For the second time in five minutes, the bar erupted into laughter.
"Looks like she wants you to cool off a bit, you dirty trucker!" heckled someone nearby.
The trucker stopped and glared at me, then slammed his hat down on his head and stormed out the front door, hoots of laughter chasing him out like nipping hounds. As soon as he was gone, things went back to normal. I served my waiting customers, and people even stopped gawking so much at my eye. All in all it seemed like it was going to be an okay evening, even if I had Naomi's inquisition to deal with at some point.
Then my boyfriend walked through the door.
It wasn't Donnie entering so much that was the problem, since his uncle owned the bar and he was in here most nights. It was always his friends I took the greatest issue with. They were loud and obnoxious, and brought out the loud and obnoxious side of Donnie that I couldn't stand. When they all got drunk together, it was all I could do to run interference and do damage control to make sure Donnie didn't make too much of an ass out of himself.
I saw Lara, one of the servers, notice them entering and stopped her with my hand on her arm. "I'll take their table," I said.
She was fairly new here, and seemed appreciative—if a little confused. I threw my bar towel over my shoulder and stepped out onto the floor, painting on my smile as I approached their table.
"There she is," said Donnie proudly. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me tight against his side, head nestled against my ribs. "We're gonna grab a round of beers, babe. Put it on my tab."
Donnie's "tab" was essentially the five-finger-family-discount, in that the tab kept growing but he never intended to pay for it. Every few months, Hank would call up Donnie's parents and let them know the damage, and they'd send over some money to cover it.
"Are you sure she can handle that, Don?" asked his friend Matt, whose hair was so blonde it was almost translucent. "You know, being how clumsy she is and all."
Matt and Donnie's other two friends snickered like he'd just told some sort of private joke. At first I didn’t get it. I realized with a wave of white hot anger that they were referring to my shiner, but bit back my retort
"Nah, she's a good girl." Donnie looked up at me and winked. "She always learns from her mistakes."
Great. He was drunk already. I knew Donnie acted like a dick around his friends, but this was a new low. Would he be sitting there so high and mighty if his friends knew how he'd cried on his knees after hitting me last night? How he'd begged me not to leave him? I doubted it.
"Just the usual?" I asked sweetly.
Donnie gave me a pat on the butt and nodded. "Thanks babe."
I walked away from the table, and by the time I reached the bar I'd decided that Matt was getting something a little extra special in his beer. I snagged two empty bottles from Naomi's tray when she came to pick up one of her orders and dumped the dregs of flat beer and saliva into the bottom of Matt's drink before filling it with the new stuff. Then I dropped the drinks back off at their table and hoped at least tonight Donnie would know his limit and stay within it.
It was a busy night, and it was late before I got a chance to take a break. Luckily there was nobody else out back when I got out there, and I pulled up one of the wooden crates that the cooks sat on for their smoke breaks and sat down to finish the sketch I'd started before my shift.
The girl on the page looked a lot like me, but the black bruise surrounding her right eye marked her as something else. Something about the disfigurement made it more difficult to recognize my own features. It didn't fit on my face. It wasn't me. It didn't matter that the girl beneath it had the same long nose, the same full brows, and the same pouty mouth—the black eye made my face seem alien somehow. The picture was probably finished, but I wasn't finished with it yet and so kept shading the black eye while I figured out why I couldn't recognize myself even in a drawing that could have served as a mirror image.
Why? Why? Why?
Was I disappointed in myself? I supposed a little. I always told myself I wasn't the kind to take shit from anyone, but for whatever reason that didn't apply where Donnie was concerned. Worse, I was angrier at myself than I was at him. The reasons why were all toxic, but I couldn’t keep them out of my head.
I shouldn't have baited him so much. I should have ducked. I should have known better than to argue with him when he was drunk. The embarrassment at being seen like this, at being pitied by people like Naomi and gossiped about by everyone else, was much worse than anything else he could have doled out. If I'd just been a little more careful...
The back door creaked open and my heart kicked up in my chest. I slammed the cover of my notebook closed and stuffed it back inside my bag, smiling in greeting at James, one of the line cooks, as he lit up a smoke.
"Busy night?" he asked.
I rose to my feet and headed for the door. "It comes and it goes."
Chapter 3
Jack
It was a long walk, so when my phone lit up with a call from my sister I was only too happy to answer it.
"Hey sis," I answered, trailing smoke from my victory cigarette in my wake. "What's the word?"
Sadie's bubbly voice never failed to make me smile, especially after a fight when I was licking my wounds and nursing the feeling of loneliness that always inevitably followed each one—win or lose.
"Oh you know, living the dream," she replied. "The semester has only just started and I'm already totally in over my head. Do you ever just want to go somewhere quiet and scream until your lungs give out?"
I laughed and took another drag of my smoke. "All the time, baby sis, all the time. What's stopping you?"
"Nowhere that quiet on campus, I'm afraid," she muttered bitterly. "Not that I think anyone would bat an eyelash. As soon as the fresher parties are over everyone turns into giant zombie slugs."
"I hope you're not partying too hard," I said sternly, even though I already knew she liked parties about as much as she liked stats midterms.
"Yes, I've just been kicking it up here." Her dry tone brought more of the smile out on my face. "A cute guy asked me if I was going to one of the off campus parties last weekend and I couldn't think of anything funny to tell him so I just told him the truth."
"And that was?"
She sighed theatrically. "That I was going to spend the weekend binging Rupaul's Drag Race and actively hiding away from my responsibilities."
A sudden laugh choked from my throat. Sadie was nineteen years old now, but she'd been making me laugh since she first learned to speak. Our ten year age gap didn't put emotional distance between us the same way it did with other siblings, and the fact that I was well into my teens before she even went through her first annoying little sister phase certainly helped.
"Ah, I miss you kid," I said, taking a deep draw and exhaling a plume of smoke into the thick, hot air. "How are things going, though, for real?"
"They're fine. Same as always, really. My new roommate is a peach, and she's nearly as antisocial as I am so we're getting along like a house on fire. How's home?"
The footsteps that I'd been ignoring for the past few minutes were now close enough that I could make out the individual footfalls. There were three guys at least, and they weren't trying to be subtle anymore. I swore under my breath without thinking.
"What is it?" Sadie asked. Her tone went from casual to concerned in a heartbeat, but I didn't want to worry her.
"Ah, nothing. Something just came up that I have to deal with. Can I call you tomorrow?"
"Sure. Love you, Jack!"
"Love you too, sis."
I hung up the phone and spun on my heel to face the guys following me. They'd lost the element of surprise, so rushing me seemed the next best choice. In the brief moment I had to steady myself before they reached me, I recognized their faces from the fight. They were friends of Angry Angus, undoubtedly ones who'd put down a load of cash on him to win. Idiots didn't even know they'd been hustled by that piece
of shit Clarence.
I would have liked to report that I laid them all out in ten seconds flat, but that wasn't how it went down. I was a good fighter but I was only human after all, and a human can only take so much abuse. Three beefy guys with chips on their shoulders were out of my ability.
They were quick about it, at least, laying hit after hit so furiously you'd think I nailed their mothers or some shit like that. It was probably just cause even though they outnumbered me they were still scared of me, and didn't want to risk giving me enough time to breathe and hit them back. Cowards.
I shouldn't have expected any better conduct from rednecks whose main weeknight entertainment was watching their friend beat the shit out of whomever was brave enough to stand across from him that week, but it was disappointing nonetheless. Nobody had any scruples these days.
They beat me to a pulp. I tried to fight back where I could, but before long the blood from my forehead blurred my vision and my muscles were too weak from their beating to land anything decent.
I barely registered them picking me up once I collapsed onto the pavement, but understood their intent the second a pickup pulled up alongside them and they tossed me into the back of it like a sack of flour.
They were going to dump me somewhere, probably leave me for dead along the side of the road or something equally fucked up like that.
It wasn't the first time in my life that somewhere in my brain it registered that I should be fearing for my life, and it likely wouldn't be the last. It also wasn't the first time I ignored that little voice and all the baggage that came along with it.
If I was going to die, I was going to do it without reliving everything I'd gone through in my life, everything I'd done, in the hopes that I could extract some kernel of peace in my final moments. I was mad and I was going to stay mad, and that was what was going to keep me alive.
No matter what these dipshits did to me.
It turned out that the assholes who jumped me weren't as stupid as I thought.
Well, they were still fucking idiots, but at least they knew better than to risk going down for a murder charge by leaving me out to die somewhere. In fact, they very considerately dropped me off at a Greyhound station, and I came to with the sensation of something wet on my face and bright lights turning my eyelids pink.
It was a wet cloth, I soon realized, and once I blinked my eyes open I saw an old woman at the end of the cloth, staring down at me compassionately as she wiped some of the blood from my face.
My whole body ached like I'd just run a marathon and then got the shit kicked out of me afterward. It even hurt to open my eyes, and the swelling had already started on the right side of my face. I'd been worse off, but I wouldn't be winning any beauty pageants anytime soon.
"Thank God you're alive," said the woman in a low, gravelly voice. The wrinkles around her eyes seemed to pull back as her concern ebbed from critical to minimal.
I was on my back, spread out over a concrete bench. She was sitting beside my head, and studied me intently as I—groaning and hissing—sat up. She offered me the cloth she'd been using on my face but I waved her away. There were worse things I could be covered in than blood.
"You must've really pissed somebody off," she observed.
The abruptness of her comment amused me. I reached in my back pocket for my smokes and realized that my pack and the two grand in cash had mysteriously disappeared. Well, there wasn't a mystery about it. The assholes who jumped me were probably all puffing up a storm while they counted their winnings.
The thought irritated me more than it did that I'd been jumped in the first place. Beating up a guy is one thing, and I guess I could see how their tiny brains might feel a sense of justice in that action. But stealing my money and taking my smokes? That was low. Very low. They'd left me my wallet, thankfully, so I could at least put the bus fare on card. Just another expense in my already expensive life.
The old woman adjusted her purse on her lap, pulling something out and handing it to me. I accepted the pack of cigarettes, but stared at her incredulously.
She shrugged. "You look like you need one."
"Thanks." I put one between my lips and sighed. "You got a light?"
She delved back into her bag and came out a second later with a lighter. "I'm Glenda, by the way."
I let out my first exhale and chuckled, staring at the row of houses just beyond the station. "Glenda the good witch."
"If you like." She put her handbag back down by her side and ran a hand through her short, white curls. "In this situation I might just be your fairy godmother. I don't want to exaggerate my role in your recovery, but I did worry for a while there that you were going to die and I was going to have to call somebody to get you off my bench."
I laughed, harder this time, even though I felt a sharp pain in my ribs with every exhalation. "Your bench?"
"At least a few nights a week," she explained. "My boyfriend lives the next town over. Given the circumstances, I felt it only fair to share."
"Well I'm glad you did, Glenda." I tried to pass the rest of the pack and the lighter back to her, but she shook her head with a small smile.
“You keep them. We’ll call it my good deed for the year.”
I laughed.
She cocked her head to the side and examined me. "So...what kinda trouble are you in? I'm assuming since you're fixing to get out of town."
I inhaled and held the smoke, letting the last few foggy hours coalesce in my brain. It was like watching a half-wrecked movie reel and I could barely even remember where the hell I'd been when they got me.
"What town is this?" I asked. "Can't be sure I need to get out of it if I don't know where I am."
"Cannon," Glenda replied.
"Cannon," I repeated, trying to recall if I had ever seen it on a map. "We far from Bell Springs?"
Glenda shook her head. "Pretty close. There's a bus that goes right there, I think. Do you have money? If you need it, I don't mind buying you a ticket."
I finished the smoke and stomped it out on the ground, shaking my head. "I think I'd rather go get a drink," I told her. "Can you recommend me a bar?"
She clucked. "Not in this town. Most folks seem to head down to the Alibi if they're looking' for a drink and some trouble, but I reckon you've had enough trouble tonight."
"Ah, Glenda," I said, smiling warmly at her. "I'm always looking for a little trouble."
She gave me a flat look. "You're gonna get it with an attitude like that. Now are you gonna tell me what happened to you or not?"
I'd been avoiding the question, but not because I was embarrassed or upset or anything like that—I just didn't want to think about it. If I started thinking about it, all it would achieve would be me heading back over to Bell Springs on the next bus and getting even with the assholes who'd left me here, and that was the kind of trouble I really didn't need.
"Let's just say there's no honor among small town folk," I replied sardonically. "Can you point me in the direction of that bar you don't think I should go to?"
Glenda gave me a final once over and gestured to the street running parallel to the station. "Turn up to the right and keep walking. It'll be the only place that's busy at this time of night."
"You gonna be alright on your own if I head off?" I shot her a cheeky grin and Glenda rolled her eyes.
"Honey, you just worry about yourself."
"Thank you for the help, Glenda the Good Witch." I tipped an imaginary cap to her and rose to my feet, gritting my teeth to help manage the pain that stabbed me all over my body. Was there anywhere that didn't hurt? A single square inch of my body that didn't feel like it had been put through a meat grinder?
Hobbling slightly for the first little while, I made my way up the street toward the next adventure.
Chapter 4
Melissa
Another whoop sounded off from across the room, and I looked over the top of my taps to see Donnie’s friend Matt with his hands around his mouth,
yelling something at one of the girls walking past their table. I sighed.
The other staff here generally left Donnie alone when he came in, so it fell down to me to tell him and his friends that they needed to keep it down. I hated that. Donnie was at his worst when he was drunk, as last night's incident reminded me, and I wasn't feeling quite up to dealing with that again. Nonetheless, he was my problem.
I passed over the drinks I'd been pouring and stepped out from behind the bar, reminding myself with every step that I had a right to tell them to shut up and if they gave me any sass I had a right to get rid of them. It alarmed me to think that it wasn't repercussions from my boss I worried about, but repercussions for Donnie himself.
"Hey," I snapped when I reached their table.
All four sets of drink-addled eyes turned to me. All four sets carved a path from my tits to my ass and back up. If Donnie saw any of his friends checking me out, he clearly didn't care. That got my back up too.
"Hey baby," Donnie crooned.
"You guys are being disruptive." I tried to sound as authoritative as possible, but I could already see how little they cared. "You need to quiet down a bit."
"We're just having a bit of fun, Mel," said Derek.
"Yeah, Mel," sang Andrew.
I looked to Donnie with imploring eyes. "Please keep it down. Your uncle would ask you the same thing if he were here."
"I didn't realize you were dating the fun police," Matt said.
The rest of them laughed like he'd just cracked the funniest joke they'd ever heard. They were a bunch of idiots, and I was almost completely sure that if Donnie was around them less he would be less of an asshole. There was a direct correlation between how much time he spent with these idiots and how aggressive he was at home.
Donnie must have read in my eyes how done I was with this conversation and his friends, as he waved at them to quiet down.
"Chill, guys. We can be a little quieter. Wouldn't want to stress out my baby girl."
It was almost sweet, except there was a distinctly mocking tone that set my teeth on edge. I would talk to him about that later. Well, not later, he'd still be drunk later. I'd talk about it with him tomorrow, and maybe I’d even suggest that he consider cooling it on the booze for a while.
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