Imperfect

by Cherry Shephard

  “No, you’re not,” Keets replies, his grin widening even further. “You couldn’t be angry at me if you tried.”

  “Well, I am trying, so either shut up and help me or get the hell out of my office.”

  “Pushy, pushy.” He laughs as I shove his feet off the table.

  “I mean it, Damien,” I say tiredly, putting my pen down on the desk and rubbing my eyes. “I have a stack of paperwork to do.”

  “You just used my first name. Hold up,” Keets says, raising his hands. “We’ve got a badass over here.” He grins, mimicking one of our favorite Facebook memes. “Okay, okay,” he continues, as I open my mouth to yell at him again. “You win. I’ve gotta go and check on Stone, anyway.” My face falls. I’ve calmed down enough to realize what a bitch I was to him. “I guess I overreacted a bit, huh?”

  “Just a bit,” Keets states gently. “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of it.” He stands up and walks around the desk, grabbing my hands and pulling me to my feet before wrapping his arms around me. “You deserve a better life,” he whispers into my hair, kissing the top of my head. I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder. He’s my only friend in this fucked-up town. Strong, warm, dependable Keets. I know he’s considered taking our friendship further, but it was never meant to be. Keets is like my older brother, and I know I can always count on him to be there for me. He gently moves away and looks into my eyes. I always feel safe with him, like nothing or no one can hurt me.

  “I have to go,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead again before releasing me and walking out of the office. I stay where I am until I hear the front door of the bar close behind him.

  Dropping back into my seat, I rake my hands through my hair, pulling it up into a messy bun before propping my head up on one hand and staring out the window. It’s late, and the country sky is full of stars. I never saw that many stars when I lived in the city. Smog polluted the air constantly, but sometimes after Troy had gone to sleep, I’d taken the ice pack and walked up five flights of fire-escape stairs to the top of our apartment building. I’d sit there, nursing my latest bruise, and stare up at the sky, trying desperately to find just one star that reminded me of home. My father was a good man, dealt a terrible fate. He’d been riding the horse he’d bought me for my twelfth birthday. He’d taken it upon himself to ride Lady every day when I moved to the city, and he had such a way with animals. But a pack of hunting dogs had come from nowhere. The spooked horse bolted, throwing Dad from the saddle, and it’d taken just one bite to the throat from one of the dogs to finish the job. He’d never seen it coming.

  Since that day, I’ve never been able to get back on my horse.

  I sigh and pack away the books before standing and leaving the small office, locking the door carefully behind me. I take a moment to stop and look around the bar. It’s colored in muted tones, with wooden furniture and a deer head mounted on the wall opposite a large dart board. There’s an old mechanical bull in the center of the room that’s still used sometimes. I’d refused to redecorate from Daddy’s original design, and all the staff are under strict instructions to not move anything. I know it probably isn’t the healthiest mentality to have, but as long as the bar remains the same, it’s as though Daddy is still here. Locking up the bar, I bunch my coat up around my ears against the frigid cold as I hurry to my run-down blue Datsun and slide behind the wheel. My teeth chatter, and a small amount of white smoke escapes my lips as I fumble with the keys in the ignition. I drive for some time, lost in my own thoughts.

  Stone’s arrival on the scene certainly is an unwelcome distraction, one I can’t afford. What is it about him that irritates me so much? He’s not even that good-looking. His eyes are too brown, his muscles too defined, and ugh, he kisses way too aggressively. I squirm in my seat and adjust the belt as I recall the way his lips burned me. Surely no one could like that . . . Right? Liar, my mind taunts.

  Okay, I concede. Maybe he is good-looking… in a rugged, brutish kind of way. And maybe his kiss did leave me breathless, with a none-too-unpleasant tingling. But there is absolutely no way I’m attracted to him.

  I pull the car over to the side of the road and sit there for a few minutes, the engine idling. White smoke blooms out of my mouth, the windshield fogging over until I can barely see the road. Leaning forward, I wipe the sleeve of my jacket across the windshield in a circle, staring out at the dark corral that stretches before me. Turning off the ignition, I hop out of the car and slam the door, hugging my jacket tight across my body as I run for the stable at the side of the corral. Pulling open the large wooden door, I slip in and tug it tightly shut behind me, closing my eyes and breathing deeply as the warmth of the stable surrounds me. Horses nicker in nearby stalls as I pass them, heading for the last stall on the right. I stand at the door and stare up at Lady, the beautiful strawberry-blonde colored horse Daddy bought me when I was twelve. The horse he’d been riding when he was killed. I stare up at the majestic creature, coherent thought leaving my body as I stretch out my fingers to the horse’s soft muzzle. Lady whinnies and tosses her mane back, stamping her foot, her eyes large and wild. She’s tossing Dad to the ground, preparing to bolt…

  I snatch my hand back, breathing hard as I stare at my horse. The poor creature is terrified, clearly traumatized by the memory of the hunting dogs. “It’s okay,” I murmur quietly as Lady inches closer. I gingerly stretch out my fingers once more until the horse’s nose bumps against them. Gently stroking the soft hair that covers Lady’s muzzle, I allow my thoughts to drift away once more.

  “Let go, sweetie. I’ll catch you.”

  I squeal with delight as Daddy swings me up into the air and catches me back in his large arms. I hug him tight as he lowers me to the ground and kneels in the grass in front of me.

  “I love you, buttercup.” He smiles, gently stroking the long hair out of my face before presenting a long-stemmed pink rose from behind his back. “Happy birthday,” he says as I beam and take the rose.

  “Thank you, Daddy.” I flash him a grin.

  “How old are you, seventeen? Eighteen?” he teases.

  “I’m ten, Daddy.” I laugh. I love it when my daddy makes jokes. Of course he knows how old I am; I’ve been talking of nothing but this birthday for months.

  “Ten?” Daddy’s eyebrows rise into his hairline in mock surprise. “I guess you just need to stop growing then, don’t you?” He grins as he tickles my tummy, and I shriek with laughter.

  “Come on, you two.” We glance up at my momma, Heather, calling out from the back porch as she unties her white apron with a smile. “It’s time for cake.”

  “Cake!” Daddy exclaims, scrambling to his feet, almost as excited as me.

  I giggle as I watch Daddy run to the porch and swing Momma around in a circle, planting a wet kiss on her lips. Despite being married for almost twenty years, they’re still clearly so much in love. I hope one day I’ll find a man to love me as much as my daddy. Unfortunately, the next winter proved to be too brutal for my fragile mother, who contracted a particularly nasty case of pneumonia. I hold Daddy’s hand tightly as I watch the plain wooden casket be lowered into the ground.

  “It’s just us now,” he says gruffly, wiping away the tears of myself and my younger sister, Natalie.

  I snap back to reality as a car’s headlights pass by outside the stable. Wiping away a few errant tears, I slip into the stall with Lady and pull a small cot out from beneath a bench. Dragging it beneath an alcove, I kick my sneakers off and lie back on it, pulling a warm, fleece blanket out of a drawer beside the cot. Tugging the blanket up to my chin, I allow the familiar smell of the stable to lull me into a sense of security. As the lonely tears dry on my cheeks, I finally fall asleep, dreaming of happier days.

  “Well, how the hell was I supposed to know she didn’t like nicknames?” I yell as I glare up at Keets.

  I’d been sitting on the couch, nursing a cold beer against my balls when Keets burst into the small house, proverbial guns blazing. The pain ha
d somewhat eased in my undercarriage, but not to my wounded pride.

  “Sometimes, your mind astounds me,” Keets says, shaking his head as he adjusts his glasses. “What made you think it was okay to call her kitten?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply, my voice lowering to normal once more as I adjust the front of my jeans and swallow a mouthful of beer from the bottle I hold. “She was acting like a wildcat. I just thought it’d be funny.”

  “Well, it wasn’t.” Keets sighs, dropping down on the opposite couch and propping his feet up on the coffee table, crossing his ankles.

  “Make yourself at home,” I mutter, glancing at his dirty boots.

  “Look,” Keets says, pointedly ignoring me. “Shan’s had a hard time, okay? A damn hard time. So cut her some slack.”

  “Slack?” I echo in disbelief. “The crazy bitch kicked me in the balls, and you want me to pat her on the head and give her a cookie?”

  “You fucked up her bar and didn’t turn up for your first shift,” Keets replies hotly, sitting up straight and dropping his feet to the ground. “You’re lucky your ass isn’t in jail right now!”

  “I know,” I agree quietly. I’d been a jackass, and truth be told, I probably deserved to have my balls kicked up into my body until they disappeared. I never should have kissed her. And she never should have responded. I cross my legs as I feel my cock harden in memory of her soft lips. What is it about her that has me tied up in knots? She’s not even pretty, in the conventional sort of way. She’s too short, too skinny. And she has curly fucking hair. What grown woman willingly has curly hair? Certainly none I’ve ever known. They’re all about sleek, straight locks, long legs and ample curves.

  “Don’t,” Keets warns.

  I glance up, noting the frown on my friend’s face. “What?” I ask, innocently enough.

  “Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t do it,” Keets says. “She’s not for you.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I snap, lifting the bottle to my lips and downing the rest of my beer.

  “Shannon,” Keets answers, standing so quickly he almost knocks the coffee table over. “She doesn’t need your crap,” he continues in a low voice. “Just keep it in your pants around her, all right?”

  I stare at him. Has he completely lost his mind? I’m not interested in Shannon . . . am I? “You’ve got it,” I say, touching the rim of the empty bottle to my temple in a brief salute.

  “Look, I’m sorry, all right?” Keets apologizes, raking his hand through his short hair. “I just don’t wanna see her get hurt.”

  “And you think I’d hurt her,” I reply. It’s not a question.

  “Of course not,” Keets says, avoiding eye contact. “Listen, we’ll talk about this later, yeah? Get some sleep.”

  “Sure,” I agree, silently willing my friend to look at me. As if reading my mind, Keets raises his eyes and stares at me for so long I start to shift uncomfortably. “No more beer,” Keets orders, narrowing his eyes as his gaze moves to the empty bottle in my hand.

  “What are you, my father?” I throw my head back as I laugh at my own joke. Keets doesn’t laugh. “Okay, okay,” I say, raising one hand in surrender as the other places the empty bottle on the coffee table. I rise to my feet and eye Keets. “No beer,” I finally agree.

  “Good,” Keets says with a nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget, you’re due at the bar at one p.m.”

  “Got it.” I watch as Keets leaves, shutting the door behind him.

  I’m left alone in the deafening silence. I hate the silence; that’s when I hear the screams in my head. I walk into the kitchen and open the fridge. My hand automatically reaches for a beer, but I force it back. I made a promise. “Fuck!” I swear savagely as I slam the fridge door shut and stomp through to my bedroom, hitting the light switch to illuminate the room. It’s sparsely decorated. A large bed stands beneath the window, covered in a black quilt, and a tall wooden dresser sits on the other side by the wall. I walk over to the bed and flick on the touch lamp that sits on the bedside table. Turning the main light back off, I return to the bed and sit on the edge, rubbing my hands over my face. Standing once again, I remove my jeans and t-shirt, sliding beneath the quilt in a pair of Calvin Klein briefs as I reach up and turn off the lamp. Settling back with my hands behind my head, I stare at the ceiling in the dark until I’m lulled to sleep.

  “Please, sir, help me,” she begs. Her hand stretches out toward my hiding place. How does she know I’m here? I lost contact with my men hours ago, when I dropped my bag while running from a spray of bullets. The room is dark and dusty, and I can smell the metallic tang of blood, mixed with sweat. It smells like death. I wipe a hand over my sweaty face and peer out between the boxes. She can’t be any older than sixteen, her naked body stretched out on the cold concrete floor. A door on the far side of the darkened room opens and a group of figures walk inside, speaking in hushed tones. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but clearly she understands them because she starts crying in earnest. One of the men steps into a ray of light, and I recoil as the Arab man seems to stare right at me. I wait for them to grab me, drag me from my hiding place. Instead, the young girl’s screams grow louder. Looking out through the boxes once more, my heart thuds loudly in my chest as I watch her struggle against the ropes that hold her hands fast. The man on top of her seems to take no notice of her distress; in fact, he seems to relish it. When he’s done, he leans down and plants a loud, wet kiss against her cheek before standing and tucking his limp dick back into his pants. I watch in horror as another man takes his place above the girl, but as he rapes her, he places his large hands around her throat, cutting off her screams. I swallow hard as I hear the gurgling noise as she chokes. I can’t tear my eyes away as her head is smashed repeatedly against the cold, hard ground, until it’s no longer recognizable. I make a sound low in my throat and quickly fall back as the man looks up sharply, his eyes narrowing as he stares directly at where I’m hiding. The Arab barks orders to the remaining men, who draw knives from their boots and pants as they advance.

  A hand grabs my wrist…

  I shoot up in bed, gasping for breath. I’m covered in sweat and my heart is racing. But I’m alive.

  Willing myself to calm down, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and run my hands over my face. A quick glance at the digital clock on the bedside table reveals the time to be 3am. Flicking on the lamp, I stand up and leave the room, stretching my arms above my head as I enter the kitchen and open the fridge. Grabbing a bottle of beer, I pad on bare feet back through the small house and re-enter the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, I pull the blanket up to my waist and open the bottle. I hesitate only briefly before lifting it to my lips. I know I made a promise to Keets, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

  One beer can’t hurt…

  When I enter the bar the next afternoon, I’m greeted by a sight I know will be etched into my memory forever. Shannon is bent over the bar as she retrieves a few glasses, her heart-shaped ass sticking proudly up in the air. I feel myself grow instantly hard and groan inwardly. I can’t tear my eyes away from the smooth space of bare skin around her midriff that is exposed when she reaches up to put a glass away. I clear my throat and she spins around, gasping as she holds a hand to her heart. “Ethan,” she says with a small laugh of relief. “You scared me.”

  “Stone,” I correct her as I walk over to the bar. “No one’s called me Ethan in years.”

  “Stone,” she repeats, testing the name. I like the way it sounds on her lips. My cock does too, as it twitches in my jeans. “We don’t get much of a crowd on Sunday afternoons,” Shannon says, breaking the sexual charge that fills the bar as she takes a step away from me. Did she feel it, too? “Ruth will be in shortly, but you should be able to get out of here by five.”

  “Ruth?” I ask, drawing my eyes away from her pert little tits to look at her face. She blushes and ducks her head, tucking a strand of curly hair behind her e
ar. I decide I like her hair left out of the tie.

  Shit, busted.

  “Ruth is one of the barmaids here,” Shannon is saying. I force myself to pay attention. But damn she’s making it hard for me to think straight. As if right on cue, the door of the bar opens and I turn to see the same pretty, young blonde I’d tried to save from the drunken fool the night I wrecked the bar.

  “Hey, Shan,” she calls out with a bright smile as she drops her handbag on the bar and runs a hand through her hair, staring directly at me. I shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

  “Ruth,” Shannon starts with a warm smile. “This is Stone. He’s going to be helping out around the bar for a while.”

  “Hello,” Ruth says shyly, looking up at me from beneath heavy, dark lashes.

  “Hey,” I reply, giving her a warm smile. She’s pretty—gorgeous, if I’m completely honest. Her platinum blonde hair hangs straight down her back, and her big, blue eyes would make most men drop to their knees and promise her the world.

  So, why isn’t she having any effect on me?

  I glance over at Shannon just as she looks up at me. Her blue eyes widen, her skin flushes a dull shade of pink, and immediately I feel my cock stir. What is it about her that gets under my skin?