Whistler confronted me, I didn’t know what to say. I felt defensive and stupid for being so obvious. God, if Kenneth ever found out, he’d kill me.
Whistler had no idea how bad I wanted to scream, “Yes! Save me. Please, help me!” but the fear I felt when I thought about Kenneth finding it out and hurting Whistler because of me was i
mmense. I had to think rationally. Kenneth will hurt anyone who tries to save me.
No one is allowed to be my salvation when I’m cursed with the man I married.
I’m not loyal to Kenneth. I hate him. I don’t love him. I want to leave; I just don’t know-how. I’m afraid for my life.
I finish off the half of the peanut butter and jelly he gave me last night and chug half a bottle of water. I wipe my mouth off just as the door handle turns, and I quickly throw the covers over me, turn over so all he can see is my back, and pretend I’m asleep.
What if he hears my heart pumping in my chest? It’s so loud, I swear it rattles my ribcage.
“Sweetie,” he croons quietly as he tiptoes through the door.
I know that tone.
It’s the voice he used when we were dating, the one that made me feel safe. The reminder of what used to be hurts my soul because I know it’s a lie.
Kenneth Hastings is nothing but a lie.
And I’m so sick of the fake world he has created for me.
The bed dips from his weight, and his fingers slide down my arm. He hasn’t touched me like this in months. I know he is cheating on me, and I don’t care. He can sleep and fuck the entire city of Las Vegas for all I care just as long as it isn’t me.
I wonder every day what I am to him, what I mean to him, but if he feels anything like me, he must feel nothing.
His lips find my shoulder and the thin dried flaps scratch my skin. I want to gag. The bile bubbles in the back of my throat, but I hold it down.
“Wake up, Sweetie. I miss you.” His fingers continue to skim up and down my arm to gently wake me up, and I don’t want to open my eyes.
For the longest time, I believed this man, this tone of voice, his kindness when he wasn’t a complete asshole. I used to sink into his chest when he wrapped his arms around me to hold me instead of punishing me.
A hot huff escapes him and it’s the sound of annoyance. He wraps a hand around my neck and that has my eyes snapping open.
“I said to wake the fuck up, you stupid bitch,” he sneers, flipping me onto my back and straddling my waist. Kenneth wraps both hands around my throat and squeezes so hard I don’t have time to inhale a deep breath to prepare for the lack of oxygen. “You can’t do anything right,” he sneers. “I don’t know why I ever settled for you.” He removes one hand and backhands me, the loud slap causing my ears to ring. “You’re going to get up, get dressed, and go grocery shopping because we are out of food. Take care of your husband. Do you understand me?”
I nod and gasp, gripping his wrist harder as it becomes more difficult to breathe.
He smiles wide and the insanity is gone in a flash. He is wearing a plain white t-shirt and sweatpants. He’s causal because it’s Saturday, so he doesn’t work today, which means I’m stuck with him all weekend. Everyone loves the weekends, but not me. Every Saturday and Sunday, I worry I won’t live to see Monday.
“Get ready,” he says. “I won’t repeat myself.”
I nod and roll out of bed, shivering as the cold wraps around me from the air conditioning. I’m in a small tank top and shorts. My nipples harden and poke through the material, which used to grab his attention, but it doesn’t now.
A huge relief.
I run to the master bedroom and get dressed. I slip on a pair of blue skinny jeans and a long-sleeve plum-colored blouse, then rush to the bathroom. I wash my face and the cold water does nothing to wake me up, Kenneth took care of that already. Brushing my teeth, I stare at the angry red marks around my neck.
I’ll have to wear another scarf.
Kill him.
Thank God for dry shampoo. I spray along the roots to soak up the extra oils. I cringe when the aluminum bottle hits the counter too hard. I wait to see if he says anything about being too loud, but I don’t hear his footsteps coming down the hallway.
While I apply my makeup, covering up the fading bruises from a few weeks ago, I think about my mom. She’d be so disappointed in me to know I haven’t fought harder. She died five years ago from a car accident, but a day didn’t pass where Mom wasn’t a fighter.
She stood up for herself, consequences be damned. She never backed down from anyone. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she killed Kenneth herself and burned the body. She was a real badass.
That gene must have skipped me. I slide the mascara into the holder, unable to stomach my reflection in the mirror.
How can I change when everything scares me, even change?
I’ve been locked away for so long, the only person I know how to be is the one Kenneth has formed.
I snag my purse from the dresser and a hot sweat engulfs my entire body when I walk down the hallway. The low hum of SportsCenter sounds from the TV in the living room. He’s occupied. That works in my favor. The hardwood groans from my weight and I close my eyes, silently cursing to myself.
“List is on the counter. Don’t stray from it or there will be consequences. Understand me?”
“Yes, Kenneth,” I answer pliantly, sliding the small square paper from the countertop. I fold it in half and stick it in my purse. “I’ll be back soon.”
He doesn’t say anything to me as I leave and I give the door the middle finger, wishing I could tell him to fuck off.
Mr. Grant is in the yard weeding his garden. He is wearing a bright pink speedo today and nothing else besides a big straw hat. He has gloves on to protect his hands as he yanks the pesky weeds. “Hey, Charlie!” He waves at me and has to tilt his head back so he can see me from under his hat.
I chuckle, feeling better than I did inside the house. Mr. Grant is good at that. “Hi, Mr. Grant. How’s your day going?”
“Oh, you know, it’s good. It’s hot out. A great day to work on my tan for the ladies.”
“I’m sure you’re a real heartbreaker, Mr. Grant.”
“Oh, one or two when I was younger.”
“Don’t be modest,” I tease him, and he cackles before taking a sip of water.
“Well, I’m going grocery shopping. I’ll see you later.”
“Charlie, before you go, I have a question for you.” He struggles to stand, and I’m tempted to go help him, but I know Mr. Grant is independent and young at heart. He likes to act young too, so I don’t want to offend him. He walks up to me and it’s so hard to keep my eyes focused on his face.
I mean an old man in a pink speedo is walking up to me and it’s shocking. It’s not something you see every day.
Oh god, he has his left nipple pierced.
I cough to cover a giggle. “What’s up, Mr. Grant?” I ask as I open the truck door, hinges squeaking as always.
“Have you noticed a strange man on a bike at night sitting outside my house?”
My tongue dries out. “What?”
“Yeah, the last few weeks there has been this fella parked on the other side of the street. He sits on his bike for hours. I can’t tell what he does. I don’t think he means any harm, but I’m not sure. I think he’s a part of that new motorcycle gang. They bought that old Peep Show place. I wonder what they are turning it into.”
“My dad’s company is remodeling it for them. They did buy it.”
“Maybe you know the guy that is sitting outside my house.”
“I doubt it. I don’t talk to any of the bikers,” I explain, but something tells me that if it is a biker, I bet it is Whistler sitting outside in the dark.
Why would he do that?
“I’ll tell Kenneth to keep an eye out,” I say with a tight smile.
Mr. Grant curls his lip. “No, thanks. I’ll rather take my chances on my own. Your husband is a worthless piece of shit. Don’t think I don’t know what he does to you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking—”
“—Don’t, Charlie. I know the truth. I’ve called the cops a few times, you know. I can hear when things get bad.”
I glance away, ashamed. He probably thinks I’m so weak. I climb into the driver’s seat and start th
e engine. “I need to go before he comes out here and checks on me.”
“He must have friends at the department because no one ever comes, but I want you to know that you’re not alone. You can come to me.”
“Believe me, Mr. Grant, it’s better if you don’t get in the middle. You’ll wind up getting hurt.” I slam the truck door and roll down the window. “Thank you,” I add.
“You can run away. I’ll help you. I have no kids and I have money. Let me get you away from here.” He clutches the edge of the window so I can’t reverse out of the driveway. If I do, I’ll run his feet over with the tires.
“It isn’t that easy, Mr. Grant.” Tears begin to brim my eyes as he tries to beg me.
“I know. I know, it isn’t, but I can help.”
“Hey, is there a problem out here?”
I stop breathing, not knowing what to do. I’m usually quick with the lies, but today nothing is coming to mind. I think I’m too stunned with the fact that Mr. Grant would help me with his own money to save me from the nightmare of Kenneth.
Mr. Grant responds to Kenneth in stride. “Oh, I’m sorry, Kenneth. I didn’t mean to worry you. I was asking Charlie if she could pick me up some weed killer, pulling them out from the ground is killing my back. I offered to give her some money.”
“I was about to come in and ask you if that was okay. I know I need to be back by a certain time,” I explain as I step out of the truck. I’m so damn nervous right now. It could be okay now but when I get back, he’ll make sure I never talk to Mr. Grant again.
“Of course, it’s okay. You never have to ask to help a neighbor. Just pay us back when you get the chance, Mr. Grant. It’s no problem at all.” Kenneth gives the older man his charming smile that works on anyone and everyone, but not Mr. Grant.
He gives my husband a tight grin. “Thank you so much. I think I’ll head inside now. I get tired so fast these days.”
Liar. Mr. Grant can run circles around me.
“You think about my offer, Charlie. I do need help in the yard with my old age and all, okay?”
Dang, he’s good. “I’ll think about it, Mr. Grant,” I reply as he begins to walk away, pretending to limp as if he is in pain.