Two Wolves For Lizette

by Jessica Miller

  I’m sure he’s guessed. And when I walk in tonight, my eye bruised and blackened, I know he will.

  My suspicions are confirmed when I walk towards him and he stands up from his usual stool at the bar. His smile turns to a concerned frown when he sees the eye.

  “Ali,” he says both surprised and disgusted, “are you ok? What happened?”

  He reaches out to help me onto my stool. The way he’s acting, it’s as though I’ve come in limping with blood gushing all over.

  “I’m fine,” I say sitting down and waving him off. “I just had a little run in with the stairs at home.”

  “What sort of run in?” he asks. I can tell he’s suspicious.

  “I just slipped,” I say. “I already put some ice on it. It should go down after a couple of days.”

  He looks skeptically at me as he sips his gin and tonic.

  “Do you have a lot of accidents like that?” he asks.

  “I’m a bit of a klutz,” I answer. “It used to be a standing joke in high school. If there was a pole standing still, I would find a way to walk into it.”

  I turn away from him and take a sip of the whiskey that the bartender has just put in front of me. Silently, I pray that Ben doesn’t ask anything else about my black eye.

  I don’t like lying to him. But, I would like the pity and advice he would no doubt dole out if he knew the truth even less.

  There’s a fraught silence between us for several moments. I can still feel him staring at me.

  Finally, I hear him turn back to his drink and take another large gulp.

  “So,” he says, “has it been another one of those days?”

  My heart breathes a sigh of relief that the subject of my injury has been dropped. I turn back to face Ben.

  “Lately, I feel like every day is one of those days,” I tell him. I also tell him about one particularly cranky old woman I had to talk to on the phone at the call center today.

  “I thought that she’d be happy I could get a technician to go out to her house today,” I tell him. “But, she was just upset that she had to go two whole hours without TV.”

  “You should’ve told her to open a book,” Ben says with a smile.

  “I don’t think she would have liked that,” I say, taking another sip of whiskey. “Honestly doing technical support for old people is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “It’s not just tech support,” Ben says, “it happens where I work too. It’s like there’s no middle ground with senior citizens. Either they’re the sweetest people in the world or they’re your worst nightmare.”

  We continue on in this vein for a while. Swapping work stories and the like. Because Ben works retail he has plenty of stories to tell. Some funny, some infuriating.

  Several drinks later, I fish into my purse and look down at my phone. Midnight. I know Jake will be home between now and two am.

  “I’ve got to go,” I tell Ben reluctantly.

  “Do you think he’ll be there when you get home?” he asks. His smile is gone and he suddenly seems very serious.

  “I hope not,” I say. “Jake doesn’t like it when I get home after him. He gets jealous.”

  Ben looks like he wants to say something to that. He even opens his mouth to make some kind of comment.

  A second later, he seems to think better of it. He closes his mouth, purses his lips and nods.

  I give him a half smile and stand up from the stool and turn to leave.

  “Ali,” he says, and I feel his hand gently touch my arm. Once again, I feel a tingling spark rush through my entire body. Eyes wide, I turn back to him.

  His hand leaves my arm and I can’t help but feel the loss of his touch. He reaches into the pocket of his dark jeans and pulls out a slip of paper.

  “If you ever get into trouble,” he says, “if you need protection…go to this address.”

  I look down at the paper. I recognize the address vaguely as the one attached to The Swamp. The Gator’s bar. Beneath the address is Ben’s hurried signature.

  “I might not be there,” he says, “but someone from my club is always there. I know the owner. Just show them this piece of paper and they’ll look after you. Ok?”

  He looks at me earnestly. As though he’s pleading with me, begging me to take him up on this generous offer.

  I know I can’t. Though I wish I could. All the same, I give him a small smile as I put the note inside my purse.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Then, before he can say anything else, I rush out the door.

  On the walk home, that little piece of paper weighs down my purse like a piece of metal. It weighs on my mind even more.

  What if I did use it? What if I left Jake and rushed off to the Gators? Ben would protect me if I did. After the last few weeks, I’m sure of that. But, at what cost?

  Jake is high enough up the Raider’s chain of command that he could rally most of the guys to try and get me back. And then what? A turf war? Ben and a bunch of other innocent guys ending up in the hospital or worse?

  I don’t think I could do that.

  Still, when I think of Ben, his smile, his laugh, the gentleness of his touch, I don’t think I can stand to stay with Jake anymore either. Still having no idea what to do or how to go about doing it, I turn the corner and make my way home.

  My heart begins to hammer when I see Jake’s bike in the driveway. My pulse jumps to near panic when I see his silhouette in the window of the living room, pacing back and forth.

  He’s waiting for me. I know now, no matter what, I’m in trouble.

  *****

  “Where the hell have you been?” Jake asks by way of greeting.

  “Same as you,” I tell him. “I’ve been out.”

  The whiskey has given me a little more courage than I know is prudent when dealing with Jake. But, as I said before, he’ll probably hit me either way. There’s no use trying to stop it.

  “Who’ve you been out with?” he asks.

  “No one,” I tell him.

  “Bullshit,” he spits back. “You were out too late to be hanging out with no one.”

  I take a deep breath hoping, praying, that I can keep my composure; that I can sound convincing enough for him.

  “You can believe what you want,” I tell him. “But I went to The Watering Hole on my own. You can ask anybody who was there.”

  “You might’ve gone on your own, but you sure as shit didn’t drink by yourself,” he says.

  There’s a confidence in his voice that makes my heart stop. It’s like he knows.

  “And you know that how?” I ask.

  “Greg,” he says. “A buddy of mine stops by The Watering Hole before meetings on Thursdays. He told me you’re always there with one of the Gator boys.”

  He advances on me. I back up, almost connecting with the hard surface of the living room wall.

  “Greg says you and the Gator boy were gettin’ pretty cozy,” Jake says.

  “Greg’s full of shit,” I tell Jake.

  I felt the stinging slap across my face before I even saw him raise his hand.

  “He’s not a lying whore like you are,” Jake says bringing his hand down. I can still feel the burning across my face. I know it’ll go away within a few seconds, it always has before.

  The stinging is just subsiding when Jake grabs hold of my shoulders and pushes me hard against the wall. I feel the back of my head hit against the rough surface. I hit the wall so hard that my eyes begin to swell with tears of pain.

  Through the haze, I see Jake take one hand and reach into his pocket. My pulse begins to beat quickly in my ears once more. That’s the pocket where he keeps his knife. Every bit of drunken courage I had two minutes before drains out of me as he pulls the blade out.

  “I told you I’d kill you if you cheated on me,” he whispers. I can smell the booze on his breath as he brings the sharp edge of the knife to my throat.

  “I think you know I like to keep my promises,” he whispers
again.

  “I…I haven’t cheated on you,” I manage to choke out. “I swear to god I haven’t.”

  For a second, I think he doesn’t believe me. For a second, I think he’ll slice my throat open and leave me to bleed out on our living room carpet.

  “You swear, huh?” he asks with a sneer. The knife still poised at my throat, I don’t answer. I just hold my breath and try to keep my body extremely still. Somehow I know that, if I move, he won’t hesitate to kill me.

  I feel myself begin to shake. Against my will, a frightened tear slides down my cheek. This seems to amuse Jake.

  His sneer turns to a grin. I feel the knife move from my throat and he takes a step away from me. I take a deep breath but still don’t dare to move.

  “I guess I can believe you this time,” he says. “But you’re not going out again. Not anywhere.”

  “Jake, I have to work-”

  “Then go to work and come straight back here,” he says, a growl beginning in his voice. “If you don’t, trust me, I’ll find out.”

  I don’t contradict him, don’t question. I simply nod in submission.

  He takes another step back and looks me up and down. A theatrical expression of disgust graces his face.

  “Go clean yourself up and get to bed,” he says. “I’ll sleep out here tonight.”

  I don’t hesitate. I rush from him and into the safety of, what used to be our bedroom. Now, it’s mine more than it is his. He hardly ever uses it.

  Here, I allow myself to take in great gasping breaths. I feel like I was about to drown and was pulled from the water at the last possible moment. I’m sputtering and coughing as though water had filled my lungs only a moment before.

  I knew what Jake would do to me if he found out. I thought I knew what it would be like to be threatened, truly threatened by him.

  Now I know that imagining something, in theory, is much different than living it. Now, when I think about that metal blade pressed against my throat, I know what I should have known months ago. I have to leave.

  Quickly, I move to the bed and sit down. As I do, I grab hold of my purse and fish through it. Eventually, I find the little scrap of paper Ben gave me.

  I know this is the only place in this entire town where I might be safe. If I try to go anywhere else, Jake will just get the guys from his club to come find me. But, with the Gator’s protection…

  Despite the scenarios my drunken, fevered mind came up with outside, I know it’s unlikely that the Raiders would risk a war with the Gator’s just because of me. Jake might be able to convince some of the guys to go along with him, but it’ll be three or four at most. Not enough to take on the Gator club.

  So, quietly, I formulate a plan.

  First, I do exactly what Jake told me to do. I put on my nightgown and get ready for bed. But I also shove a change of clothes into my purse along with my toothbrush.

  The next morning. As soon as I get dressed, I put a call into my boss at work. I let them know that I’m sick and won’t be coming in. My manager gives a distracted ‘that’s fine, feel better’ reply and hangs up.

  As soon as the call ends, I sit on the edge of the bed staring at my phone for a long while. My heart is hammering and doesn’t seem to want to stop.

  I’ve thought about leaving Jake so many times. I’ve even dreamed about it. But now that it’s actually happening, the idea terrifies me. I have no idea what c0mes after this.

  Taking a deep breath, I make my way out to the living room. I see Jake asleep on the couch, and instinctively my heart begins to pound. Taking another breath, I tell myself to be as normal and casual as possible when I walk towards the front door as quietly as I can.

  I’ve almost made it before his voice on the couch stops me.

  “You going to work?” he asks groggily. I close my eyes to calm my nerves before turning back to him.

  “The boss called,” I tell him, “I’ve got to go in a little early.”

  I worked this out last night to explain my earlier than usual departure. All the same, I’m hoping that my voice isn’t shaking.

  I hold my breath as Jake squints at me through groggy, half-lidded eyes. I can tell he’s suspicious but can’t quite place why. I pray he never does.

  Finally, he turns away from me on the couch.

  “Be back by six-thirty,” he tells me.

  “I will,” I lie.

  I open the door and rush out to my car. Once inside, I take out the piece of paper. I know I’ll have to head there. To the only place in this town where I might be safe.

  *****

  There are only three people in the bar when I walk in. All of them turn and stare at me.

  The man behind the bar is fairly young and dressed in a black shirt and pants. One man sitting on a stool in front of the bartender is older, possibly in his forties, wearing a bandana and a leather jacket with the Gators logo on the back. His dark eyes squint intimidatingly at me.

  The third man stands in a doorway leading to the kitchen. He’s large, tall and muscular, wearing an apron and a plaid shirt.

  He’s the one who steps forward as I take one brave step inside.

  “Can I help you, sweetheart?” he asks. Though he uses the typical Texas ‘sweetheart’ that I’ve become used to, he doesn’t smile and his eyes remain narrowed.

  “I’m…I’m looking for Ben?” I say phrasing it as a nervous question. “He said he might not be here, but he told me to come if I needed help.”

  Each of these men continues to stare at me. I rifle through my purse and though I’m not looking at them, I can feel the tension in the room mount.

  My hand emerges with the small slip of paper bearing Ben’s signature and hold it out to the large man in plaid who spoke to me.

  “He told me to show this to you,” I say.

  Cautiously, the man in plaid steps forward. He takes the paper out of my hand and looks at it skeptically.

  My breath catches in my throat when he moves towards the man in the leather jacket sitting at the bar. He shows the piece of paper to the man who looks at it then glances up at me.

  For a moment, I think I’ve made a horrible mistake. Maybe they won’t help me. Maybe they’ll recognize me as the girlfriend of a Raider and accuse me of spying. Maybe they’ll just toss me out into the street with no protection whatsoever.

  The man in the leather jacket looks up from the note and nods to the man in plaid. The man in plaid takes the note from the other man, folds it, and walks towards me again. I try to keep my eyes on him as he crosses to me. Though my mind is screaming at me to find the nearest exit.

  “What is it you’re running from?” he asks, though I notice his face has softened. The tension in the room seems to have disappeared.

  “A guy…my boyfriend,” I tell him.

  “What’s this boyfriend like?” he asks.

  “It’s…complicated,” I tell him not wanting to go into the details. “I just need a place to lie low for a while.”

  The man looks at me and glances back at the man in leather. The man nods again and the man in plaid turns back to me.

  “What’s your name?” he asks.

  “Ali,” I tell him.

  “Ok, Ali,” he says. “Ben should be in around five o’clock. You can wait it out here ’til then. I’m Mike, that’s Bill,” he points to the man wearing the leather jacket who nods to me, “and Ryan’s behind the bar. He’ll get you anything you need to eat or drink. No charge. Just make yourself at home.”

  With that, Mike turns away and heads back to the kitchen. Bill and Ryan likewise turn their attention back to the bar and away from me.

  I’m still feeling slightly awkward. But confident, at least, that I am not going to be either thrown out on the street or beaten within an inch of my life. I look around the bar for a place where I can do as Mike suggested and make myself comfortable.

  This bar is only slightly better kept than The Watering Hole. At least, the plaster’s not coming off the walls here.
The floor still smells of beer and piss. My shoes stick slightly to the muck on the ground as I make my way over to a corner booth.

  It’s covered in red vinyl but not nearly as sticky as the floor. It’s plush and comfortable enough to sit for a while.

  I set down my purse, pull out my phone and stay in the booth all afternoon. A few more guys have come and gone. One or two even looked over at me curiously. One young kid eagerly tried to make his way over here. Maybe he was thinking of buying me a drink. But Bill, who stayed at the bar too, held out a hand to stop him and turned him back to the stool where he’d been sitting a moment before. Apparently, Bill is part of the protection Ben promised. Even though I’m sure that kid posed no threat, I’m grateful to have someone looking out for me. I know I don’t want to talk to anyone right now.

  I’ve only stood up a handful of times to use the restroom or to ask for water and free pretzels from Ryan at the bar. I know Mike said I could order anything at no charge, but I’ve always felt weird about taking things without paying for them. I guess it feels a little too close to stealing.

  Around four o’clock, Ryan convinces me to have a soda at the very least. Reluctantly, I agree. I’m still sipping on it when Ben strolls into the bar at five.

  As soon as I see him walk through the door, I stand from my seat at the booth. Almost as soon as he steps in, he sees me and makes his way over.

  He doesn’t look surprised to see me here. His expression spells out determination instead. I guess Mike must have told him.

  “What happened?” he asks sliding into the booth and sitting across from me. I sit back down and tell him the whole story.

  When I get to the part about Jake putting a knife to my throat, I see his hand on top of the table clench into a fist and his face goes red. And when I tell him that Jake wouldn’t let me leave the house except to go to work, he mutters a curse under his breath.

  I finally finish and we both fall silent. He stares at me for a good long while. His sharp eyes, normally filled with laughter, are now filled with an expression I’m not sure I should dare to name. If I had to, I would say it was rage.

  Eventually, his eyes soften as he gazes at me.

  “Did the guys treat you ok when you came here?” he asks.