The Traveller

by HJ Bellus

  Hart tucks his hands in his pockets, steps back with a shy look, and grins. It’s the first time I’ve seen this man vulnerable tonight. His mask of all jackass has been wiped away, and I don’t like it. He’s processing real life shit, his reality, and the pain is visible.

  “Sounds like I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night then.” He begins stepping backward toward the street. “I’d ask for a goodnight kiss, but guessing we aren’t at that stage yet even though I’m fucking Prince Charming.”

  “You are right. Not even close.”

  “Harsh, Vannie, harsh.” He covers his heart while stepping back slowly.

  I should throw a dog a bone, but don’t quite have that confidence yet, no matter how nice of a man he is or who his aunt is. He knows where my apartment is and that’s enough. He doesn’t need to know the exact number.

  “Why Peaches?”

  “Eh?” He tilts his head.

  “Why do you call her Peaches? Heard you started it.”

  “Just a part of the charm, babe.”

  I shake my head not able to fight the stupid grin on my face and then mumble, “Something like that it seems.”

  “I’ll buy dinner tomorrow,” he hollers since he’s practically across the street now.

  It takes me a moment to catch onto the joke, and I only smile before entering the apartment building. Typically my footsteps are heavy going up the stairs, but not tonight. Hart is funny, and it sure felt good to laugh again. A genuine and honest laugh that bubbles up from the inside. A foreign concept.

  My apartment is nothing to brag about, but it’s my home. The first home I’ve had in years. A bed, clean water, and a working toilet are all it takes for me to be happy. After living on the run for years, making the streets my bed, this is a mansion in comparison.

  The hot water billowing out of the shower begins to steam up the tiny bathroom. It’s my signal to strip bare. The scars on my body are my kryptonite. The permanent and nasty reminders of my past that I never look at or feel. My fingertips are always covered with a washcloth when showering. Full body mirrors don’t exist in my house, and my eyes never glance down. Out of sight, out of mind, locking the memories away forever.

  Shuddering while running my fingertip up my bare arm, I find myself smiling with small explosions of happiness coursing through me. But it will never be enough for me to look down at my abdomen. Never.

  6

  Savannah Ray

  I smooth out my white sundress one more time, and then readjust my sweater covering my top. I’ve missed Sunday dinners with Peaches, Maria, and Julie. Spending time at the local homeless shelter volunteering my time is something special to me. It’s a place that offered me solace during a time I was very lost. Not just the women’s shelter here in Nashville, but shelters all over the world.

  I don’t have much, but with what I do have I’m all about giving back to the place that once helped me heal. I was able to get on my feet, find a job at The Shade Tree, and most of all find my voice again. Singing is my only therapy. The one thing that makes me feel alive again.

  I’ve been scorched from building friendships in the past. Building close bonds when broken to only have them shattered. And each time a piece of my soul disappears. Years ago, when broken and lonely, I made the decision that bonds made were futile. All of that was until Peaches, and her family which seems to now include Hart, the charismatic, sexy charmer.

  Julie opens the door welcoming me in with her warm smile. An amazing aroma strikes me hard. I’m not quite sure what it is, but it does cause my stomach to growl loudly and my mouth to water.

  “Is she here?” I hear Hart ask before he steps out from the hallway leading into the living room.

  He’s dressed in worn black jeans with a red flannel button-up shirt hugging his chest. The sleeves are rolled up to his forearms with his muscles flexing with each movement. His hair is down today, and I find myself staring at him.

  His whiskey colored eyes are boring holes right back at me. A minute smile spreads across his face the longer he stares. I try to speak, but everything gets caught in my throat. The feelings flowing through me scares the shit out me, forcing trembles to take over.

  “Smells like someone shit Ralph Lauren in here.” Peaches walks up behind Hart smacking him in the head.

  “Jesus, woman. I’m sensitive.” He grabs the back of his head.

  “You’re going to scare Vannie off trying to be all dapper and shit. Less cologne next time,” she replies.

  Julie offers her own two cents on the matter. “Your mom said you’ve been getting into our smut books.”

  “He thinks he’s a modern-day Casanova, but he’s just a grown-up dipshit,” Peaches says, chuckling at her joke.

  Julie grabs my hand tugging me into the house. It seems I stood frozen between the stare from Hart and the banter between aunt and nephew. She leads me into the dining room where Maria rocks in her rocking chair bundled up with blankets. My heart aches seeing how much she’s digressed in the past month and a half. She’s literally vanishing as each second ticks by.

  “Hey sweetie, we’ve missed you.” Maria smiles brightly through her sickness.

  I’ve never met someone as optimistic as Maria, even when faced with such a dire situation. She’s always smiling even when she was going through rounds of chemo and deathly sick.

  “Missed you, too.”

  I walk over to give her a gentle hug.

  Everyone settles around the table falling into easy chatter while Hart brings the food to the table.

  “Heard you met my son.” The pride on Maria’s face is wildly contagious.

  I nod, unable to find words from the embarrassment of everyone’s stares.

  Maria goes on telling me the same story she has several times over Sunday dinners about how Hart was a soldier and then a business owner in Montana. I’ve always known there’s more to the picture on their family history, but it’s not my business to know. Lord knows I have enough of my own baggage.

  Hart takes a seat across from me giving me the perfect view of his chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, and those haunting eyes. He’s not shy when he stares at me while we prepare our plates. My cheeks flame with heat under his stare. I now know what a trapped animal feels like.

  Julie begins talking about romance books, distracting Hart. It’s quite comical to hear him engage in banter over love stories. He’s quite convincing on his points, but I’m pretty sure most of it is to get his mom and Julie riled up. I peer over at Peaches who’s relaxed back in her chair also enjoying the conversation.

  It all dawns on me at once. Hart and Peaches are two peas in a pod with their big hearts, smart-wit, and charm. Is that why I’m so easily magnetized to him? Or it could be the fact I’ve never been in a relationship or remotely attracted to a man. Life has never given me a chance.

  “Vannie, you should read the next book with us.”

  I barely recognize my name after being so lost in my own thoughts. I look up to the whole table staring at me. Glancing down at my empty plate, I swallow down the embarrassment before speaking.

  “Oh, I don’t read much.”

  This gets Julie to perk up in her seat. “We will fix that.”

  “Yes,” Maria agrees. “Our next read is about a hot firefighter who is very alpha. We’ve waited forever for this release.”

  “Um, what’s alpha?” I ask, immediately recognizing my mistake by the smirk on Hart’s face while the two women blush.

  Hart even blushes a bit himself before relaxing back in his chair. He quirks up one eyebrow, crossing his arms over his broad chest, and then finally grins. “Alpha is a man who is dominating, overbearing, and is a professional between the sheets.”

  “Oh.” I gulp down the dry lump in my throat while staring at my empty glass of milk.

  “Yes, he’s right, dear.” Julie strums the rich, dark wood tabletop with her fingers. “Alphas are a sure way to get fired right up.”

  “Even old ladies like us,”
Maria adds.

  I’ve never prayed for a sinkhole to swallow me whole until now. It would take away the humiliation of stepping right into this conversation.

  “Enough, you three. The poor girl is about to pass out from your dirty talk. She’s busy enough volunteering, working, and singing. No need to be smut pushers.”

  “Just know the invite is always open, Vannie.” Maria grins.

  I reach out for the thick, white casserole dish to get another serving of pot roast. Maria has barely touched her food while Hart seems to be inhaling everything in front of him.

  What I like most about these dinners is how low-key they are. I don’t form relationships, but Peaches burst right into my life. They’ve never forced me to talk more than I want nor have they tried to get answers about my past. It’s always been comfortable to the point of relaxing. Peaches works her ass off at her bar, so I know Sundays are sacred to her. She goes in on Sunday mornings, but comes home before noon for one day of being lazy.

  I know better than to help with the dishes because Julie will refuse the help, but I do it every single time in a show of respect. I help carry the food dishes over to the sink and ready myself to help put stuff away and wash dishes, but on cue, Julie refuses my help.

  I go back to the living room where Peaches is the only one there. She’s catching up on her shows she’s recorded throughout the week. I feel awkward this time, not like the rest of the evenings I’ve spent here. Typically, I’d curl up on the couch and enjoy the mindless shows. Television is a luxury to me, or rather a foreign concept in my life with no memories of it from my childhood.

  Thirty minutes later, Hart strides into the living room.

  “She down for the night?” Peaches asks, not looking away from the television.

  “Yeah.” He runs his hands through his long, dirty blond hair.

  Long gone is his charisma and charm replaced with the promise of heartache. It saddens me to see such a happy soul being tortured by the cruel fate of life. Hart takes a seat on the couch on the opposite end from me stretching out his long legs. And I don’t know whether he shit Ralph Lauren or not, but I do know it’s the sexiest scent on the planet.

  “Get your car fixed?” he asks.

  I slowly look over to him and then shake my head from side to side.

  “How’d you get here?”

  I fumble with my fingers in my lap before replying. “The bus and then walked the rest of the way.”

  “How close is the nearest bus station to here?”

  “Five or six blocks.” I shrug.

  He drops his face in defeat. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper.

  He jumps to his feet, holding out his hand to me with a serious look on his face. “Let’s go somewhere.”

  I recoil back into the black leather couch taken aback by the sudden movement and question.

  “C’mon. I need to get out of here,” he urges.

  I glance over at Peaches who is pretending to not be watching us. Sweat rolls down the back of my neck, nerves wrack my core, and fear threatens to take over. Deep down, I know Hart will not hurt me. I do know this, but after years and years of being on my own, I really don’t know how to open up either.

  Eventually, I stand up but never take his hand. I nod letting him know that I’ll go with him. A giggle escapes when Hart kisses Peaches on the forehead, earning a swat from her. But it’s her genuine smile that lets me know she loves him and relishes his act of love.

  I follow Hart outside. He’s a gentleman through and through as he rounds his car and opens the passenger side for me. All sorts of awkwardness floods me. This is an absolute first. I could count on a hand how many times I’ve been a passenger in a car like this. There’s more than my fair share of rides in a cop car, but out with a friend is something entirely different.

  Hart jogs around the front of the car, and that’s when the real panic sets in. My skin crawls, palms going clammy, and I can’t breathe. I clutch my chest, fighting to calm myself down, but my head goes foggy and dizzy too quickly. I don’t stand a fighting chance.

  Hart’s voice is in the near distance. He’s talking to me, but it’s muffled, and I can’t pry my stare from the dashboard. Everything begins to gray out, clouding my vision as well. Someone grabs my arm, and I fight to scream before everything goes black.

  “Vannie.” Someone brushes my hair from my face. “You need to wake up. C’mon.”

  My eyes flutter open while a violent urge to vomit strikes hard and fast. My head, spine, and legs all scream out in pain.

  “That’s my girl, Vannie. You’re okay.” The same hand brushes a line down my cheek.

  “Sick.”

  I barely get the word out before I have no option, but to fly out of the car. The edge of the grass meets the tip of my boots before my dinner is expelled. It continues until the dry heaves echo around the quaint neighborhood.

  “Vannie.” His voice grows nearer.

  And I tremble. He must sense it because his footsteps halt.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I peer over to see Hart with his hands raised in the air. The sight destroys the last shred of confidence I’ve fought so hard to build up. I do my best to stand upright, but it’s more a humped over state with my face toward the ground.

  “We don’t have to go anywhere, Vannie.” His voice is sincere and full of worry. “Just thought we could go out for ice cream. I’m not going to push it.”

  Swiveling toward him, but not making eye contact, I can only imagine nodding.

  “Come sit on the grass?” he asks.

  Long beats of silence float between us. It’s Hart who moves first, extending a hand out to me. In a tentative move, I offer him mine too. Still refusing to make eye contact, I follow him around the side of his car to the lawn in front of the house.

  “Sit.” He points to the grass and then darts off to his vehicle.

  It’s only now that I realize the engine was roaring. He kills the noise and then is right back by my side offering me a bottle of water. I wait for the barrage of questions, but they never come. He remains silent next to me with his knees bent and arms wrapped around them.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally whisper.

  “No need.” He reaches over and grabs my hand.

  It’s not a romantic gesture, but a friendly one letting me know he’s there for me.

  “That hasn’t happened for a long time,” I admit.

  “Panic attack?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I guess. Honestly, I have no clue.”

  7

  Hart

  The vulnerability coating this beautiful woman is gut wrenching. I’m forced to keep myself grounded to prevent myself from drifting back to times where I lose control. The root of all-evil being trauma.

  “When I returned from Afghanistan, they were a bitch to deal with.”

  This gets her attention. Her black hair flies over her shoulders when she finally looks over to me. I take it as a cue to continue on.

  “Saw a lot of nasty shit over there. Felt like a rat in a cage with bullets flying all around me.” I can no longer look at her, so I gaze back toward the street framing the grass. “The noise and constant action rattled my brain, and when I came back to the states, everything was so quiet. I couldn’t handle it. I’d spiral right into a panic attack.”

  She squeezes my hand gently, not saying a word. I refuse prying to gain information from her. Some things in life are so profound, dark, and torrid hiding in a murky pool deep in our souls that recalling any of the past has the power to destroy you.

  “Your momma is proud of you.” Her voice is soft and tender, lightening the mood.

  I glance back over to Vannie to see she’s biting her bottom lip. It’s a snap reaction, and I don’t even think twice about it. I release her lip with the pad of my thumb. The connection fires up desire deep in my soul, and it’s all so fucking wrong because she’s broken. I’m just here visiting, waiting out the fin
al days of my mom’s life, and then I’ll be gone. I can’t do this to her.

  I drop my arm quickly and then smile when I realize she didn’t flinch or recoil from me.

  “I have a past,” she blurts out.

  “We all do, Vannie.” This time I squeeze her hand.

  “It’s bad. I’m fucked up.” She pauses. “Why are you smiling?”

  “It’s cute as hell to hear that naughty word come out of your mouth.”

  She shakes her head and gifts me with a gentle grin. “I can cuss. I’m an adult.”

  “Nice.”

  “Want to know why I haven’t been here for a month and a half?”

  I shrug, more than eager to know, but trying to play it cool. “If you want to share, Vannie.”

  “I’ve been on the run since I was sixteen. Mostly living on the streets, but the towns that had homeless shelters, I’d stay there. The manager of the one on the east side of the city is the one who introduced me to Peaches. I never would’ve survived without their help. I try to volunteer as much as I can to give back.”

  My teeth sink down on the inside of my cheek to cut off all the questions that want to spew from my mouth. She shared with me but left so many fucking questions behind. I know what it took for her to share was hard enough, but so many other issues linger.

  “I’m fucked up.” Her hand in mine begins to tremble. “Have lots of issues, Hart. I’m sorry for that freak-out.”

  “I’d been back in the states for nearly a month. I felt so out of place. I hid it from all my friends, but they knew. I became addicted to gambling and sex. One night it was so out of control that I was taken to the hospital and had my stomach pumped. When I finally came to, I was in a jail cell. The panic set in. I’d lost control of everything. I get that we don’t have the same story, but never apologize again for something you can’t control. Life has a funny way of fucking with our heads, leaving invisible scars all over our soul.”

  “Thank you.”

  I burst out laughing, falling back onto the grass.