Heartbreaker

by J. Dorothy

  I sigh big and deep, not sure I’m looking forward to my session today. I kick off my leather boots and tuck my black stocking legs underneath me. I flare out the purple baby doll dress I’m wearing, so it sits in a circle, hugging me. I love this dress. My mom gave it to me for my birthday a few years back and I never took it to Chicago. I left a heap of clothes behind, so I’m kind of discovering a whole new wardrobe again. I’m considering burning my clothes from the past two years. I haven’t worn any of them. They don’t belong in my life anymore. They belonged to another life, another Bailey. And I’m not her anymore. I don’t want to be. I want to be me.

  Gerry knocks quietly and enters. Not sure why she's knocking on her own door, or what she thinks I might be doing, but she always had impeccable manners. My mom loved her too. Loved her cheery nature and her attraction for all things colorful. Speaking of which, she isn’t layered in colors today, but is wearing stripes. A vertical striped purple shirt and a horizontal striped black and white skirt. My eyes go blurry for a minute. Maybe if I look at her long enough I’ll see a hidden image like those puzzles I used to love as a kid.

  She screws her nose. “You okay, your eyes look funny.”

  I suppress a chuckle and shake my head. “No, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

  “Right.” She takes up the same position she did last time, on her bed. I guess we have our set places signalling therapy can begin.

  I’m kind of surprised she didn’t bring a notepad and pencil, since she’s taking her role as my Dr Phil so seriously, but it’s nice knowing how much she cares.

  “So you went to see him?” she asks.

  My heart jolts. I didn’t think we were discussing the present. I was all prepared to rewind, not fast forward.

  She waits. Patient as always.

  “I did.”

  “And.”

  “And nothing.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Not much.”

  “What did you say?”

  “About the same.”

  “So, that’s it.”

  I shrug.

  She sighs. “Okay. Well, are you ready to continue? You know from where we finished yesterday.”

  I’m not so sure now. My hands are shaking, but I give a small nod.

  Gerry settles back onto the bed, resting her head against the wall and looks at me, expectantly.

  Now I sigh.

  Then begin. Again.

  Eighteen months ago ...

  Bennett’s his name, and I only know that, because I spied it written on one of his text books. Every night I enter the class, it’s the same old scenario. The pile of books on the seat next to him, the room full except for that one seat. Seems no one wants to miss this class, ever. I even try to quit work early one night, so I can beat him to that seat. It doesn't work. Seems him and everyone else works on early time.

  I decide not to fight it, and go through the ritual of asking him to move his books so I can sit down. It seems to amuse him and I don’t have any other friends to amuse, so I put up with it. He still doesn’t say much, just takes heaps of notes. He hasn’t offered to give me any after the first time. I learnt my lesson and make it a bit of a competition to write more notes than him. Sometimes I write random thoughts, like, Mr Eale’s glasses fog up when he talks about the wall street crash, must have lost out, wonder if that’s why he’s teaching. And I star it, filling up the page so it looks like I’ve got more written than Bennett. Keeps me amused, childish as it is. Not sure if he’s noticed, he never says.

  Till one day.

  We’ve been doing the silent routine for about a month now. Kind of comforts me to see him three nights a week. I pretend like he’s my friend. I imagine going for coffee and chatting. He’s hot there’s no doubt, but I don’t get the hot vibe from him. He doesn’t get my blood racing. Cam’s the only one who’s ever done that. I’m such a sadist. I should try more. Flirt more. Most of the other girls in the class are always giving him shy glances and cute smiles. He doesn’t seem to pay attention though. And I wonder why. Perhaps that’s why he likes sitting next to me. He obviously doesn’t get the hot vibe from me either. He’s never flirted once. Well not really, apart from saying he was waiting for me and writing out my notes that first night. Then it seemed more like a friendly act, than a coming on to me act.

  One day I arrive, late as usual and there's no pile of books, just an empty seat which makes me frown. Then he speaks.

  “So, Bailey, how do you like Chicago?”

  He knows my name. He knows I’m not from here. My frown deepens. Who is this guy?

  He chuckles. “You have, Miss New to Town, written all over your face.”

  “I do.”

  He gestures towards the vacant chair and I sit. I’m curious about him and how he knows so much about me.

  He shrugs. “Not really. I saw your license.”

  “Oh.” So he’s been spying on me as well. I did drop my purse one day and all my cards spilled out. He helped me collect them, but never said anything. Weird.

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  Huh? What question?

  He shakes his head again and smiles. Wow, he has a really nice smile. “Are. You. Liking. Chicago,” he says, pronouncing each word slowly.

  I shrug. “Oh, um, yeah, I guess.”

  He continues to drill me on, where I’ve been, where I live, what I do, until in five minutes I’ve pretty much filled him in on my six months in the windy city.

  I sound boring and I’m sure he’ll stop talking to me soon. The plethora of pretty girls eyeing us, with much more interest today, would probably have better stories to keep him amused. But he continues chatting to me until the class begins. Then he stops and starts taking his notes like usual. So I do the same. I’ve been taking fewer notes today, wondering about him. Mr Eagle’s going on about the economic principle of supply and demand, and my mind wanders, I sketch a picture of my room and how I could change it around. Given the space, I don’t have many options, and it looks better in my picture than in real life. Then Bennett reaches over and puts a cross over where I’ve put the couch, writing, bad Feng shui underneath.

  What the heck?

  I glance at him under hooded lids and he grins and shrugs.

  After the class, he doesn’t hurry out like usual, he lingers, putting his books away slowly. “So, you want to grab a coffee. I can take you to the best coffee place in the city.”

  I bite my lip and don’t answer straight away.

  “You do drink coffee don’t you?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, let’s go. You have to try their chocolate cheesecake, it’s the best.”

  “Um … okay,” I agree, not really sure if he’ll let me argue with him anyway.

  So over the actual best coffee and chocolate cheesecake I’ve ever tasted, Bennett and I start our friendship and it’s the best day.

  I feel like I’ve finally arrived, finally made a start on my new exciting adventure.

  Good times here I come.

  Yeah, right. I should have known better.

  NiNe

  ______________________________________

  “Bennett, you don’t need to do that.”

  Bennett’s been talking to me for the past half an hour. He wants to come visit this weekend and wants to take ... no, drag me out, for a night of fun.

  “Oh come on Bales, you can’t stay locked up in that tiny house forever. Let me, please. Pleeasse. I really miss you.”

  I hate it when he uses that whiny voice. I know he won’t stop, and even if I end the call he’ll turn up on my doorstep and force me to do it.

  “I’m still not feeling well,” I say in an attempt to garner his sympathy, knowing it’s his weak spot.

  “Bullshit.”

  What the heck?

  “It’s not bullshit. I still feel light headed and dizzy. Keep getting headaches too.”

  “You’ve finished your second course of antibiotics, you sho
uld be feeling better. It’s been nearly three weeks. Dr Richards said you were doing well on your last visit.”

  He's such a snooper. He must have been talking to Dad. “Yeah. But these things take time, you know.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Sorry Bales. I should be more sensitive.” He chuckles, “Must be the anatomy.”

  I scoff about to give a quick goodbye, when he cuts in again.

  “Oh, and I told your dad I’d ring him later. He wants some stock advice. I might mention you still don’t feel well. “

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “Sore point, Miss Taddle tale.”

  Grrr, he is so infuriating. He knows my Dad's my weak point and once again he trumps me.

  “Bennett,” I growl.

  “Bales,” he growls back, and I actually stamp my foot.

  “Did, you just stamp your foot at me?”

  I stamp my foot again. “No.”

  He laughs. “That’s more like it.”

  “Dinner, and only dinner!”

  “And dancing.”

  “Dancing? Are you nuts? Where do you think I live? We don’t do dancing in Hicksville.”

  “You do when I’m in town.”

  I clench my teeth. “Dinner, Bennett. That’s it or no deal.”

  “Dinner. My treat. Then you can buy me a drink when we’re dancing.”

  Oh, I could kick him right now. “No dancing. I mean it Bennett.”

  “Of course you do. I’ll see you Friday, pretty girl. Wear something nice.”

  “Sure," I say picturing my worn black denim jeans, old boots and oversized Metallica t-shirt, I usually wear to bed. Childish I know, but he needs to learn a lesson.

  He can’t boss me around.

  Well maybe he can.

  Friday night rolls round quicker than I thought it would. I haven’t had another session with Gerry. She’s been swamped with tourists flocking to their shop and I’ve been studying, so we said we’d meet up this weekend.

  I decide since I ran from my job, and from my life in Chicago, that not all of it had to be a waste. I did finish a year at night school, and I discover I can continue by correspondence. I will have to go to a couple of weekend study groups in Chicago, but that’s not for months, and I hope I’m okay to return by then.

  I put on my Metallica t-shirt ready to make a stance, but dad tells me to go change and to stop acting like a three year old. I haven’t been scolded like that in years. I'm so shocked Dad actually cares, that I do as he says and go put on a white blouse and a nicer pair of jeans.

  I wonder if Bennett warned him I might be difficult.

  I still have on my old boots though, I’m not changing them.

  Bennett arrives just after six. He must have left work early. I wonder when his car drives up if the Double A knew where he was heading for the weekend. Like he’d care. I’m sure he breathed a sigh of relief when he read my resignation letter and hasn’t looked back since. I bite my lip hard and force all thoughts of him out of my head. It hurts when I picture him. And not in the heartbreaking, lovesick, painful way, more like it gives me a headache that stabs at my head and makes my stomach churn.

  Bennett looks like he just stepped out of the shower and dressed. He’s got on a crisp light green shirt, pulled tight enough, to show off his pecks, but not too tight, to make him look like he’s wanting attention. His dark blue denim jeans hang perfectly on his perfect body. He really should be photographed for the world to drool over. Not that he’d ever be into that. He hates me mentioning his hotness and certainly wouldn’t agree for someone to plaster his pretty face on billboards all over the city.

  He looks me up and down, and I glare at him.

  “Good, you dressed nice.”

  “Like I had a choice, “I grumble, and he grins.

  “Great boots. You’ll need those.”

  I narrow my eyes.“What? What for?”

  My boots meeting his approval was not the reaction I was hoping for.

  “Boot scooting. You can stamp your feet as much as you want.” He laughs now and I put my hands on my hips and glare at him some more.

  “Boot Scooting! Are you for real? I’m not doing that.”

  “When in Rome.”

  “Contrary to popular belief not all small towns are stuck back in time, or full of hillbillies.”

  “I love that show. And yes you are. Here.” He hands me a leaflet.

  It’s a promo from our local bar, and they're having a boot scooting night, tonight, for one night only, and guess what? The Wild Hillbillies are playing.

  Oh give me a break.

  I roll my eyes, then stare daggers at him. “No.”

  He raises his eyes. “No?”

  “I am not going to a local bar. I am not boot scooting. And I am not listening to some stupid band called the Wild Hillbillies.”

  “Okay, but your dad’s going to be so disappointed. I told him you agreed to go out after dinner for a bit of fun. He was so happy, said he might meet us and have a drink and a dance as well.”

  “He did not.”

  Bennett reaches up and scratches his head. “Yeah, pretty sure, his exact words, were, I haven’t been to one of those in years, I’ll look forward to having a dance with my baby girl.”

  I stamp my foot. I wish I could explode.

  “Ready to go, Thumper girl," Bennett says and grins again. I am so far from ready, but he’s pushed me into a corner. If I don’t go, Dad will get all concerned and be even more annoying, fussing over me, making sure I eat three meals a day and wanting to talk all the time. Maybe if I do this one night, he might chill out a bit, and might start to think I’m getting over everything and we can all go back to normal.

  Whatever that is.

  Not sure I know anymore.

  Dinner was nice. We went to a steak house out on the highway. It’s new and I hadn’t been there before. Bennett did most of the talking during dinner, I kept scowling at him, but I broke eventually. Bennett has that way about him. I can’t stay mad at him for long. He never mentions work, which is a good thing, and I chill out a bit.

  Now we’re back in town and Bennett’s pulls into the car park outside The Brew, the local bar and popular young hangout. Judging from the number of cars, boot scooting looks like it’s got more takers than I thought.

  I grab my denim jacket from the backseat and put it on, the temperatures dropped a bit, and I’m cold. Or nervous. Or both.

  Bennett gives me a smile and pats my leg. “Its fine, Bales, it’ll be fine.”

  Easy for him to say, not so easy for me to do. This is my first time going out, and there will be people here who know me, and know about me and what I did. I just hope Cam isn’t here. I haven’t seen him since I went to his house. Dad never mentions him, or mentions my visit, and I try to block him out, but I know if I see him, that might not be so easy. Particularly if he’s with Jennifer. That will be hard to swallow, and I’m not sure I can do it.

  Bennett picks up my shaking hand and squeezes tight. “I’m right here, Bales. I won’t leave you all night. Okay? And your dad, text and said he’d be here soon.”

  “Dad text!”

  Bennett chuckles. “Yep, he’s all hip now. Even gave me an LOL the other day.”

  My mouth gapes open. “Dad so did not use LOL.”

  Bennett arches a brow and pulls his cell from his pocket and scrolls through his messages. I realize there's a lot.

  “How often do you talk to my dad?”

  Bennett shrugs. “Not that much.”

  “Bennett…”

  He puts his cell away and looks at me, blowing out a big breath. “Okay, don’t freak, but I text him most days.”

  “Most days?”

  “Okay, well every day.”

  “Bennett!”

  “I told you not to freak, it’s not that big of a deal. I just like to hear you’re okay.”

  I’m not sure whether to kiss or punch him.

  I shake my head. “I’m okay Bennett. Really.”
/>
  “It’s just that after last time, I want to make sure. I need to be a better friend. I can’t find you like that ever again. And I certainly don’t want your dad to find you like that. It’d kill him Bales.”

  I bite my lip hard. I hate hearing him talk about it. “I know. And I’m sorry you had to find me. It really was a mistake. I didn’t mean to …”

  A tear escapes and I quickly wipe it away. I hate talking about this.

  “Hey, hey, there, Thumper Girl. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Bennett leans across and puts his arm around me, pulling me into him. He’s so warm and I snuggle into his shoulder.

  I need this. It calms me.

  Bennett kisses my head and I breathe again saying, “Well, I guess if we’re going to do this, we should get it over and done with.”

  “That’s music to my ears. Having my best girl wanting to get it over and done with. So romantic.” He laughs at his joke.

  I punch him in the chest and he groans. Then gets out of the car and runs around to open my door.

  He doesn’t normally do this, but must have decided to be all gallant tonight.

  “Why thank you, kind sir," I say, getting out and shutting the car door.

  He takes my hand in his and loops it through his arm. “Shall we, pretty girl.”

  “We shall,” I say with mock confidence, quietly sucking in a silent breath and praying that Cam still hates dancing.

  The bar is jumping and stamping, literally. There are swarms of people, some at the bar, but most of them on the dance floor. The Wild Hillbillies are living up to their name as they thump out country music dressed in ripped flannel shirts, their hair long and wild, tattoos covering their arms, multiple piercings in their ears and nose. I’m wondering if this is just a paid gig, and they’re more into heavy metal. A funny contradiction. I’d be laughing if I wasn’t so nervous.