Hurt Like HELL (new adult contemporary romance)

by Casey, London

  “Tessa! My girl. Open up, babe.”

  He shouted with the growl in his throat that made his singing voice so good. His pack a day cigarette habit helped that cause, but I’m sure in the future it would take a few years off his life. But that was art. Create while you can and leave something behind hoping people will remember you.

  I walked to the door, against my judgment, actually stopping a few times because my chest felt really heavy. I chalked it up to nerves and that my heart bounced in my chest because Brett scared me when he hit the glass and because Brett was here.

  I turned the lock and Brett came storming in. It took me a second to see his movements and smell the booze to know he was completely drunk.

  Shit.

  He collided into a table, but caught himself. He stood up and threw his hair back, turning to face me.

  “What’s up, babe?”

  “Since when do you call me babe?” I asked.

  I tried to keep cool, figuring I’d play into him and sneak him some coffee. Get him sober enough to realize it was before seven in the morning and then send him home.

  “I always call you that,” Brett said. “In my mind.” He touched his chest. “In my heart.” The moment of romantic gestures was ruined when he grabbed behind his legs. He smiled and said, “In my…”

  “How about a coffee?” I asked. “You’re the first customer, it’s free.”

  “So you’re alone?”

  His tone made me shiver. I never thought of Brett being dangerous before.

  I made my way back to the counter but not behind it. Brett suddenly had speed and balance, pacing with me. His hand shot out and came around to my hip. He squeezed and moaned, making me uncomfortable.

  “Hey, relax now,” I said. “I’m punched in. Working.”

  “Fuck work,” he said. “Nobody’s here. Come on, Tessa, tell me what you want.”

  Whoa, he was getting serious.

  I turned and my butt hit the counter. I thought that would move his hand from my hip, which it did, but it then allowed him to place his other hand on my hip. He touched my face, drawing lines with his finger. His face looked crazy, drunk, and yes, horny.

  “Okay, Brett, just cool it,” I said. “I’ve got to get to work. You should get home, get some sleep. Stop by later and I’ll give you that free coffee.”

  “I don’t want coffee,” he said. “I want something else.”

  His body came forward and touched mine. I gasped, which sent the wrong signal to Brett, so he pressed himself harder at me. I felt him, like, felt him, against me. He meant business, and when his lips came down and touched my neck, I could almost taste the alcohol coming off him.

  My hands went to his hips and pushed at him. I didn’t want to feel him.

  “I’m not done,” he said and thrusted.

  He was bigger and stronger.

  I was in trouble.

  I looked right and saw the coffee pots. If it came to it, maybe I’d hit him with one. Yeah, then spill searing hot coffee on him and myself.

  Shit.

  “Brett, come on, stop it.”

  “Yeah, babe, tell me how you want it. On the table, the counter. The stage. Whatever you want. You name it, babe, and it’s yours. I’m not here to play games…”

  I was in shock for a few seconds. They were the longest seconds possible. Brett’s tongue flicked at my ear then my neck. My mind instantly tried to figure out the last time a man touched me and kissed me. I hated myself for thinking that way. Yes, a small sliver of my body thought about Brett, the sexy leader singer and guitar player, but this wasn’t Brett, or maybe it was. Funny how booze can bring the dark side out of a person. (Or their real side, depending on how you look at it.)

  “Brett, I’m not okay with this.”

  It was probably something dumb to say but it’s what came to mind. Maybe some gentle pushing, getting mean with a smile would chase him away.

  “I’m okay with it, baby,” Brett said.

  His lips touched my neck and I pushed him. He stepped back a few times but came back, more turned on that I tried to reject him. Something told me not many women rejected him and he enjoyed a good fight.

  “You don’t understand,” I said.

  “What? You don’t have a boyfriend. I know you like me. So give me it. I’m taking it whether you like it or not.”

  Flashes of my violent childhood came to me. I could suddenly hear and see my father as though he was there and I was back in our old house.

  I shook my head.

  Brett touched my hair and face. “Oh, baby, it’ll be like nothing you ever felt.”

  “I’m a virgin!” I cried out and swung at Brett.

  I slapped his face but he didn’t notice. Even with the appearing red handprint on his face he couldn’t have cared less. He stared at me… the virgin. I figured out in that moment that for some guys the virgin thing was a turn on.

  Brett came at me again, quickly forcing me to turn around.

  “No,” I cried.

  Nobody would hear or see a thing.

  I swung my feet the best I could but this wasn’t the movies. I didn’t kick him in the balls and I couldn’t get my bearings to make a decision. My feet connected with his legs and maybe I did hit him in the balls, but it wasn’t the dramatic final shot that I needed. Plus, he was drunk, so even if I did get him he wouldn’t have really felt it or even cared. His hands were tight on my hips, sliding up to my sides. I thought about him touching my breasts - and other parts - and I yelled again. There was no help though, none at all. I was smack dab in the middle between two businesses that didn’t open until nine in the morning. On the left was a used bookstore. And even if that place was open, the owner was an eighty-four year old man that had terrible hearing. He’d probably hear the screaming and think it was some kind of new music.

  Shit.

  On the right was a used clothing store, one ran by a hippy couple who sort of opened and closed when they felt like it. The place always had, wild incense burning, which made the clothes stink.

  In other words, as the dawn turned into morning, I was alone.

  If I could manage to hold myself in a position of resistance until customers showed up, I’d be in good shape. Brett was just too strong. And his hands were so fast.

  When his fingertips touched just below my breasts, still over my shirt (thankfully), I wiggled, shaking my shoulder. My shoulder bounced against his face and chest and he enjoyed it. He laughed and called at me, teasing me.

  Baby… baby… baby…

  I never heard him use that word before. The word baby would never mean the same again.

  He pressed hard against me, my body pressing to the counter. I could feel him again, his body reacting to what his mind told him to believe, what he thought he was going to get from me, the allure of my innocence. But my innocence had been taken a long time ago.

  So ha!

  Or not.

  His left hand left my body, for a second, and he grabbed my shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, babe, it doesn’t hurt forever.” He laughed and exhaled, a whoosh of nasty smelling booze hit me. The smell told me that Brett had already thrown up and was still drunk. “You and me…” Then he sang in that rough voice that used to be so sweet and sexy. “… together, forever…”

  He laughed again and I took my chance. I reached with my left hand for a coffee pot. I knew the implications of scalding hot coffee but I reminded myself that I liked to take hot baths, so it’d be the same. A coffee bath… wow, what a concept. I needed to hurt Brett. There was no rationalization with this man right now. I touched the brown handle of the coffee pot but couldn’t grip it. My fingertips touched the glass and the heat made me pull away. I’d have to fight my natural instinct in order to do this. Brett started to press harder at me, wanting more and more of this situation. I remained quiet, hoping that if I made no sound, it wouldn’t turn him on.

  I touched the glass again and it felt hotter.

  I closed m
y eyes and gritted my teeth, preparing for some serious pain.

  As I started to grip the glass and turn the coffee pot, needing the handle to be closer, I had a single thought. A thought that came to me with a voice… my voice… my voice from ten years earlier. That thirteen year old voice. The high pitched voice, laced with a touch of innocence and youth, a voice that had the world to dream about.

  The thought came again.

  Help me.

  I grabbed the glass and screamed, then felt a cold blast of air, and just like that, Brett was gone.

  I let the coffee pot go and turned around to find Brett on his ass, his face bewildered, his lip bleeding. I spun around once, scanning the entire café, wondering what the hell happened.

  “Brett…”

  “You don’t push me,” he growled.

  He fought back to his feet and came at me. He made it two steps before he hunched over and let out a deep bellow. His mouth was open and he cried out in pain. He took those two steps back, plus two more, and fell again.

  I stared in amazement.

  I hadn’t pushed Brett.

  I hadn’t hit him to make his lip bleed.

  Brett pointed at me, his lip in a snarl. He pointed at me. “You’re a tease. A fucking tease, Tessa. All this time, looking and telling people you want me…”

  “I never said a thing,” I openly lied.

  Sure, I thought Brett was cute - okay, sexy - but did that mean I wanted him to come into Thorns Café and force himself upon me? No.

  “Get out of here,” I said.

  I made my hands into fists.

  Brett stumbled to his feet again. He didn’t come near me this time. Instead, he stared beyond me. I watched him hesitate, unsure what to do next. I could tell he wanted to come at me again, try one last time, but he didn’t. Rather, he charged to the unlocked door. At that door, he looked back at me, shaking his head. The blood on his lip had started to dry.

  “You know,” he said, “tell your boyfriend next time to fight like a man. Instead of sucker punching me.”

  Then he was gone, and I was left completely confused.

  2

  Brett disappeared into the morning and in the couple seconds I took to stand still, absorbing the environment around me, one of my regulars came walking in.

  Mr. Henderson, a local attorney, wore a sharp suit, his hair still wet with gel, smelling like a corporate office. He took the sunglasses off his face and smiled at me. He had rattlesnake eyes but promised a heart of gold.

  “Tessa, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  That snapped me out of my trance. I hurried around the counter and started to pour Mr. Henderson his morning drink. A large coffee, black. I couldn’t imagine drinking coffee like that, but to each their own.

  I looked around the café, wondering what Brett was talking about. I didn’t have a boyfriend, so what did he see? I thought about him letting me go. Had I thrown an elbow and not realized it? My mind had been so focused on grabbing the coffeepot, it was possible.

  But unlikely.

  “Here you go,” I said as I placed the cup to the counter.

  My hand visibly shook and Mr. Henderson grabbed my hand.

  “You’re freezing,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I nodded. “Rough morning.”

  “Are you sick?”

  “No. Was up late with a friend, talking. Didn’t get much sleep. Whoops.”

  I smiled and tried to shake everything off the best I could.

  “Late nights,” Mr. Henderson said, “I know those.”

  He took his cup and lifted it to me. He smiled and threw a ten dollar bill on the counter. As he left, I thought about telling him he forgot his change. He wouldn’t take the change, he never did. My first tip of the morning was over five dollars.

  Good start to the workday.

  Or not.

  The rest of morning came and went with the normal hustle and bustle. It was busy enough that I didn’t have much time to think about Brett. I wasn’t sure what to do about that. I could try to talk to Jeff or Jerry, Thorn’s owners, but I’m not sure how far that would go. I’d get harassed as to why I let someone in the café before opening. Then would come millions of questions. Getting the police involved would turn into a he-said, she-said banter between Brett and I. Plus, whatever scared him seemed to have scared him good.

  When Jerry showed up around eleven, he took one look at me and stopped in his place.

  “You look frazzled,” he said.

  “Busy morning,” I said.

  “That’s good. Why don’t you take a breather?”

  I hadn’t had a break yet and I wasn’t going to argue with my boss.

  “Sounds good, thanks.”

  With that, I rushed through the small kitchen, avoiding the tantalizing smells of chocolate and cinnamon, and went outside. The alley was dingy, the forgotten about backside of all the businesses. It smelled of wet garbage and the ground was littered with cigarette butts. I leaned against the building and let out a long sigh. I wished I were home, in my apartment, even with the feeling of being watched. Things were so out of place, out of routine, it bothered me. I liked routine and I like comfort. All of which were disrupted and then shattered to pieces when I saw the figure standing at the end of the alley.

  Brett.

  He wore the same ratty clothes from this morning, and for the first time, I saw Brett how Bridget probably did. Seeing him on stage - even though it was a small stage and stood maybe an extra two feet from the ground - gave him a larger than life persona. His sexy voice, his dirty look, playing guitar, singing, then coming off stage riding that high of playing and having girls flock to him. As I said, girls flocking because no woman would want someone like Brett.

  He paused when he saw me. We were far enough away that I wasn’t worried; if he made a move, I could be inside Thorns before he could make it halfway. But he was close enough that I could see his eyes. They were normal eyes now, eyes of regret and a major hangover.

  “How do you feel?” I asked, my hand touching the door handle.

  “Like shit,” he said.

  “Good.”

  There was a pause then the call of a crow as it flew overhead.

  Brett looked up and spoke. “About before. I was messing around. Took things too far. That’s not me, just so you know.”

  “That’s refreshing,” I said. “So you didn’t intend to force yourself on me?”

  “Tessa, come on. My band… music… that can all go away…”

  “Just stay away from me.”

  “I do like you, Tessa. And I didn’t mean to piss you off…”

  Brett trailed off and his face looked confused. That’s when I remembered that he made a comment about my boyfriend.

  “I have to go,” he said. “I have to meet my probation officer… drug test day.”

  “Going to pass?” I could not believe that just yesterday I thought he was like the sexiest man alive. Now he looked like a loser burned out druggy.

  “I don’t know,” Brett said. “Don’t remember last night or a whole lot of this morning…”

  He shook his head and turned. I hoped he failed his drug test and was put in jail. It would suck for Thorns because people liked his band, but there’d be other bands. There was always people willing to stand up and pour their hearts out to those who would listen.

  “Brett, wait…”

  He looked over his shoulder. The way the sun came down and the shadows formed, his face looked like a hollowed skull with dead, blue eyes. I almost felt bad for him.

  “Did you see anything this morning? In the café?”

  He thought about it and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know… but someone clocked me in the lip really hard.”

  I looked at my hand. If I had hit Brett I would have had marks on my knuckles. I had no marks and I remembered vividly… I did not punch Brett.

  He started to walk and I didn’t say goodbye. My mind was
elsewhere.

  If I didn’t hit Brett, then who did?

  3

  When Jerry asked me to open the café again, I thought about telling him no. I saw myself pouring my heart to him about Brett, but something had happened in the meantime. Bridget sent me a text with a smiley face. I replied and she told me that my honey was locked up for drugs.

  Unsurprisingly, through six degrees of Timmy, Brett was connected to a group of friends he had in common with Timmy. Layette wasn’t a big city. Timmy tried to have a mean streak, a rough guy artsy side, but he had nothing to offer. He strummed a few chords on an old guitar that needed new strings. The move worked for Bridget and that’s all that mattered. Turned out that when Brett met with his probation officer, they searched him first to make sure he didn’t have any pee on him. Seriously. That’s what they do. They make sure a person doesn’t bring in foreign pee for a drug test. The wild world of users, I guess. When Brett emptied his pockets, he threw a few packets of something and was arrested on the spot. I didn’t ask about his drug test but something told me he would fail it no matter what.

  So there went Brett, off to jail. He was twenty-eight, looked in his early thirties, and I had the vibe that he wouldn’t see forty without some real help.

  Because that problem was out of my hair, I told Jerry I would work the morning shift again. Other than Brett’s attempt at forcing himself on me, it had been a great shift. I didn’t mind it. It was very mellow, relaxing, so much different than the nights. Plus, if I worked the morning shift on a Friday, then I could come back at night to watch some bands and mingle. I had a lot of friends at Thorns but no real friends. That was cool with me.

  I went to bed early to get up early. I got to Thorns while it was still dark out, just to embrace the ominous vibe, bringing a notebook and pen for ideas. When I arrived at the café, there was a stack of papers out front. The morning papers, only they were really early. I looked up and down the dark street, seeing only a few cars. The stack was neatly tied and I grabbed the pile to carry it in. I put the papers on the rack, cut the twine with scissors, and started to make coffee.