*****
Frank gave me that sweet, lopsided grin that I'd fallen for time and time again and all the hurt and frustration melted away from me, if only for a few moments. It left me feeling warm, and safe, and loved, and oh-so-right.
I hadn't missed the whole scene at the pool table. I may not have been able to hear what was said, but Joy Anne's body language broadcast her intentions in high definition. She'd tried to sink her skankified teeth into him, and he'd resisted, even pushed her away. That girl could talk all the shit she wanted, but Frank's actions spoke volumes and he was practically screaming 'not interested' in her face.
I watched as she stormed back towards her friends at the bar a few feet away from my table, looking as dejected as I was smug. Yeah. Eat that, bitch.
"Jesus, that looked painful," I heard the girl sitting on the stool to her left say. Oh yes, it really did.
"Shut the fuck up, heifer," Joy Anne snapped. I chuckled.
I was trying not to look in their direction, trying not to let her see that I was watching. Her friend huddled in on herself a little, sipping her fruity little cocktail through a thin straw. If you were friends with Joy Anne you didn't point out her failures. It was the first lesson of Sycophant 101.
"Fuck him," her other friend chimed in.
"That was the idea," she growled, turning in her stool to slam back a shot. I felt the jealousy twist my gut again, but this time it was coupled with a possessive anger. She peered over her shoulder to watch Frank and I glanced over to him, too.
He bent over the table, grinning that crooked grin at me and pressing his fingertips to his lips before he took his shot. When Frank was relaxed he took on a shine of the boy I’d fallen for. I knew he was still there, buried under all the machismo, and when I got quick peeks of him like I did just then, it made my heart flutter.
We could be okay.
Joy Anne plopped in the empty chair in front of me, blocking my view of Frank. I smiled at her, not because I really liked the woman, but because I was a smug little bitch in my own right. Sue me. After that display with Frank, I couldn't help but gloat about what I had just seen. Just a teensy little gloat.
"Hey, Joy Anne," I said with a voice more sugary than a southern grandma’s sweet tea.
She didn't say anything at first. Just sat there, chewing her gum and smiling at me for a few moments before she finally let loose a heavy sigh.
"Feels good, dunnit?" she said, stretching backward against the top of her chair.
"What? Being out?" I asked.
She nodded her answer, and I nodded, too.
"Yeah, I guess it does. We've been holed up for a while since," I paused, realizing what I had almost said. I looked to her apologetically. "It's nice to get out and relax for a change," I finished weakly.
She stared at me again, going quiet. I guess she'd caught what I meant. Too soon? Probably. I was never good with the whole condolences thing, and often put my foot in my mouth before I realized it. Miss Sensitive, I am not.
"Frankie buy that dress?" she asked suddenly.
I looked down at myself, smoothed my hands over my thighs, which the dress did very little to cover.
"Yeah," I answered.
"He did good. It's a damn hot dress, I'll tell ya that. Chuck used to shop real good for me when he was tryin' to make up for something he done wrong."
Normally, I'd wonder if she was trying to bait me. Looking at her face as she said Chuck's name, I couldn't tell if she was just reflecting on her lost man or if it had been a purposeful choice of words. I didn't rise to it, but instead kept my tone relaxed as I asked her what was itching in my brain.
"You trying to tell me something?" I asked, simply.
"What'chu mean?"
"I mean, are you trying to say that he's trying to do the same thing? Make up for something by buying me this dress?" Honestly, if he was trying to butter me up this dress wouldn’t have been at the top of my guilt-shopping list.
She stared at me, her jaw working in slow motions as she chewed her gum. Finally, she shrugged a single shoulder and leaned back into her chair, staring at me defiantly. God, why did this woman try to make me hate her so much?
"Look, Joy Anne, I am trying very hard to be nice to you. I get you lost something special to you and I am trying to afford you some sympathy, but you aren't making it very fucking easy. Let's be honest with one another for a change. For the sake of trying something new. Are you trying to tell me something about Frank?"
Her mouth, which had begun to look much like a cow's chewing hay, quirked into a self-satisfied grin. I felt my shoulders tense at that smile. Nothing good ever followed a smile like that.
"What I lost," she said with a bitter laugh. "God, you think ya know everything. That you just walk your pretty little self into this family, and ya suddenly understand all of us."
"Then fucking enlighten me, Joy Anne. If you have something to say, say it," I said with a desperation and tiredness that had grown so heavy from dealing with this girl.
We stared at each other for a few minutes, me waiting for her to say whatever and her weighing her options, I guess. I was tired of her little games. Either she had something to say or she didn't. As the minutes passed, I was beginning to guess she was just talking out of her ass again.
"Ya know, it's funny," she blurted out suddenly as I started to get out of my chair, "Chuck's always been pretty easy goin'. Hell, he was a fuckin' doormat. Too soft for his own good. Never thought he'd get so pissed off he'd go after Frank like that."
I settled back onto the chair, though I didn't relax.
"Go after Frank?" I repeated.
"Oh yeah. Apparently he was out for blood," she said, that smile coming back. She'd caught my interest now and knew it. "Rode out to where the guys was at and went straight for him. Woulda killed him too, if he wasn't such a damn fool."
"Why'd he go after Frank?"
"Well," she said as her smile curled even more, "he helped me give Chuck a little payback."
I didn't ask her what she meant. She was milking it. Giving me just enough to make me ask her to go on and on, and I was getting tired of the theatrics. I just stared at her, waiting for her to either spill or shut up. Finally, she got the point.
"Chuck don't take criticism well. We got in a fight, I said a few things to get his goat, and I guess I went too far cause he hit me." Her smile seemed to go a little fuzzy around the edges at this, but didn't disappear completely.
"The black eye?" I asked.
"Yeah. Knocked me solid, though I guess he didn't hit me as hard as he coulda. I'd prolly be dead if he had."
"Alright. So where does Frank come in?"
"Well, like I said, he helped me get a little revenge on Chuck. I wanted him to hurt. So, if he thought what I'd said before was a blow to his precious ego, then I took it up a notch. I called good ol' Frankie and told him what Chuck did. Told him I was done with him and wanted to see him knocked off his fuckin' high horse."
Something about that made the little hairs on my arm stand on end. Fear and anticipation flooded into me as I waited. Did I really want to know? I mean, really. It wasn't good. I already knew that. Chuck was dead. That was the bottom line. I knew Joy Anne enough to know she was waiting to drop the bomb on my head.
"So, what did he do?" I asked through the tightness in my throat.
"He fucked me bow-legged," she said, dragging each word out as long as she could to really make me hear it. "He came straight to me and fucked me in the bar bathroom 'til we both was nothin' more than a sweaty, weak-kneed mess, and then I made a little phone call to Chuck."
I felt sick. There was no way. He wouldn't do something as disgusting as that. Not for her. Not to a man he'd followed for years. The tears came, hot and stinging, but I held them back. I would not cry. Not in front of her.
"You're lying," I whispered through my teeth. I didn't trust myself not to cry if I dared speak up. I could feel the sobs waiting like a dull ache in my chest.
&
nbsp; "I told ya, bitch. You can't even begin to give him what he needs. You ain't got it. But he knows where to come for it. He don't have to hold back with me. Don't have to worry about breaking me like he does you," she laughed and it was thick with triumph. "I almost feel sorry for ya. You don't have no clue what your missin'."
She was thumbing her phone as she said it. I thought about punching her in the face. Give her a fresh shiner to replace the one that Chuck had given her. My palms hurt, and when I glanced down at them to keep myself from doing just that, I saw little red half-moons in my skin. I'd bit my nails so hard into my palms that I'd broken skin.
I stood, still half not-believing it and half wanting to hear it from Frank's own mouth. I didn't know where it was my feet were trying to take me, but before I could move past Joy Anne's chair, she shoved her phone under my face.
I stared down at the illuminated screen in horror and disbelief, and yet how could I not believe it? It was staring right at me. He was staring right at me. He was poised behind Joy Anne, staring over her shoulder with his hands gripping, white-knuckled, into her hips. His bare chest was flushed and shining with sweat, his eyes heavy-lidded in a look I knew far too well. Joy Anne's crooked lips grinned at the phone in the most vulgar selfie I had ever seen.
"There's all the proof ya need," her voice swam through the imagery in my head. "I forgot how good he was in bed. I'll have to remember to have a go with him more often. God knows he enjoyed himself. Maybe, if you ask him real pretty-like, he'll let ya watch next time."
I can't explain what I was thinking, because I don't remember thinking anything. One minute I was staring at her smiling face, glowing with sex and heat, and the next I was wrapping my hand in her hair and pulling her head back.
She was still in her chair when I drove my fist into her mouth. Pain exploded in my hand, white and sharp, but I pushed it away. I couldn't think about the pain and hurt her at the same time. The first punch, and the pull of her hair in my other hand, tipped her chair out from under her. She should have toppled with it, but amazingly, she had her feet steady under her.
By the time I moved to throw the next punch, her hands had raised to deflect it. I missed her face but did connect with the side of her neck. She cried out and grabbed me, her grip strong and painful on the tendons in my wrists. She was so much stronger than I'd have ever thought. Sure she was tough, she had to be to run with these guys for so long, but there is a difference between toughness and strength. She had both in spades.
It came to a point where I had to either let go of her hair or let her break my wrist. I let go, but I knew she'd be coming at me. She still had one wrist in her grip, gearing up to hit me no doubt, but I used the other one to hit her just under her ribs. It was my off hand, so there wasn't much to it, but it was enough to make her let go of me.
She stumbled back a little, arms cradling her ribs, hair hanging over her face. I felt myself jerked back but I wasn't about to look behind me. Not with Joy Anne still standing. Hands tugged at my skirt, pulling it back down in place. I hadn't even thought about it riding up. The embarrassment helped to pull me up out of the haze of adrenaline just a little. Suze's voice whispered something to me, but I didn't understand it. It took too much energy to concentrate on her and I needed my focus elsewhere.
I felt her pull at my arms, an attempt to guide me away, and I started to walk backwards with her. I almost turned around, then—figured Joy Anne wasn't going to retaliate after all—and started to turn to walk properly but she started laughing. It wasn't her usual shrill laugh. It was thicker, raspier and reverberated down my spine like a chilling frost. I stopped, heard Suze curse under her breath, and watched as she lifted her face again.
"Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this," she growled.
Her eyes were wide, wild, and glowing an eerie yellow-green in the dim lighting. I was stuck. I couldn't look away. Was I hallucinating? Beer mixed with adrenaline, that had to be it. She stepped toward me, holding a hand out to her side. For a minute, I thought she was balling up her fist to swing at me but she kept her fingers flexed out. Something was wrong with them, too. They were unnaturally long, the nails sticking out from the tips nearly two inches and sharpened into stake-like points.
I couldn't move, couldn't react. All I could do was stare at this woman as she began to shift and change into something out of this world. This wasn’t from beer gone bad. I’d have welcomed that explanation with open arms, but my gut knew better. I felt Suze move next to me, her arm sliding across the front of me like she was getting ready to step between me and this crazed woman—thing—coming at me. I opened my mouth to tell her no when a blur moved in front of us.
There was a sharp crack over the almost-deafening music. I blinked, my eyes trying to make sense of what was happening, and found myself staring at the embroidered coyote on the back of Frank's club jacket. Suze's hands tightened on my arms, and I peered past him, trying to figure out what had just happened.
Joy Anne sagged against another girl, unmoving. Blood poured down her mouth and chin, her nose was swollen and bruised. I couldn't tell if she was conscious, but it didn't look like it. Her eyes were closed, her body limp, feet useless. He'd knocked her plain out.
"Holy shit, Frank," Suze said beside me.
She finally let go of me and laced her fingers on top of her head, staring at the unconscious Joy Anne in front of us. Frank growled loudly and shouted to one of the men that were scooping up Joy Anne's dead weight.
"Get her out of here. Pack her shit and drop her at the nearest bus stop. If she comes after Harley again, she'll wish I'd put her down tonight," he warned. "You can tell her that when she wakes up."
They carried her away, parting the crowd of onlookers as they moved past. That was when I noticed the crowd. A cat fight was sure enough to draw attention but Frank's interjection into the fight had stunned everyone silent. Movement across the bar made me look away from the sea of faces around us, and I watched as a small group of black shirts made their way towards us. Shit.
A hand touched my shoulder, and I looked behind me to find Frank. I didn't think. I just jerked my shoulder out of his hand, turned around to face him again. His eyebrows lifted in surprise.
"C'mon. Let's get out before they call the cops," he said.
I didn't say anything to him. I just turned, grabbed my stuff, and stormed towards the door. I tried to put as much space between me and what had just happened as quickly as possible. The more I walked, the more I was able to think about what had led to the fight; able to think of the driving force behind my hitting Joy Anne. By the time I made the door, I was filled with a fresh fury.
I walked right past Frank's bike, not even bothering to stop for my jeans, and made my way towards the road. I had no idea how to get back to the motel but I was thinking about other things. Things that made my hands shake at my sides.
Frank shouted behind me, but I didn't even slow down. Fuck him. Fuck his lying, cheating, no-good...
"Where are you going?" He was suddenly so close behind me that I nearly tripped on my own feet.
I whirled around, not quite stopping but slowing my pace so that I could look at him.
"You can go to hell. I'm leaving before you drag me there with you," I said, my voice shaking.
"Harls, just... stop. Hey," he stuttered as I turned around again. "Just.... fucking talk to me!"
I stopped then, sharp and sudden, and spun around.
"What the fuck was that?!"
"What?" he asked, stopping short of crashing into me.
"You hit her!"
"Well... yeah! She was trying to hurt you, Harley. What did you want me to do, just wait for her to put you in the fucking hospital?"
"I think I defended myself just fine, don't you?" I couldn't believe him. I'd been the one who kept her off me. She hadn't even gotten a hit in.
A wordless, caveman-like scream erupted from Frank, his hands dragging roughly down the sides of his face. I took a step back, and stared at him like th
e crazy jackass he was.
His body jolted towards me, his hands raised, fingers curled in as if he were fighting off the urge to strangle me on the spot. Seeing the look on his face, maybe he was.
"You don't know shit! Fuck's sake, Harley, how many times have I said it?!" He jerked his hands away from me, away from temptation. "'Stay away from Joy Anne'! Why the hell can't you just do as you're told for on—"
"Yeah, I'm sure you wanted me to stay away from her, didn't you?" I screamed. "You didn't want me to find out. Well, guess what, baby. She told me everything!"
He froze, his face going slack.
"That's right, Frank. Secret's out. I just hope she was worth it," I said, tears burning the back of my throat.
"I don't know what—"
"Oh Jesus. Give it up, already. She showed me the pictures of you two together," I snorted. "Don't tell me you had no idea she took pictures?"
He just stared at me, his face tightening again, jaw clenching. He wasn't denying it. I laughed, I couldn't help it. It sounded wrong in my throat.
"Oh... Oh that's great. How's it feel, huh? To be betrayed like that? Yeah. Looks like Joy Anne's legs aren't the only thing she can't keep shut," I swallowed hard.
We stared at each other in the darkness. He didn't move, didn't make excuses. He just stared at me, silent. I wanted to hear him tell me she was lying, to explain some bullshit circumstance that proved it wasn't him in that awful picture with her, but he didn't. He just stood there, and I just stared at him until red taillights flared to life behind him.
I turned around, with a shake of my head, and made to walk away from him when he grabbed me by the arm. He made soft, whispered pleas to stop, to let him take me back, but I pulled against his grip, the tears falling freely. I shook my head, trying to shake the tears from my eyes, and jerked, slapped, tugged, and shouted at him to let me go.
"No, Harley," he said firmly.
His grip was tightening on me, crushing my arm, keeping me from walking away. I struggled against it.
"Let me go, you worthless piece of shit!"
The back of his hand met my cheek in a burst of white-hot pain. It sung across my skin and he let go of me so suddenly that I fell to the ground. I broke my fall with the palms of my hands, but even the gravel biting into them didn't take away from the stun of his hit. He hit me. He actually hit me.
I went into a strange sort of hyper-focus as I sat in the middle of the road. All modesty was forgotten. I didn't notice the dress riding up, the cars queuing up on the road next to us, or the bleeding scrapes on my palms. All I could see was Frank. All I could hear was my own breath and the pulse beating in my ears.
He crouched in front of me, his hand coming towards my face. I flinched, but all he did was sweep my hair from my eyes and sigh. I couldn't read the look in his eyes. Hell, I didn't trust myself to read it right then.
"Go home, if that's what you want. Run back to mommy and daddy. Do whatever you think you gotta do, because I'm tired of it. But you ain't walking in the middle of the night in that fucking dress and painting a target on that sweet little ass of yours," he whispered.
When he lifted me up, I didn't fight him. I just went with him. I let him carry me to his bike while I wondered how fast my daddy could drive out here and get me.
I stared at the room's telephone for about an hour. Why was it so hard to just pick it up and dial the number? An action so simple, and yet my body battled with my mind. I wanted to hear my mother's voice. It was a desire I hadn’t felt in so long. Everything was wrong. I was supposed to be happy, now. I belonged. I was loved. I was equal. At least, that was what I had believed until that night.
How could everything I believed to be true twist and contort into something so unreal, so warped? Funny how one little slap could make me second guess the last two years.
Okay, so it wasn't a little slap. It hurt. It ached even as I sat there staring at the phone. I brought my hand to my cheek and rubbed it gingerly, briefly wondering if any of this was even real. When he'd hit me, there was a sudden burst of hot, stinging pain, but then it just stopped. Maybe it was the shock that he had raised a hand to me keeping me from feeling it, even as he'd apologized over and over, but now it hurt. Shock was gone, adrenaline subsided, and I was left with the dull ache in my cheek and the shame that I'd let it get to that point. It was very, very real.
Even if my parents treated Lori like the golden child, they'd never not loved me. They never hurt me. At least, not physically. Maybe I really hadn't chosen the lesser of two evils. If I went home now, would things change? Would it be too much to hope that they missed me?
I let out a slow, centering breath. It was just a phone call. I could do it. They hadn't talked to me in two years. Surely they'd be more than happy for me to come home, right? I dialed the number that had been ingrained in my memory, my fingers moving automatically.
"Hello?" a woman's voice answered.
The voice that picked up wasn't the one that I had expected. It caught me off guard and I forgot, for a minute, that I was expected to respond.
"Hello?" she said again, more urgently.
"Lori?" I squeaked out.
Silence stretched on the other end. I could hear her breathing softly, so I knew she hadn't hung up on me. Good sign.
"Harley, is that you?" my sister asked finally.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's me."
"Wow. You're the last person I'd expected to call." Her voice was unmoved. Her words so matter-of-fact that she could have been placing a to-go order rather than talking to her estranged sister.
"I know," I said, resting my head back against the wall. "I didn't expect to be calling either. I was hoping to talk to mom."
"She isn't here."
"Oh. Alright. Dad gone, too?" I glanced at the clock. Two a.m. and they weren't home? Unlikely.
"Yup." Such a tiny word, yet it stabbed right through my heart.
"Okay. Well... how are you?" I tried to not sound as awkward as I felt.
"Harley, what do you want?" she asked, finally. "Mom and Dad are not home. Are you looking for money?"
She had no emotion to her voice other than disgust. Like I was some mooching pest looking for her next hand out rather than family. I blinked at the receiver before bringing it back to my ear.
"No. In the last two years have I ever called to beg for money?" I asked, sounding as indignantly as I felt.
"In the last two years you haven't called at all," she spat back. The cool demeanor gave way to a hissing anger.
The silence returned, but something told me she hadn't hung up. I waited for her to talk and wondered if she'd be the first to break. After a few seconds, I realized she wouldn't. Did she even care? Was she happy that I hadn't been around? I didn't think that, even Lori, could be so self-absorbed that she'd rather her sister go missing without a trace than share Mom and Dad's affections.
"I need help," I admitted, finally.
"So you do need money."
"No, Lorelei. Not money," I said, feeling the hot sting of tears again. I haven’t cried so much in my life, and there I was going for the gold in one night.
"Then what, Harley? You disappear for years. Take off with that piece of shit, Fred, and don't even bother to call and let Mom and Dad know you aren't dead somewhere. No, poor pouty Harley doesn't think about anyone other than herself," Lori unleashed on me, each word dripping with contempt.
"Frank," I said through gritted teeth, fighting both anger and the tears threatening to break through. "His name is Frank," I said seconds before a sob clawed its way from my throat.
"Oh, Jesus," she said flatly. "Who cares?"
"He hit me, Lori."
Silence.
"I want to come home."
"Why?" she asked. It was so not what I had expected.
"Why?" I repeated.
"Yeah. Why do you want to come home? You're a big girl, now, aren't you? I tried to get you to stay. I told you it would break their hearts, but you didn't give a shit
about them. All you cared about was that sorry sack of shit. Well, now you see what he is." She sounded like she was on the verge of laughing, like she was almost happy she could pull the whole 'I told you so' argument on me. "You wanted to go play house with a criminal. Well, pull up your big-girl panties, if you can spare a few minutes off your back, and deal with it. You made your bed, you can sleep in it. Mom and Dad don't want to clean up your mess."
I opened my mouth, astonished at what was pouring out of hers, but the phone went dead before I could even think of what to say. My cheeks were wet, tears stinging the still-tender skin where his hand and hit, and I couldn't breathe. A weight pressed on my chest, crushing my heart and my lungs. My world was closing in on me. I was alone. I didn't want to stay here anymore, but I couldn't go home. That part of my life was over.
Deny the Moon Page 10