Raine's Haven

by Shari J. Ryan

  God help me. Marriage? I don't think I'll ever be ready for that. The thought of being someone's property and "keeping" a household for a living doesn't feel like an aspiration any woman my age should have, and it certainly doesn’t appeal to me. I should run away and finally get out of this life-sucking, tiny town. I've wanted nothing more than that since I was a teenager.

  A sneeze in the near vicinity startles and scares the ever-living crap out of me, forcing me to whip my head around in search of the nightmare I was flirting with here in the dark. This is what I get. There's a man sleeping on the bench in front of the nearby trees, and it takes a moment to realize that his eyes are blazing in my direction as if I've invaded his privacy. Maybe I did.

  "No," he growls. Is he homeless? We haven't had a homeless person living in this town for years. This community is damn proud of that fact. Children are free to roam the streets at night and play ball under the stars. We leave front doors wide open and unlocked. It's all thanks to Dad and the sheriffs who do their best to keep this place clean of anything other than the model-like families and high-class residents whom the middle- and lower-class strive to live up to. It's quite sad the way they corrupted this town.

  "I beg your pardon, but I didn't ask you a question," I reply, not stopping to consider that it may not be wise to engage in a conversation with a homeless person. In my current situation, I’m not exactly thinking clearly.

  "Get the hell away from me," he says.

  "Do you own this park or something?" I argue, standing up and placing my hands over my hips, disregarding a thought that says I may be flirting with danger.

  "Fine, I'll leave." The man sits up and his dark boots fall heavily to the ground. When he stands, rising to his six-foot-plus height, the moon's glow shines over his face.

  I squint, wondering if my eyes are playing tricks on me, but they most certainly aren't. I knew he was out. I knew he had to be around somewhere. But why here of all places, in the dark, where he'd probably want to kill me for what happened? "Raine?"

  "I don't want you anywhere near me. Not now. Not ever," he says calmly. He's changed, physically. He's large, and from what I can see in the dark, covered in more tattoos than I've ever seen any person in this town have. His jaw is square, not like I remember it, and his hair is short, no longer falling into his eyes. He's most definitely still sickeningly beautiful, but now in a more prominent, mature way.

  He told me to leave, and yet I'm still standing here. He has every right and reason to tell me to leave.

  "Raine, I am so sorry," I say, cowardly and quietly, while leaning down to grab my shoes.

  "You should be," he mutters. I wait for a minute, dying for him to say something, anything besides "leave."

  He drops his hands into his pockets and walks toward the road. I wanted to say more. I should have said more than I’m sorry. I can't just apologize for causing him a seven-year prison sentence and expect that to make everything okay. I need to explain everything.

  I run after Raine, knowing I'll likely regret doing so, but I've anticipated this moment of opportunity since that night in my parents’ house—that horrifically ending night.

  17

  Raine

  No need to wonder what the odds are of running into her of all people. I know the odds. This town is too small to avoid her. This whole area with all the surrounding towns is too small to avoid her. I guess I was stupid for thinking maybe she had moved away and on with her life. After all, that was Haven's plan—one she should have kept. What the fuck is she still doing here?

  The one thing she complained about the most was this small town. Haven was bored and suffocated. In fact, for some reason, she yearned for my life, as she told me countless times. I tried to show her what it meant to live in my shoes, and in return, she wanted to help me. Well, thanks for your help, Haven. Look at me now.

  From the second I met her, I knew I should have kept my distance. I had no interest in dating, not under the circumstances I was living in, but Haven, she wanted it all. Unlike most chicks in this stuck-up town, she had fire in her eyes. It illuminated her essence—it spoke to me, made me believe she was different. I liked that about her, along with the fact that she didn't give up when I kept turning her down.

  A girl who knows what she wants. That's not something you can find on any street corner, at least when those wants go beyond sex and a good time. Haven made me weak when I could hardly stand. Then the lie. That one beautiful lie she must have thought was so fucking innocent. Well, guess what, sweetheart. You ruined my life.

  Walking the mile through the center of Sutter, I find Crow's bar looking just the way it did when I used to spend my nights here, before he wrote me off for sleeping with his chick. I wonder what he's up to now.

  The motel Crow’s bar is connected to still only has the "m" and "l" glowing in red, just like I left it. Home sweet home, I guess.

  Crossing the town border between Cascade and Sutter is like crossing the border of a country. The vast difference is apparent even at the town line where the freshly paved road abruptly stops at the ridged edge where the dirt road to Sutter begins. This is where I belong—a place with no parks, no coffee shops, no people with their noses pointed to the sky.

  I take an empty seat at the bar next to a brunette covered in tats and piercings. Her eyes are lined with thick, black liner, her lips are blood red—perfect, and she's pounding shots alone. Seven years. "What are you drinking?" I ask her.

  She looks over at me, her hazy gray eyes drawing a straight line from my nose down to my lap. "My life away," she says, her lips pulling into a sinful smirk.

  "I'll have what she's having," I yell over to the bartender, who isn't Crow. It's Kacee, the girl Crow ended our friendship over. Wow, she’s still around,

  "I know you," the girl says, bringing the next shot glass up to her lips. "You're that guy." Her head tilts back and she wraps her lips around the full rim of the glass. Holy fuck. Seven years.

  "What guy?" I play along, knowing damn well that the gossip doesn’t stop at the town line.

  "You fucked some kid," the girl says as she wipes the back of her hand under her lips, cleaning up the drip of liquid the glass left behind. A burning pain in my gut grows like someone just lit a match inside of me. What can I say? By law, she's correct. I turn away from the chick and rest my elbows on the bar, watching Kacee fill up several glasses with a clear liquid. "But hey, we all do stupid shit when we're young."

  "Oh yeah?" I ask, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye as she lifts the hem of her shirt up a few inches. There's some dude's name written across her stomach. She points to the tattoo, saying, "This asshole put my head through a wall when he saw his name on my body." Next, she sweeps her bangs off to one side, revealing a thick scar. "So now I have two marks to remind me of him."

  "I hope you cut off his balls in his sleep," I tell her, grabbing the first shot glass.

  "Nah, I just killed him." I don't know if she's kidding or not, but she isn’t smiling. "I'm Crystal." She reaches her hand out to me, showcasing her long, pointy, electric blue nails.

  "Raine," I say, placing my hand around hers.

  "You should finish those shots, Raine." Her eyebrow arches and my cock hardens. I do as she says, taking each shot, one right after another, feeling the burn numb everything inside of me, except the growing ache in my groin. "I have a room next door," she says, suggestively, maintaining eye contact.

  Music to my ears. One step up from a park bench, I suppose. She leans over the bar, waving at the bartender. "I got this," I blurt out. This will eat up the last of my cash. Good thinking. I’m obviously not thinking with my brain right now, but then again it has been seven years. I cringe inside as I’m reminded that Haven was the last girl I was with.

  "You two are all set," Kacee yells over to us from behind the bar. She doesn’t seem to have noticed who I am, even though she surely must remember me, and I haven’t changed that much, but she just comped our drinks, so maybe s
he does recognize me.

  "She's an old roommate," Crystal informs me as she takes her coat from the hook under the bar. "Ready?" So she and Kacee used to be roommates. I stand up from the stool as she loops her arm through mine, pulling me quickly out the door. "You're a quiet guy, huh?"

  I don't have much to say. "Guess so."

  "You just get out today?" How much does this chick know about me? Fuck.

  "Technically, yesterday since it's after midnight." Crystal starts jabbering about the night she spent in prison a couple years ago, and I can't focus long enough to acknowledge her story. For some stupid reason, my thoughts are caught up in Haven's words—her poor attempt at an apology. I shouldn’t be thinking anything about her. I should most definitely hate her. Because…seven years.

  "Here we are," Crystal says, shoving her key into the lock as all her metal bracelets clap against the door. "So if you just got out yesterday, I guess it's safe to assume you haven't fucked anything in a while, at least not a woman..." As she’s speaking, she begins to undress. Her words, combined with her movements, mesmerize me, pulling my mind farther from Haven and closer to the almost completely naked, hot body standing in front of me. “I’ve never fucked a guy who just got out of prison. It’s kind of a turn on, like doing a virgin.” She continues to undress, and I’m standing here like a dumbass, just watching her.

  Now in a black lace thong and nothing else, Crystal falls backwards onto the bed, one knee bent up and the other leg dangling from the side. Her arms are outstretched above her head and it's almost too easy. But I haven't fucked anything in seven years. Plus, I don't have a conscience anymore.

  I kick my shoes to the side and pull my belt off, letting my pants fall to the ground. Walking toward the bed, I lift my shirt over my head and toss it onto the torn upholstered chair. "Hurry," she moans. "I'm wet, and I'm so ready for you."

  No more second guesses. My boxers are off and I'm on top of her. "You have a rubber?" I ask. That could have crossed my mind at some point in the last ten minutes.

  She leans to the side, reaching for her bag and pulls one out. Thank God.

  "A smart prison boy," she says. “Definitely not a boy scout. You’re not prepared.” God, she’s hot...although my judgment is probably clouded by the fact that I’m so horny right now.

  It doesn't take long before I'm riding this chick like a man on a wild bull. Her screams are probably waking up every sleeping person in the motel, but it's getting the job done here. "Harder," she cries. "Fuck me harder, Raine." I open my eyes briefly, looking down at this stranger, and all I see is Haven. Why am I fucking seeing Haven? I pound the chick with every ounce of strength, feeling some of my anger seep out of my cock. She slaps me across the face, crying loudly…screaming, "Harder," even louder, as if I were torturing her.

  I should be pissed that this woman just slapped me, but I fucking love it. I press into her so hard her head hits the headboard, and she fucking smiles. Her fingernails are puncturing the skin on my ass and her teeth are piercing the flesh around my ear. The increase of her animalistic growls and heavy breaths warn me she's close, and I'm glad for her, but I'm starting to lose my momentum. What the fuck? Her arms are locked around my back and she's shouting a string of obscenities into my ear as her body goes limp beneath mine. My cock follows suit. Awesome.

  "Did you finish?" she asks, panting through each word.

  I get up off the bed, mortified to answer truthfully and close myself into the bathroom. I let the water run as I tear the condom off and toss it into the trash, on top of at least five other used condoms. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That’s disgusting, but then again, what did I expect? This is a chick I just met in a bar, who was turned on by the idea of fucking a guy who just got out of prison. I look around the sink for a bar of soap, finding a sliver of a splintered white bar on a dish. I scrub my hands under the water and wash my face, keeping my eyes closed—refusing to look at the mirror. I haven't wanted to see my dirty reflection in seven years and I sure as hell don’t want to know what I look like right now.

  Opening the bathroom door, I hit the light switch and cup my hand around my cock as I walk across the room to find my clothes. "You broken or something?" Crystal asks. I step into my boxers and pants, then quickly pull my shirt over my head while searching for my shoes. "Are you fucking mute too? Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

  "How many people have you fucked in this room?" I finally ask.

  She takes the pillows from the bed and throws them at me one by one. "None of your fucking business. Now get the hell out of here, you prissy shithead." I get my shoes and bust out of the door before she can throw anything harder at me.

  The second the door closes, I hear glass smash against a wall, and as the glass shatters, so do my chances of sleeping in a real bed tonight. Maybe the park bench isn't so bad after all.

  18

  Haven

  Well, this night certainly didn’t turn out as romantic as it was intended to. Watching my ex-love, who just got out of prison, follow some skank into a sleazy motel room, is not exactly the definition of romantic. Even less romantic, and slightly pathetic, is me sitting in the middle of the same motel parking lot, somewhat stalking my ex-lover while debating if I should get my own room because I’m scared to go home to my almost fiancé. I should never have followed Raine here. Just the latest in a list of things I shouldn’t have done concerning that man.

  The door of the motel room Raine walked into ten minutes ago flies open, and for a moment I consider hiding. Then I realize there is nowhere in this empty parking lot to hide. What’s worse is that he spots me immediately and doesn’t look the slightest bit surprised to see me standing here.

  "God dammit, don't you have somewhere to be?" he yells over.

  "Not like you do." I know I’m not in a position to stand up to him, but all I wanted to do was apologize.

  "You don't get to do this, Haven. Follow me around like you’re some kind of lost puppy until I cave in. Again. Maybe it worked the first fucking time, but it isn't happening again."

  I deserve that. Plus, much more. "You're right," I say, giving up this battle—if that's what it should be called. I head toward the street, staring down the dark road.

  "Where's your car, Haven?"

  "With my almost fiancé, who I ran away from four hours ago."

  "What the—hell," I hear him mutter. "You're not seriously walking back to Cascade now, are you?"

  "Yup!" I shout back to him as I continue walking. He's right. I pretty much forced myself onto him the first time around. At this moment, I am telling myself I will not do that again. I am not that stupid sixteen-year-old girl I once was.

  "Don't be a moron," he yells. His affectionate words aren't going to stop me now. I walked here just fine, and I can walk back to Cascade and that park bench just as well.

  I keep walking for several minutes without looking behind me, ignoring the sound of loose gravel crunching, along with the growing footsteps. My intention was not to make him run after me. My intention was to get him to listen to me—my apology. I know now that’s not going to happen.

  His hand locks around my arm. I try my hardest to tug it out of his grip, but he lifts me up in my five-thousand-dollar dress and throws me over his shoulder as if I were a bag of soil. "Put me down!" I shriek.

  No matter how much I pound on his back or try to kick my way loose, it's useless. I'm powerless against him. Once we reach the motel lot, he places me down on my feet. "I slept with one eye open for the past seven years, on top of a mattress with the coils poking through. Today is the first day I've worn a color other than orange since the last time you saw me. I don't remember what good food tastes like, and I don't remember what it's like to shower, piss, and shit alone. Do you know why?" He’s shouting in my face, pointing his finger at me. And I want to cry because everything he’s saying is everything I feared.

  I swallow my guilt and shake my head. "Because I lied," I say, more words hardly audible.

  "
How can you even stand here and look me in the face? How have you lived with yourself for the past seven years, huh?"

  I haven't been able to. Doesn't he understand that's the reason I'm standing here right now? "I can't forgive myself."

  He looks at every inch of me from my hair down to my shoes. "Sure as hell doesn't look like you had trouble moving on."

  "What else can I say besides 'sorry'? Please tell me. I'll do anything to make it so you don't hate me. Because right now, I can't live like this. I can't look in the mirror and accept who I am. I have pressed through every single day for the past seven years avoiding my reflection, knowing I would never see the person I wanted to become and how badly I ruined that chance. Because…I was only that person when I was with you." He holds his head in his hand, letting out a long, aggravated breath. Am I breaking through to him? Is he beginning to understand how truly sorry I am? Would he believe me if I told him I had no idea that what we did was illegal? I was so damn ignorant after being held captive in the safe little bubble my parents kept me in for so long? "I had no idea we were breaking the law…"

  A raucous groan rumbles in his throat as he presses his hands down the sides of his face. "How the hell did you not know? They teach that shit in sex-ed, freshman year of high school. You knew you were lying, which means you had some fucking idea, Haven." I stare at him, feeling a glaze of tears film my eyes. I don't think it'll help to remind him I was homeschooled, and sex-ed wasn't part of that program. Beyond that, I don't know how else to say I'm sorry for a very foolish mistake I made seven years ago. "Do you know what people think of me now?"

  "You always told me you didn't care what people thought of you." That was before his picture was mounted on every corner.

  "Yeah." A cynical laugh hitches in his through. "That was true until they started calling me a sexual predator."