by Jude Ouvrard
I felt something extraordinary when I was with her. I desperately want to experience that feeling again. She is so special and stunning. As soon as I laid eyes on her, I knew how amazing she was and I know she experienced the same thing as I did. The little moan that escaped her lips when we kissed told me how much she loved it. I'm not an idiot. She isn’t the first girl I've kissed in my life and had them moan in pleasure, but it was never like this with any other woman. There is something about her that I can’t describe. She’s the whole package – her smile, her eyes and those lips.
I don’t know what to do with myself. Grabbing a note pad, I start sketching her from memory. It’s an okay drawing, but it doesn’t do her justice.
My door is pushed open. Nobody ever knocks around here. ''Presley?''
“C’mon in, Ali.''
Her heels click across the wooden floor into the office. ''What are you doing? Working?'' she questions.
''Nah, not working. Just messing around. Nothing important.'' I don't tell her that I'm sketching my mystery woman, because Ali already feels lousy enough about the phone number situation. I know she didn't do it intentionally; the concert was so fucking loud, I understand how she could have gotten the numbers messed up.
''Joshua’s working tonight, do you have any plans?'' Ali asks. She fiddles with some of the gear on my desk as she talks.
''No, I don’t have anything on. Have any ideas?''
''We could order in food and watch horror movies?'' For a girl, Ali is pretty tough. She adores horror movies, and absolutely nothing freaks her out.
''Sounds good.''
Ali grinned. ''Alright, it’s a plan.”
Just like that, Ali’s manages to keep me occupied for another night. When she clicks back out of the office, my eyes settle back on the sketch and, yeah, it does resemble my mystery woman. I add a little green shading to her eyes and a touch of raspberry pink to her lips. I keep thinking about the need to find her. I don’t know anything about her—just enough to drive me completely fucking insane.
Abbie
Over a week has passed. Dean hasn’t been seen around the apartment complex in two days. Thank God.
I am way overdue for some fresh air. Walking towards the theatre I find myself thinking about him; that mystery man with the intoxicating lips. Lost in the memory, I touch my fingers over my mouth and wish it was him again. My blood is racing sufficiently now and my heart is beating so loudly I can hear it over the cars on the road. It’s time for a drink and lucky for me there is a bar directly across from the theater. I suck in a deep breath of the cool breeze and let myself calm down. I look for any cars and as soon as there are none, I run across the street and go right in.
When I walk into the bar the first thing that comes into view is all the posters declaring that it is ladies night—my luck is continuing. You can’t go wrong with a buck for beer. Okay, there are many ways this can go wrong, but I need that release from all the tension in my life. I order a beer, sip it slowly and let my eyes wander over the others seated at the bar. My mind once again wanders to that unforgettable kiss and I'm sure I'm blushing. By now I’m certain Blondie didn’t get the phone number correct, I’m positive he would have called by now, if he’d had the right number. I should've gone searching for her, made sure she’d gotten it right, but I’m an idiot; what else can I say? I didn’t expect that night to end the way it did. It's terrible. Pathetic actually, to think I’m pining over a guy I met once and have no way of finding.
I am getting ready to order a second beer, when the bartender places one in front of me. His treat, he says. I smile at him and nod my thanks.
I start thinking about my situation...that I’m living in Seattle, trying to make a living. How I recently completed my studies, which was the whole reason for moving here in the first place. Up until a week ago, I had exactly three friends—all of whom I can now forget about. So, I'm basically alone in this big city and the only damn person who cares is a bartender. Great!
The depressing range my thoughts cycle through naturally bring me down into a deep funk. By the time I’m drinking a fifth beer, I can see people coming out of the theatre across the road. There was a play performing tonight. I find myself searching the crowds, like an idiot, hoping that I will see a guy named ‘Something Williams’ come out. I start to think I really should go home now because I’m getting dizzy. I didn’t eat before I left the apartment, so the beers are rapidly taking effect. This is not good.
I stumble out of the bar and wait in line for a taxi.
''Abs, what are you doing here!'' A female voice asks.
I turn around wondering who would be talking to me out here. For a second, I feel all oxygen gone from my lungs as I fear it might be Jessie. What am I supposed to tell her now? I’m surprised to discover it's a blonde girl and she looks familiar, but I don’t remember her name or where I last saw her. The adrenaline still pumping in my veins, I try to calm down.
''I’m waiting for a cab, isn’t... Isn’t it obvious?” I giggle like a lunatic, tripping over my own shoes and end up collapsing on my knees at her feet. She helps me to my feet, and I lean against the wall and watch her grab her phone from her bag.
''Where are you, freak? I need you to get your ass over here, right now. I’m at the Lucky 13 bar.'' She wraps one arm around my shoulders, making sure I don’t fall over for a second time. Despite my drunkenness, I’m worried.
''Wait…wait...who did you call? Who are you?'' I question. Oh my God! She’s that girl from the concert and she just called him. This is an absolute nightmare; I’m a drunken mess, and utterly mortified.
''You’ll be fine. He's going to take you home before you manage to hurt yourself again.''
We lapse into an uncomfortable silence. I struggle to figure out a way to get out of him seeing me like this. Maybe if I give her my phone number again? I don’t want him to see me in this state.
A BMW pulls up in front of us, and he gets out. From the look in his eyes, he’s utterly shocked.
''She’s had a few drinks; I think you should take her home,'' the blonde says, and I vaguely recollect her name being Ali. “And you owe me another huge favor, freak.”
''What the hell happened to you?” he questions gently. “Why are you here at the bar by yourself and why are you so drunk?'' He's obviously concerned and asking way too many questions for my liking. Not to mention being a lot bossy. He wraps a protective arm around my shoulder and I feel my whole body tense.
I shrug him off and stumble slightly. ''I dumped the loser I was with last week. It’s over and I was alone and bored, so I came to Lucky 13 to relax and unwind for a while.'' My eyes begin to tear up and I have no idea why. Maybe, I need to keep my distance from him, I don’t know him at all. I should be more careful. Stepping away, I trip on my own feet and almost fall down the sidewalk. Of course, he catches me just in time. His arm around me feel so good. I am safe, something I haven’t been in a long time and I’m bereft without his touch.
His grey eyes soften and he offers me a faint smile. It feels like everything around me is in slow motion. Staring at him, I’m fascinated by his smile. ''Come on, get in the car. I’ll drive you home. I’m Presley, Presley Williams, by the way.”
Even if I’m drawn to his sex appeal, I’m still uncertain about him. Should I trust him or not? I hesitate for a couple of seconds but I decide to follow my instinct. Somehow, I have a good feeling about him. I remember how good it felt when he touched me at the concert and his kiss. Maybe, it’s his lucky day. “Abbie... Abbie Rylee.”
“Where do you live, Abbie?''
''The Bellevue Towers.''
Presley offers me a wicked grin. ''Let me know if you’re going to be sick, okay? I like my car.''
Is he serious? I'm not that drunk…am I? ''Don’t worry,'' I mutter, a flush of embarrassment working its way over my cheeks.
''Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.'' His voice is low, his tone sincere.
''Just take me home, please
.'' I’m so tired.
He settles me into the passenger seat, gets in the car and turns on the music. Muse is playing softly through the speakers. I can sense his eyes turning towards me every five seconds, but I don't mind. I can’t believe I'm actually sitting in his car. The beers I’ve consumed are affecting my judgement badly and I keep wishing he would touch me.
Presley parks at the entrance of my apartment. He gets out and strides around the front of the car to my door, opening it for me. He offers me his hand. I hesitate…and when I peek up at him, I notice he's grinning. I look cautiously at his hand for a second time, before taking it.
''We want the South Tower,'' I say. I find myself telling him my apartment number, before he even asks.
We catch the elevator and he pushes the button for the seventh floor. He never releases my hand and the electric energy is there again. His hand warms mine up, his touch feels electric. I find myself wishing I lived on the top floor, so I could hold onto him for just a little bit longer.
When we get to my apartment, I release his hand to retrieve my keys from my pocket. He watches quietly as I unlock the door and step inside, but he remains outside. I realize he won't come in unless I invite him. I’m not used to that sort of politeness. I was however, used to Dean’s controlling attitude and he never would have asked to come in. He would have waltzed right in—whether he was invited or not.
''Would you like to come in?'' I ask shyly. I’m not sure if I want him to come inside. I mean, this could be a disaster—what I’ve built this up to be inside my head, it might be better than reality. Presley comes in, smiling like he's won the lottery. To my surprise, he stops me in the doorway, puts his hands around my waist and holds me. We both want to feel it again, this connection between us. We stand together for quite some time; Presley smells so good and his chest is so comfortable to rest my cheek against.
''Well, well, well...that was fast, Abbie. You obviously dumped me for this shithead.'' I swiftly step away from Presley, knowing the night is about to take a turn for the worse. This is bad; this is really fucking bad. Dean is here, in my apartment. I’m freaking out in a very bad way.
I push Presley out the front door and close it quickly. I don't give either Presley or Dean any time to react.
''Dean, wh… what are you doing here?” I stumble. “I told you, we’re done.” I wait to see if he has something to say but he’s simply looking at me in disgust. “I meant it. It’s… It’s over. I’m not going to get back together with you, okay?'' My voice is shaking and weak. I’m scared, so fucking scared. By the grim expression on his face, I know he’s seriously pissed.
''You must be fucking kidding me, right? You're nothing without me! You have no friends, no family. You only have your job and this fucking place. You never go out; you're a hermit, a loner. I'm all you have, Abbie! You can’t just throw me away!''
Dean was right about one thing, I was a loner—but I was definitely going to throw him away.
I inhaled sharply, building up my courage to speak. ''Actually, I can and I am. You need to leave now, please, and give me my keys back. The security code of my apartment will be changed in the morning so don’t even try getting back in my apartment again.''
''Fucking bitch! Who the fuck was that guy? He’s the one from the concert, right? Were you going to let him fuck you?” Dean is standing in the middle of the living room while I’m still by the door. He's furious. His face has gone scarlet red and the rage in his eyes scares the shit out of me. My hands are trembling. I hope Presley has gone; I don't want him to hear all the mean things Dean is about to say to me.
''Answer me!'' Dean roars and the sudden noise startles me. He moves while I’m scrambling to get my thoughts together, and now stands two inches away from my face. Tears fill my eyes as I look into his, trying to connect with the Dean I once knew, but that man is long gone.
''No, of course I wasn’t,'' I protest shakily.
''You're a lying.'' He’s shouting so loudly, I'm certain the neighbors can hear him.
I squeeze my eyes shut hoping he’ll just disappear. Instead, a powerful slap connects with my face. The force behind the blow is so strong that it knocks me to the floor. I’m crying and shrieking, just begging him to stop. To my horror, Dean draws his foot back, intending to kick me in the ribs when the door bursts open and the doorknob slams into the wall.
Presley is standing in the doorway right next to me facing Dean and he looks utterly dangerous—they both do.
''Presley! Please, just leave!'' I don't want him to get hurt.
''Abbie, go into the kitchen,’’ Presley orders. His grey eyes are utterly terrifying, filled with anger and he’s staring at Dean as if he wants to kill him.
''Please…Presley,'' I beg.
'I’m not leaving, Abbie. He is.'' Presley lowers his gaze to mine for a split-second and his grey eyes soften, his protectiveness shining through.
Dean takes advantage and tries to hit Presley in the face, but Presley reacts swiftly and hits Dean first. Presley's a lot taller and stronger than Dean, and he grabs him easily by the neck of his shirt and pushes him out of the apartment. I’m surprised at the sight of Presley’s bicep, he’s fit. He closes and locks the door, leaning his forehead against it for a few seconds.
He finally turns to look at me and I notice his knuckles are bleeding. The side of my face is burning and I’m sobbing, a combination of fear and pain making me distraught. This is not how I wanted to spend this night, not after finding Presley when I thought all hope was lost.
''I’m not leaving you alone, Abbie—not after what just happened. Okay?” Presley informs me, as he leans over and helps me up. He brushes his fingers tenderly across my swelling cheek and lifts me into his arms, striding into the living room and lowering me onto the couch.
''Do you have ice, or something cold we can use as an icepack?''
“In the kitchen,'' I say. I’m about to scramble off the couch and get something myself, but Presley walks into the kitchen before I can move. This is so wrong, I feel like a complete moron. I can’t seem to stop crying. I'm ashamed of myself and humiliated by Dean’s actions.
''Hold this on your face Abbie.'' Presley hands me a bag of frozen peas. He tucks my hair behind my ear and presses a soft kiss on my forehead. ''I’m sorry; I snooped through all your kitchen cupboards, trying to find some Tylenol.'' He hands me a glass of water and a couple of tablets.
After I take the Tylenol, Presley sits beside me and gently places his palm against my cheek. ''I’m sorry. I know this is entirely my fault. I was acting like a fool at the concert. I didn’t think; I was being selfish wanting to meet you and I didn’t stop to think about what that bastard would do. I could tell he was jealous at the concert.''
''I broke up with him last Friday. I’ve been hiding in here all week. This was my first time outside in a week and he caught me out, getting in while I was gone.'' I’m trying to hold back the tears. ''But you should know this isn't your fault at all. I was at the concert too, I could've pushed you away, but I didn’t.'' A tiny smile makes its way onto my lips. ''That was the best kiss I've ever had,'' I admit quietly.
He blinks slowly and takes my hand in his. ''I’m so sorry he hit you; I shouldn’t have let that happen. I’m sorry.'' He kisses the hand he's holding.
I can’t help but smile again. ''Thank you.'' For everything. For saving my life. For existing.
He remains silent for a few minutes. ''If you want, I could call Alicia. Maybe she could spend the night with you?'' Presley glances at his watch. ''You could talk about what happened, you know, women seem to like doing that.” He shrugs, looking embarrassed. “I don’t know much about this stuff.'' He hesitates. ''Or maybe you could call one of your friends.''
''No, it’s fine. Thanks for the offer.” I lowered my gaze. “Besides, you heard him, I don’t have friends. I’m alone here in Seattle.''
''I could sleep on the couch, just to make sure he doesn't come back.'' Presley pauses, rubbing a hand across h
is jaw. ''I don’t think I would be able to forgive myself if I learn he came back and hurt you again.''
The thought is tempting and I readily agree. ''Yeah, that sounds good. I’d like it if you could stay.'' I squeeze his hand. I’m no longer capable of smiling, my face feels swollen.
''Look at you—you’re trembling, Abbie. Maybe you should take a bath and try and relax for a while. I’ll stay out here and watch TV.''
''Sure. Actually, that sounds like a great idea.''
A few minutes later, I’m standing naked in the bathroom staring at the mirror. A few hours ago, I’d thought I looked reasonably pretty. Now, I look like shit. My mascara is running all over my face, and my left cheek is in bad shape. Every muscle of my body is hurting and I can barely stand. My day took a turn I would have never expected and I wasn’t mentally ready for it. My mind and body are both completely exhausted.
Presley is sitting in my living room watching TV. I'd rather die than have him see me like this, but it’s too late to worry about it now. I'm an absolute mess, but having someone here for the night is comforting. What if Dean comes back? I hope he doesn’t.
There's nothing better when you feel like crap than soaking in a hot bath. It should relax my body and ease my pain. I add some vanilla and lilac essential oils to the water. I might look like shit but at least I’ll smell good. As if it’ll change anything…
Settling back in the bathtub, my thoughts turn to my father. What would my dad think? What would he have done about this situation? He would have either killed Dean or had him arrested. He never liked him. I should've listened to Dad on that one. I miss Dad, so much. He was the only good parent I’d had and cancer had to take him away from me. I’ll never stop missing him.
When he was alive, Dad worked as an investigator for the Washington State Police. He could've easily gotten killed in the line of duty, but he was always so careful. He was a great man, a very respected man, and a great judge of character. He warned me to be careful with Dean.
From my father, my thoughts turn to my biological mother, Erin. I haven't talked to her in months; in fact, I'm not even certain where she’s at. She’s never cared about me that much, and never acted like a real mom, so I’m certainly not going to ask her for advice. Last time I saw Erin was at Dad’s funeral two years ago. I’ve only spoken to her once on the phone since then. We have nothing in common and I’ve never forgiven her for the way she behaved after she and Dad got divorced. Erin dated a bunch of younger men and she’s been married twice since divorcing my dad. Erin needs advice regarding men even more than I do.