Torn: (#12 The Beat and The Pulse)

by Amity Cross

  Simon was right about one thing. He needed someone who knew a lot of different things, and in that, we were a match made in heaven. I’d had a job once that involved a great deal of filing, and when I’d gotten a look at the state of the filing cabinet—which almost exploded when I opened a drawer—I was glad for that six-month stint I’d done at that shipping company looking after cargo ship manifests.

  Simon had owned the business for almost a year, and in all that time, he’d never learned how to organise his paperwork. Payroll was a nightmare, there were invoices all over the place, his cash management was a big whatever, and I couldn’t even get started on his client list. He had a Rolodex. A motherfucking, handwritten Rolodex. His investor must be an extremely silent partner if this was the state of the back end.

  Determined to whip the office into shape—fitness pun intended—I opened a filing cabinet drawer. Immediately, paper exploded everywhere. Folders and rumpled invoices fell to the floor in a heap, sliding halfway across the room.

  “Shit,” I cursed, leaning over to scoop up the mess.

  Emptying the rest of the stuff from the drawer onto the floor, I sat cross-legged by the pile and began laying out all the invoices. There was a stack for gym equipment, a stack for the kitchen, and a stack for customer memberships. I would have to make a system to keep these in their proper place.

  Staring at a receipt for Simon’s boxer briefs, I curled my nose. He spent a small fortune on undies. I scratched my head. That man didn’t know a thing about organisation or business deductions.

  A knock drew my attention, and I looked up to find a muscled behemoth lingering in the door. Great, another fucking underwear model.

  Broad shoulders and stubble went with the territory around here, as did tattoos and chiseled jaws. It was like the uniform to end all uniforms. I did notice the scar that pulled at one corner of his mouth, giving him a permanent sneer. I wondered if he was a fighter of some sort, or maybe he was a bodybuilder.

  “Yes?” I asked when he didn’t say anything.

  “Who are you?” Deep voice, check.

  “Amber,” I replied, narrowing my eyes. “I work here. Who are you?”

  “Patrick. I, uh...” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You’re the new chick.” Way to go stating the obvious.

  “I am.” I looked him over again.

  “Is Simon here?” he asked after a moment of awkward silence.

  “He’s downstairs, I think.”

  I watched as he rushed out of the office. His footsteps clattered on the stairs, and then I was alone again.

  Was everyone here crazy, or was it just me? Shrugging, I went back to work, putting the undies receipt in a new pile labeled ‘deal with it later.’

  “Wow,” a familiar voice drawled.

  Seriously? I couldn’t get any peace around here.

  I looked up at Lawson and didn’t even bother to change my facial expression. There was something about the guy that rubbed me the wrong way. And it had nothing to do with the fact my body wanted nothing more than to rub a certain way against his.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, looking back at my stacks of papers.

  “I’m looking for Simon.” The man of the hour.

  “He’s not here.” Duh, I wanted to add, but I swallowed the word before it could pop out.

  Lawson grunted, and I knew a smart-arse comment was coming my way. He’d already taken up the mantle of antagoniser, and I wasn’t looking forward to dealing with him. Luckily, I’d managed to avoid all traces of his arsehole aura since my first day. It helped I worked upstairs and only went down into the testosterone swamp every once in a while. Avoiding his negative energy was easy until he stepped into my positivity pool.

  “Are you always like this?” he asked, unleashing his innermost thoughts.

  “Like what?” I looked at him, knowing his question was bait.

  “Frigid.”

  My mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

  “For someone with such a fiery name, you sure are fucking cold.”

  I was stunned into silence. I wasn’t good at defending myself at the best of times and avoided confrontation like the plague, so when it came at me, I was a deer in headlights. That was me, right then, my mouth hanging open like I was attempting to catch a fly, and my eyes were wide and partially glazed over. My nerve endings began to tingle, and a wave of nausea slammed into my stomach.

  “You don’t say anything, and when you do, it’s two emotionless words,” he went on, oblivious to the blind humiliation that had frozen me in place. “Simon sure picked himself a winner.”

  I felt tears prickling in my eyes. Stand up for yourself, stand up for yourself, stand up for yourself… I couldn’t do it.

  Lowering my head, I stilled my shaking hands by tidying a stack of invoices and swallowed the lump in my throat.

  Lawson snorted, and the sound embedded in my heart like a piece of shrapnel.

  He had a point. I was cold. I squashed my emotions down until they were nonexistent rather than wearing them on my sleeve. What was wrong with me? I’d been hurt too many times and scarred by my own misguided view of life. Maybe that was it.

  Lawson was a bully, plain and simple. The old Amber would hide, take his abuse, then go find another job, but I was the new Amber. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I don’t know who you think you are, but don’t ever talk to me like that again.” I glared up at him, knowing he could see the tears brimming in my eyes. “I’m here to do a job, and if you don’t like it, take it up with Simon. There are plenty of actual punching bags downstairs. Go hit one of those.”

  He stared at me as a lazy grin spread across his face. “See? Was that so hard?”

  I frowned, the whole situation going over my head.

  “And there it goes,” he muttered.

  “Just because you think you’re God’s gift to women with all”—I waved my hand at him—“that, doesn’t mean you get to be an arse.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “You think I’m good looking?”

  “Get out.”

  “Sure thing…Amber.”

  I wanted to slap the smug look off his face so bad I began to squirm. Lawson laughed, and then walked away, his footsteps thudding on the stairs.

  Rubbing my palm between my legs, I sighed and stared at the papers strewn across the floor. This rebuilding your life shit was hard work. Realising I was working on an extra project in the abyss of my crotch, I hissed and pulled my hand away.

  Lawson. Lawson what? Was that his only name like Beyoncé? I didn’t get him. Shit, most of the time I didn’t get people. I would have better luck trying to figure out where we go when we cark it than crack the code with that one.

  The afterlife better be good, because all of this? I was beginning to think I just didn’t get it and never would.

  I was so done with today.

  When five o’clock rolled around, I descended the stairs and into the gym, looking for a clear escape route.

  People who evoked a strong reaction in me usually shone like a beacon, so when I glanced across the gym, my gaze found him instantly. Lawson.

  I knew enough about weights to know what he was using was a bench press—a long bench with a rack that held a long barbell with interchangeable weights. Simon was spotting, his hands moving up and down with the bar, and Lawson was on his back, doing his manly flexing, which did nothing to squash the traitorous feeling between my legs. As he lifted the bar, his muscles rippled.

  Lowering my head, I made a break for it. What people didn’t say was that moths usually got burned when they flew too close to the flame.

  “See ya, Amber!” Simon shouted.

  Cursing under my breath, I turned, plastering a smile on my face. “See you tomorrow, boss.”

  “She calls you boss,” Lawson said with a snigger as he put the weights back onto the bar.

  “You don’t want to hear what I call you,” I shot back, earning myself a laugh from Simon.

/>   Lawson sat up and glared at me, sweat dripping down his forehead. Bloody hell. The man was doing strange things to me, which was epic bad news to the extreme. I didn’t need another fixation. This was not a love-hate romance. He was an arse because it was his personality, and that was all.

  Rolling my eyes, I strode across the gym with my head down. I pushed outside, and the moment my boots hit the street, I sucked in a deep breath of cool air. A tram rumbled past, and pedestrians weaved back and forth in front of me.

  The nerdy girl and the jock. It was another romantic movie scenario. Life wasn’t a script. There were no cut scenes.

  When the traffic lights changed, I crossed the street, moving with the flow of traffic. The noodle joint was in full swing, the shop emitting a scent that made my stomach squirm. Next door, the bar was also open.

  It was called Indigo. I’d walked past it on my way home from work every day but hadn’t looked inside. Bars always seemed like a social thing, and people who drank by themselves were sad alcoholics, but that was probably another stereotype I was latching onto. So I hadn’t even thought about going in. I wasn’t sure what made me stop, but I stared into the dark interior while something unknown swirled inside me, growing and taking shape.

  After my up-and-down day, I definitely needed a drink of something that burned my stomach lining.

  Gathering some courage, I stepped into the little hole-in-the-wall and glanced around. It was mostly empty, being just after five on a weekday. The walls were painted a deep purple, and industrial-styled booths and freestanding tables were packed into every available space. There was more seating outside on the street, but in here, it was quiet and the lighting was moody. Wrought iron sconces sat in evenly spaced intervals on either wall while matching pendant lights hung from the ceiling. The bar sat at the very end of the space, stretching from one side of the room to the other, only leaving a little walkway that led to the bathrooms.

  My boots thudded on the polished concrete underfoot as I approached the wall of bottles and fancy glasses. What was I going to order? Man, I should’ve prepared for this.

  The bartender was alternative looking, like a rough around the edges rocker with his black V-neck T-shirt and open, long-sleeve shirt that he’d rolled up to the elbows. His hair was long and swept back, and colourful tattoos snaked up and down both arms and across his chest. They weren’t like Lawson’s. His were black and grey.

  When the bartender saw me lingering, he tapped the top of the bar. “What can I get ya?”

  “Oh, um, I really don’t know what I want,” I began.

  “Want to try something new?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Get a Slippery Nipple,” a woman said.

  She was sitting on a stool, her handbag flung onto the bar and an empty glass before her. On first glance, I could tell she was the kind of pretty I generally found intimidating. Tall, willowy, delicate features, dusky blonde hair that fell straight down her back, what looked like designer clothes—a cream silk shirt, a tan skirt, and matching heels—and a complexion to die for. There wasn’t a blemish on her. My immediate thought was, Why is she talking to me? I shook my head, determined to silence the voices that’d plagued me my entire life and just go with it.

  “Huh?” I knew it was a dirty name for a cocktail of some description, but I’d never heard of it before.

  “A Slippery Nipple,” she repeated.

  “It’s a shot of Sambuca and Baileys,” the bartender said with a smirk.

  “You know what?” the woman declared. “Make it two. My shout.”

  “Oh no, that’s okay,” I began, my cheeks heating.

  The bartender turned to start mixing the shots, and the woman leaned closer, holding out her hand.

  “I’m Montana,” she said with a flick of her hair. “But everyone calls me Monty. And I’m straight, just so we can clear that up.”

  I shook her proffered hand and smiled. “Amber.”

  I blinked, dazed by how fluid and relaxed she was. Was this how people made friends? Was it really that easy?

  “So are you from around here?” she asked as I sat on the barstool next to hers.

  “Not originally,” I replied. “I moved here about a month ago.”

  Montana gasped and slapped her hand down on the bar. “No shit? Me too!” She sighed and tilted her head to the side. “It’s hard, right? I don’t know anyone here, and there are all these people who already have their little friend groups, and it’s like forget about it.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  She peered at me, and I was kind of intimidated by how pretty she was.

  “You’re kinda quiet, huh?”

  “You can tell already?”

  “I have an eye for people,” she said. “I work in HR. Judging people is like my superpower. Shallow as fuck, but I get paid for it.”

  “Well, I’m your nightmare. I’ve had about a hundred different jobs.”

  The bartender slid two full shot glasses in front of us and leaned against the bar.

  “Thanks, Huddy,” Montana purred.

  “Hudson,” he corrected. To me, he said, “I was nice to her once, so now she’s in here all the time.”

  “Yeah, run while you still can,” Montana declared, pouting at him.

  “Amber, right?” he asked. When I nodded, he added, “What kind of jobs have you had?”

  “Oh, um…” I frowned, not knowing if they really wanted to know. It felt like this was the first time someone was interested in what I had to say, and it was a strange feeling. “All kinds of things. I’ve done call centre work.” Montana shuddered, and I laughed. “That was my reaction. I’ve done admin for a shipping company, picked fruit, and I was a deckhand on a sightseeing boat one summer. I’ve stacked shelves in a supermarket, I was a merchandiser, I sold rock ‘n’ roll memorabilia, and then there was a stint I did in retail in a stationery shop.” I hesitated. “Do you want me to go on?”

  “There’s more?” Montana declared, holding up her hand. “Stop. You’re making me nauseous.” Nudging the shot glass, she said, “Let’s drink.”

  “To what?” Hudson asked.

  “To early retirement.”

  I snorted and picked up the drink. The Baileys floated on top of the Sambuca. “Am I going to regret this?”

  Hudson winked. “Not in the slightest.”

  “Down the hatch!” Montana exclaimed, then downed the shot in one go.

  I followed her lead, going for broke. The alcohol went down nicely, burning a trail down to my stomach, but the cream liqueur left a pleasant aftertaste.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” I declared.

  “I know, right?” Montana smiled.

  I poked out my tongue and shivered. “Ugh. Aftertaste.”

  Hudson laughed, then went to serve another customer, leaving us to talk.

  “He’s nice,” I said.

  Montana leaned forward and licked her bottom lip. “He’s hot, right?”

  “He’s all right, I suppose.”

  “Did you see those tattoos? Phwoar.” She fanned herself. “What about you? Are you single?”

  I nodded.

  “Looking?”

  I shook my head furiously, which caused Montana to gasp.

  “Why?”

  “I, uh…” My cheeks heated for what felt like the millionth time that day.

  “Don’t leave me hanging, Amber,” she declared. “Who am I going to tell? I don’t know anyone, and I’m dying here. We’re already friends, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “Then tell me.” She bopped up and down on the chair, squirming like an excited child.

  “Well, I’m not really good at those kinds of things. I’ve never… I’ve never really had anything that’s worked out past a month.” I lowered my gaze, wishing I’d ordered another drink. Something harder. “I’ve always had this preconceived notion about how things were supposed to go.”

  “Oh, Amber,” Montana said with a sigh. “We all do, b
abe.”

  I looked up. “I… I keep starting over, but…”

  “What you need is to be free.” She spread her arms out. “Be selfish, girl. Please yourself first. Don’t go looking. I see you.”

  I grimaced. “You do?”

  “You float between jobs, you’re quiet, you’ve been looking for a happily ever after like you’re in a Disney movie… Am I getting warm here?”

  Suddenly, I wanted to cry.

  “I know because that story sounds familiar,” she went on. “Believe me, you just haven’t found your place yet. You don’t need a man to help you with that.”

  “How?”

  “I told you,” she said, gesturing at Hudson. “Judging people is my superpower.” She flicked her hair and waved at me. “I know, I know, but I use my superpowers for good just so you know.”

  Hudson raised his eyebrows, then glanced at me. “Another Slippery Nipple?”

  Montana stared at me like she was issuing a challenge. “You know what you’ve gotta do, babe.”

  Yeah, I knew. She didn’t have to tell me to be selfish but not in a nasty way, selfish like ‘look out for yourself and fuck all the rest’ kind of selfish. I needed to spread my wings and fly. Love didn’t define me. I defined me.

  I straightened up and declared, “Scotch on the rocks.”

  Montana’s eyebrows rose as she leaned her elbow on the bar and gazed at me with big eyes. “She goes in hard. Watch this one, Huddy. When she flies, she’s gonna soar like a motherfucker.”

  That night, I lay in bed and stared at the roof, studying the shadows.

  “Another unfamiliar ceiling,” I whispered.

  I’d only been living here for three weeks and hadn’t become used to it yet. Eventually, I would come to know the neighbours, their comings and goings, and the quirks of the one-bedroom apartment I rented for two hundred and fifty bucks a week. But for now, I was a stranger in a strange land.

  New places seemed exciting to me once. Exploring a new street, a new supermarket, a new way to get to work. This time was different. I felt different. The unfamiliarity was cold and nowhere near as exciting.

  Was this what growing up felt like?