Unscathed

by Tim O'Rourke

  I looked at the interior of the truck and smiled, remembering how my father had helped me pick out all of these things. The radio. The seats. The floor mats. The steering wheel. The visors. The entire dash. My smile fell as I realized how much I missed him. It’s not that he was dead … he was missing. Disappeared one day over a year ago – never came home from work. He had been distraught since my mom died of cancer three years ago, but he would never leave me like that. The police were looking into his disappearance, and I had done some digging of my own, but all my leads were dead ends. One day he was at work, and the next day he just wasn’t. Disappeared into thin air, it seemed. I missed him every day and prayed he would be found.

  Dammit. I punched the steering wheel in frustration. “Get a grip,” I mumbled to myself. I shook free the memory and got out of the truck. I needed a beer. STAT.

  The club was a huge converted warehouse with a large red and blue lighted sign that sat on the top and simply read: “Rowdy’s.” A cowboy boot complete with spur sat under the name and it flashed on and off. I wasn’t a huge country music fan but I had been known to listen to country rock like Blackberry Smoke and Kid Rock. I quickly located Trent and made my way over to him.

  Chapter Four

  Mina

  I left Evelyn and Mandy to their coffee and cleared out of Starbucks. It didn’t seem to matter where you went in the world, the coffee bars were all the same. My personal favorite was the one on St. Pancras Railway Station, London. It seemed like another world away now. I had spent many hours sitting at that station, just beneath the ‘kissing’ statue, watching the world go by. I liked people watching. I liked to secretly film those people. It was amazing what I could see. I would try and figure out where these strangers were going or where they’d come from. Some were rushing to work, some late for an appointment, others were lovers who were secretly meeting. I watched them all. I filmed them, took their photos on my iPhone. I would study those pictures later. Some I would download and keep. Others didn’t interest me so they would be deleted. I had thousands of pictures of people – strangers.

  Thinking of London made me feel homesick. Not that I missed anyone back there, but I missed the place – the vibe – that I had only ever felt back home. Christ, I even missed the wind and the rain and the constant grey skies. Orlando was like another world and one that, at first, felt strange to me. The first year had been difficult and I felt out of place. Not because the people were unfriendly – they were the complete opposite. I had found all of them to be warm and welcoming. I felt uncomfortable because I believed I had been banished here – sent to Orlando as a punishment. I’d had little choice in the matter.

  I had gotten myself into trouble back home – the sort of trouble that most seventeen-year-old girls would want to run away from. I didn’t want to run away – I hadn’t done anything wrong. If only my mother had seen it that way. Perhaps then she wouldn’t have been so keen to send me packing to Florida to live with her brother.

  As I had stood and cried at the airport, hoping that her anger might suddenly subside, she told me to grow up.

  “For goodness sake, Willamina,” she had barked.

  I’d hated it when mum called me that. I preferred Mina.

  “I don’t want to go,” I’d sniffed back my tears.

  “Consider yourself lucky I’m even speaking to you. What you did was unforgivable,” she said, trying to keep her voice low so as not to draw any unwanted attention from the other passengers. “Most girls your age would be grateful to be going to live in Florida. It will be like paradise – not that you deserve such a thing.”

  “We did the whole Mickey Mouse thing when I was six – just before dad…” I started, but couldn’t finish. I knew if my dad were still alive, he wouldn’t be sending me away. Because that’s what she was doing. She was ashamed of me. She was ashamed of what I had done.

  “I’m not talking about bloody Disneyworld!” my mother hissed, her face turning white with anger. “You’re going there to study. To start a new life!”

  “But what about my friends…?” I sniffed.

  “You haven’t got any friends,” she remarked, as if swallowing something foul.

  “Please don’t make me go, mum, I don’t know anyone…” I tried to plead with her.

  “Pull yourself together,” she snapped under her breath, looking sideways at a group of passengers who were now watching us. “You’re embarrassing me – and yourself for that matter.”

  “Please…” I said, tears spilling onto my cheeks.

  Then with a sigh of relief, she pointed up at the departure board and said, “Your flight is boarding.”

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence as we looked at each other. If she was going to change her mind, it would be now.

  “Well don’t just stand there,” she said. “Get going or the plane will leave without you.”

  Knowing she wouldn’t be turned, I stepped slowly forward and kissed her gently on the cheek. “I’m sorry, mum,” I whispered in her ear. Then turning away, I headed for the departures lounge. With every step, I hoped she might call me back. She didn’t. Reaching the door of the lounge, a steward took my ticket from me. I glanced back over my shoulder. My mum had already gone.

  Uncle Rob was waiting for me at Orlando airport. He was a stranger to me. The last time I’d set eyes on him was at my dad’s funeral more than ten years before. He looked like my mum. As he led me out of the airport, the heat hit me like a punch to the face and I knew I was here to stay. That was almost two years ago now. I was no longer the immature seventeen-year-old who had cried in front of her mum. I had grown up – become a woman. I had changed, although some of my bad habits had stayed the same.

  Pulling onto my uncle’s drive, I climbed from my car and made my way inside. Both my uncle and aunt were out and I had the house to myself. I went to my room and closed the door, sliding the lock tight. Taking my iPhone from my pocket, I watched the footage I had filmed in Starbucks. It was better than I first thought. I could clearly see the guy – who I knew to be called Jax – as he came towards the table where I had been sitting with my friends. I played the footage again, delicately drawing my thumb over it. Hitting the share button, I emailed it to myself. Springing onto my bed, I flipped open my laptop and retrieved the email. I replayed the footage of Jax, my heart thumping every time he came into shot. I hit the pause icon at just the right place. I was right; he did look straight at me as he left.

  I pulled the laptop onto my knees and bent closer to the screen. I was so close to the image, it was as if our noses – our lips – were almost touching. My stomach knotted. He had looked at me. That hadn’t happened before. Usually, the people in the photographs I secretly took didn’t look at me; it was like I wasn’t even there. They ignored me.

  With the image still paused, I took a screenshot and saved the image into my picture folder. Then, hitting the print icon, the small printer on my desk on the other side of my bedroom started to hum. Placing the laptop to one side, I skipped across the room, snatching the picture of Jax from the printer. I held it up in the afternoon sun, which streamed in through my bay bedroom window. My heart sped up as I looked at him and he back at me. Then, taking a small tack from the desk, I headed back across my bedroom. I removed the large framed picture of the London skyscape I had on my wall. Carefully resting it against the door, I tacked the picture of Jax to the wall along with the others I had already hidden of him there. There were a hundred or more already. To look at it was like looking at a giant jigsaw. Picking up the framed picture again, I hung it back onto the wall, concealing my secret pictures of Jax.

  After taking a shower and eating a light snack, I left home before my aunt and uncle got back from work. I climbed back into my car and headed across town. Pulling over, I parked the car a few houses down from the one Jax shared with his friend. I’d lost count of how many times I had sat here. But I had learnt a lot about Jax and his habits. I knew where he had gotten himself a job after f
lunking out of college, his shift pattern, the fact that he brought a constant stream of young women to and from his place. Most of them looked nothing more than hookers, with their gaudy makeup and their skirts which were little more than belts. They were often drunk as he helped them teeter up to his front door on their ridiculously high heels. And even as I sat in the dark and gripped my steering wheel, I knew they meant nothing to him. I had never seen the same girl twice. He was just passing time with them.

  Sinking low in my seat, I watched a pizza delivery guy arrive outside Jax’s place. Was he going out tonight or just crashing in front of the TV? If that was the case, I could be in for a very dull evening. I switched on the radio and strummed my fingers along to Coldplay. Then, when I was about to give up and go home, the front door swung open and Jax appeared. He wore black denims and a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms and tattoos. He looked good. I glanced at the dashboard. 21:55. Where was he going so late? Partying, I guessed. He climbed into his truck. It rumbled to life like some kind of beast, and he drove away from the curb.

  I followed at a healthy distance, always keeping a few vehicles between us. Reaching a stoplight, Jax sailed through and I had to wait.

  “C’mon!” I hissed, glaring up at the red light and tapping my fingers impatiently against the wheel. I peered ahead, desperate to keep sight of his loud truck.

  The light turned green and I shot forward. I scanned the road ahead, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Shit!” I cried out, thumping the steering wheel with my fist. Then, with my heart almost stopping, I saw his truck parked outside Rowdy’s Bar. The chrome hubcaps twinkled in the neon lights of the bar. It was like the truck was somehow drawing my attention to it. Braking hard, I pulled into the parking lot and stopped. I peered over the steering wheel as he headed towards the bar. He opened the door and I could hear the sound of loud music punch its way out into the night.

  Not knowing what to do next, and unable to bear the thought of him leaving with something close to a hooker in a few hours’ time, I swung open my car door and climbed out. As I headed towards the bar, and with the music growing louder with each step, I didn’t know if I were doing the right thing or not. What if he saw me? He might suspect something. After all, that would’ve been twice in one day. Wouldn’t he wonder what I was doing in a bar all on my own? I became separated from my friend, I would tell him. She hooked up with some guy and left me all alone. Both sounded like good enough excuses. But who was I trying to kid. He probably wouldn’t even notice me, I thought to myself, pulling open the bar door, let alone speak to me. I looked inside to see Jax leaning against the bar, talking to some guy. I took a deep breath, swallowed hard, then stepped inside.

  Chapter Five

  Jax

  Trent wore blue jeans, which covered his skinny frame. His button-up shirt was black and he had on some sort of worn-looking cowboy boots. He was holding a beer bottle in one hand and was using the other to prop himself up against the brass railing. He appeared to be talking to his friend Gabe, who I had only met once before at a Seminoles game.

  I walked up and Trent put out a fist.

  “You remember Gabe?” he asked.

  I give Gabe a half-smile as I bumped Trent’s fist with my own. “Yeah, what’s up, man?”

  He looked right at me. “Nothing. It’s Jaxon, right?”

  “Yes, but just call me Jax, everyone else does.”

  Gabe nodded and took another pull on his beer.

  “You guys want another?” I asked, pointing at them both.

  They answered in unison, “Sure.”

  I made my way to the bar and took a look around. It was a little after ten p.m. and the club was filling up quickly. I found an empty spot at the bar and waited for the bartender – an older chick in a tiny Rowdy’s T-shirt that showed off her huge cans – to finish with drinks she was pouring double-fisted out of two bottles.

  The customer she was helping paid her and she fixed hazel eyes on me. She was chewing gum. “What can I get’cha, darlin’?”

  “Three Buds please,” I replied with my most charming smirk.

  She dipped her head and turned around to grab three bottles out of a large metal bucket of ice behind the bar. She turned around, and with lightning speed, pried the tops off each with a hiss, and practically slammed them on the bar’s counter. She gave me my total and I paid her, leaving her a nice tip.

  On my way back to the guys, I spotted a super-hot girl in a tiny pair of white cutoff jean shorts and pink cowboy boots. She was wearing a skimpy hot-pink tank top and a light pink cowboy hat over her mass of brown curls. I damn near tripped over the one step that led to the dance area while I was ogling her. Smooth. NOT. She made brief eye contact and winked at me. I gave her my most disarming smile, and then looked away. Couldn’t appear too desperate now.

  I distributed the beers and listened to Gabe and Trent chat about school for a while. That was the last thing I wanted to talk about, so I tuned them out and nursed my beer, scanning the club for the hot brunette in the pink boots. I did a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree scan with my eyes and spotted her in the same place she’d been before.

  Wait… before my eyes fell on miss pink boots, I saw something familiar. I flicked my eyes to the left of the bar and saw her. Oh, my God, it cannot be her. The blonde from the coffee shop. She was sitting alone in a lounge type area in an oversized chair. She had a glass of something in her hand. She was looking at me, well I think she was, as I was clear across the club, but she wasn’t smiling.

  I looked away. What in the hell was she doing here?

  Chapter Six

  Mina

  With my fingers gripping my glass of vodka and Coke, I took a seat at a table. I chose one which gave me a perfect view of Jax, who was with his friends on the other side of the bar. The country music playing wasn't really my thing and I wondered if it was really the sort of music Jax would normally listen to. He didn't look the cowboy type. Perhaps he liked the cowgirls? Since arriving at the bar, I'd noticed Jax eyeball at least three women wearing short, tight tops and even shorter skirts.

  I slowly sipped my drink and once again glanced in Jax’s direction. He was looking straight back at me. My heart thumped like I'd been punched in the chest. Were we going to get into another staring competition? I wondered. This time I wouldn't back down. At some point I would have to make a move. I couldn't spend the rest of my life spying on him. Why had I come here tonight? Why had I followed him to this bar if I hadn't wanted to take this further than just a secret collection of pictures and film? But would the pictures get me into trouble again? I had made that mistake before, and it had cost me dearly. I had lost my mum because of those pictures. They had been the evidence which had buried me. But I knew in my heart that sooner or later, I would have to forget what had happened before. That had been over two years ago now. Things might be different with Jax, and I guessed I was soon to find out as Jax strode across the dance floor towards me, a bottle of beer swinging from between his fingers.

  Oh, my God, I panicked. Was he still pissed because my friends and I had been laughing at him in the coffee bar? Then a horrible fear gripped me. Perhaps he knew I'd followed him here tonight. Maybe that's why he left me standing at the red light back along the road? Even worse, Jax might know that I'd been following him these last few months. Maybe he knew about my collection of photographs?

  No, he couldn't know about any of that stuff. If he did, then wouldn't he have confronted me sooner – at the coffee bar? But I'd been with my friends, so perhaps he'd taken the decision to confront me when and if he got me alone.

  Did I go? Did I stay? What should I do? All of a sudden, this really didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. I recognised that sinking feeling I'd felt before when I had been caught out. It was more than a sinking feeling… it was like freaking drowning. I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe. I pushed my chair back from the table and stood up.

  "You have
n't finished your drink," Jax said, reaching the table. He looked down at the half-empty glass then back at me.

  "Huh?" I mumbled like a half-wit.

  "Lost for words now that you don't have your friends with you for backup?" he said, eyes boring into mine.

  "I would hardly call them backup, would you?" I shot back, regaining some of my confidence. "You make us sound like a SWAT team or something."

  "Maybe it should've been me wearing the stab-proof vest, what, with the daggers you were giving me," he said, unsmiling.

  He did come over to have a row. What did I expect? Hearts and flowers?

  "We'll perhaps if you hadn't been charging around Starbucks like some goddamn ape, you wouldn't have knocked into me and spilt..." I started.

  "So sue me, sweetheart,” he sniped.

  "I'm not your sweetheart," I hissed. This wasn't how I’d imagined our first encounter to play out. Like I said, nothing good had come of the pictures so far.

  "Aren't I the lucky one!" he hit back.

  "So your tattoo says," I reminded him. All of a sudden, I just wanted to be back in my car heading home already. Looking at the pictures was way more fun than getting too close to the real thing, I’d decided.

  He took a step forward, narrowing the gap between us. If I'd wanted to get past him now, I would've had to brush up against him. Like that was gonna happen.

  "So where are they now?" he asked, glancing around the bar.

  "Who?" I asked.

  "The rest of the A-Team?" he said with a cocky smile.

  "If you’re referring to my friends, very funny," I sighed. "Did you write that joke yourself?" I pushed past him, heading for the door.

  "I've got some more," he called after me over the beat of the music.

  I stopped mid-step. "More what?" I asked, looking back over my shoulder at him.

  "Jokes, if you want to hear them?" He half-smiled.