by Devon Ashley
“Sorry,” I replied, “We lost our liquor license, so we no longer carry those. How about a round of coffees?”
“How about a round of you?”
Oh, how original, I smirked internally.
I ignored him as the one with the blue baseball cap began to complain about our lack of alcohol, but his neighboring companion waved him off, pulling a flask from his jacket pocket. “No worries, fellas. We’ll just make them Irish.”
I rolled my eyes as I walked away. Shit. I should’ve just given them the damn beers. I poured the coffees, muttering curse words all the way.
“Hey,” Nick said through the pass-through. Guess my mutters weren’t as quiet as I thought. “If you don’t want to serve them, just kick them out.”
“Yeah,” I retorted, “like they’re going to leave because a nineteen-year-old, one-hundred-and-ten pound girl told them to.” He grimaced when I turned my back on him, heading back to the dumbasses at table eight. I had intentionally filled the cups to the rim, so naturally, they tipped them to make room for the booze, allowing the coffee to dribble onto their saucers.
Once I took their orders and turned to leave, I felt a flimsy pinch to the bottom cheek of my ass. Score one for the baggy jeans for prohibiting something more. But still, it pissed me off that he felt he had the right to do anything of the kind.
“HEY!” I snapped angrily, whipping around, smacking the hand that still lingered with such intensity that the crack overpowered every sound in the diner. The three men got a huge kick out of that and turned their attention to one another to laugh hysterically.
I was debating about dumping the ass-grabber’s coffee in his lap when I heard Nick command, “Out,” harshly behind me.
The three men jerked in their seats, but it was the ass-grabber that threw his hands up defensively, crying, “WHOA! Shit, man!”
Fighting the sudden tension in my neck, I forced my head to spin sideways. The moment I caught sight of the black cylinder out the corner of my eye, my heart jumped and I sprung to the side. Nick was in a hunter’s stance, the shotgun aimed at the head of his prey.
“We have the right to refuse service,” he said sternly. “And I’m enforcing that liberty right now.” He cocked the shotgun, making the men jump again. I instinctively removed myself from the path between their table and the front door, placing myself protectively behind Nick. The friends were quick to leave, but the ass-grabber was a little more careful with his moves; slower, as the barrel was still aimed at his head. As he nudged his way through the door, Nick threatened, “Don’t ever come back here again.”
Ass-grabber fled at full speed, stumbling and tripping his way into the back cab of the old pickup truck that tried reversing out of the parking spot without him. Only once they were out of sight did Nick lower the shotgun, lock the door and turn the placard from Open to Closed.
I was suddenly very aware of the intense pounding in my chest, as the boom-boom-boom echoed in my head. My arms crossed over my chest, hands gripping my shoulders, and I swallowed a lump in my throat. I didn’t recognize the face before me, as kindness no longer resided there. Nick’s face was red and irate, his eyes cold and dark and unrecognizable. I pinched my eyes as images began to flash through my head without permission.
Dark eyes on a face too blurry to see.
Fire all around me, the putrid air choking my lungs.
An uninvited hand snaking its way up my bare thigh, and me, powerless to stop it.
That last one lingered, refusing to relieve the mental anguished it imposed.
Acid bubbled and churned in my stomach, and heat rose up from the bottom of my throat. I bolted for the bathroom, crashing through the door, barely making it before my dinner resurfaced. Stomach acid burned the lining of my throat, and another memory flashed before my eyes.
Fire licked across my skin, the red inflammation growing darker and darker in color as the pain attacked my nerves.
I collapsed to the dingy ivory ceramic tile beneath me, my eyes taking turns dripping tears down my cheeks, the imagined pain very real to my damaged skin. I swallowed the saliva in my mouth, a pathetic attempt to wash away the sourness overtaking my senses. I still felt sick to my stomach, but the real threat had passed. Pain burned behind my eyes and I wanted nothing more than to go home and collapse on my bed.
A light knock rapped on the door. “Megan?” Nick asked softly. “Are you alright?”
“I’m okay now,” I answered, pulling on the edge of my sleeves, which had managed to creep up a bit, exposing the permanently damaged skin beneath.
The door must have shut behind me at some point. Its knob slowly turned, then it opened at a glacial pace – perhaps to give me time to object, which I didn’t. A better version of Nick peeked inside, this one the calm, caring guy I came to adore, the coldness in his demeanor long gone.
“Here.” He passed me a clean wash towel and a glass half filled with red liquid. Gatorade. I couldn’t believe how delicious it tasted, despite how it felt like I was swallowing needles. I drank it all down in ten seconds.
“I’m sorry about what happened back there. I was so focused on those shitheads that I didn’t realize I was upsetting you.”
I set the glass down on the tile and wiped my mouth down, the sourness still burning my throat and chest. “It’s not your fault. Those guys were assholes. I just…” Bad memories, I wanted to say. “…sensitive stomach,” I lied.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Can I take you home?”
“We still have two more hours.”
“No,” he said sternly, “We don’t. Come on. If Paul has a problem with it, he can take it up with me tomorrow.”
I allowed Nick to pull me up, and with my feet planted on the floor in front of his, we were almost close enough to touch. He had like a foot on me, but the way he dipped his head gave me a perfect view of his pale pink lips, soft and supple and demanding attention as he took that moment to hydrate them. We were slow to pull apart, my gaze locking heavily with his. His hand still held mine, and it was warm and comforting, and I didn’t contest when he continued to hold it as he guided me out of the bathroom and into the diner again. But he abandoned the grasp there, and I hated how disappointed I felt.
I grabbed my bag as he moved through the kitchen turning off equipment and lights before locking up. And then it was just like every other night, with him driving me home. Only this time I didn’t thank him for the ride and get out. I just sat there, staring at my front door, seemingly darker than its normal shade of hunter green, as my porch light had finally burned out. Luckily, my neighbor’s light kept my doorstep from being completely absorbed by darkness.
I no longer liked the night. The darkness was where he lied in wait, waiting for it to swallow me whole each night, suffocating my senses with fear.
I’m not sure how long I sat there, but it was Nick’s voice that broke me from my trance. “I can stay and keep you company for a bit.” I turned his way, and he fidgeted before adding, “If you want me to.”
I liked the way the mixture of street light and shadow painted his face. It brought about a sense of calm in me, and I nodded. I didn’t want to be alone right now. After directing him to the parking spot that came assigned with my apartment, he followed me inside #E3.
My apartment was actually a decent size for a one bedroom, but the sleeping and living areas were only separated by sliding doors, hidden and stuck in the two walls that almost joined in the middle of the room. I had an old TV in front of the cream floral sofa, which incidentally, lined up with the full-sized bed, but was really too far away to see the screen from. I hardly watched it anyways since I only got the free channels. Everything in my place was used and disposable. All except for the bag I kept packed at the back of my closet, ready to go at a moment’s notice, just like the money tucked beneath the carpet underneath it.
“You’ve got a nice place.”
Lightheartedly, I replied, “It’s a dump and you know it.” I leaned into my close
t and tossed my purse atop the packed bag.
“So you’re used to better then?”
Once upon a time, before my parents passed away. But since then, no. “Sadly, it’s nicer than the last place I lived.” White and gritty windowless walls, cold cement floor, a single vent for poisoned recycled air… I shook the thought from my head, instinctively pulling at my sleeves again.
It just dawned on me that this was the first time that I’d ever had a guy in my place since before, and it surprised me that having him here didn’t bother me all that much.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, already pulling the refrigerator open. He wasn’t going to like what he saw in there. “Wow,” he deadpanned. “A jar of pickles, a water bottle that’s been used five hundred times, a block of cheddar, and a half jar of mayonnaise, but no sandwich fixings. I knew you were lying about cooking at home.”
“The food’s all in the cabinet.” All things that were room temperature and could be packed in just thirty seconds.
He opened two empty cabinets, giving me a look of disappointment each time, before finding the one I used. Teasingly, he grabbed a bunch of saltine packages I swiped from the diner, giving me a look that screamed Really? I just shrugged. Food was food. Nick pulled out a can of chicken gumbo and held it up, silently asking for my approval, and I nodded with a smirk.
I only had two place settings of everything and nothing matched. Nick grabbed one of the bowls to microwave the soup in, saying, “FYI. This isn’t cooking, it’s heating. And if this is what you have to come home to, why wouldn’t you want to eat at the diner?”
“Everything’s greasy and makes me sick to my stomach. Sometimes I eat a salad, but they’re not very filling.” But with all of the food Nick made me this past week, this was the first time I had to eat anything from my canned collection.
That seemed to satisfy him, and when the microwave beeped, I sat down on the sofa with my dinner, Nick on the opposite end, angled towards me. “I’d offer you your own bowl, but I’m pretty sure you’d scoff at me if I did.”
“You’d be right. And I already ate tonight.”
I scarfed down the soup. Guess I was hungrier than I thought.
“So what was with the gun earlier?”
He rubbed his chin, seemingly regretful that I brought that up. “Not my normal course of action, but I didn’t know why you yelled and I sure as hell wasn’t going to wait to find out, so I just grabbed it and ran.” A moment later, he sincerely added, “Sorry.”
I shrugged one shoulder and shook my head like I didn’t care. There were worse people in the world to worry about. I supposed it didn’t hurt to bring that jackass down a notch. Maybe Nick’s actions would keep him from doing it to another girl anytime soon.
“So what do you do around here on your days off?”
After swallowing a mouthful of warm gumbo, I replied, “I don’t take days off.”
“Ever?”
“Nope,” I said, getting up and passing him on my way to the kitchen to clean my bowl. “Can’t afford to.” And I hated being alone, especially under the cover of darkness, which was why I had no problem working the nightshift.
Following me to the kitchen, Nick asked, “Does Paul pay you enough?”
“He pays me more than he has to.” And in cash. Head down. Stay off the radar. “Paul knows the nightshift doesn’t get as many tables as the day and that the clientele doesn’t tip as well. You’ve been here a week now. You know that half the reason we’re there is to keep the diner cleaned and stocked.”
“Still. If you have to work every day just to afford a place to stay, you should probably find a better job.”
“Nah. I prefer the diner. It’s quiet and few out-of-towners come in.”
My lungs inhaled a fast breath. I shouldn’t have said that. I was becoming too comfortable around Nick for my own good. Luckily, he didn’t seem to realize I considered those words a mistake.
God, I am so freaking paranoid!
Myrtle Creek was safe, so small and inconsequential you couldn’t even find it on a lot of maps unless you zoomed in on a digital copy or bought a local fold-up. It sat along the I-5 in southern Oregon where hardly anyone stopped for anything but the local gas stations. I knew I couldn’t stay here forever; it’d already been a year and half. And if I stayed even one day too long, he could catch up with me.
An uninviting hand snaking its way up my bare thigh, and me, powerless to stop it.
I shivered, and crossed my arms far enough to hug myself. Nick was just staring at me, watching me, with that gaze that always managed to decipher the truth behind my unspoken words. Maybe he did catch the hidden meaning behind that statement.
“How do you feel about taking on a roommate?”
“Who? You?” I asked, my voice rising and extending that last syllable two seconds too long.
“Why not? You can save half the money you make and I won’t have to stay in that disgusting motel room anymore. This place is old, but at least it’s clean.”
“Nick, we’ve only known each other a week.”
Leaning the base of his spine against the edge of the kitchen counter, he jested, “In some cultures we’d be married already.”
I huffed and narrowed my eyes. “This isn’t one of those cultures.”
“What are you so worried about? Do you need a background check? Because I’m pretty sure Paul did one when he hired me. You can keep the bed, I’ll crash on the sofa. I don’t even need a closet, just a place to put my bags.
“Come on,” he sang. “Think of all the good food I could fill your belly with.” Waving the empty gumbo can in the air, he added, “I’m not above bribing you with actual food.”
“Oh, God…” I rubbed my face up and down, my hands finally settling flat against my cheeks, ready to squeeze a death grip if I went against my gut instinct. A roommate was not a good idea. Forming attachments to more people in this town was not a good idea. Letting this very attractive, very sexy, green-eyed young man with gorgeously sculptured biceps into my home was so not a good idea.
But part of me realized that if I did, I wouldn’t feel so alone and scared all of the time either. That was why I worked so much. I preferred to keep company with those who would notice if I went missing. That if I disappeared in a hurry and didn’t call to say goodbye, they’d question my exit, would care enough to look for me.
Something I didn’t have last time...
And it wasn’t like he hadn’t proven himself to be a decent guy. Since day one he had come off a little protective, and tonight he showed exactly how far he’d go to keep those jerks from harassing me. I didn’t know why, but I was actually comfortable around him now, and though it was probably selfish of me, I kind of liked the idea of having him between me and anyone that tried to come through that door. And I loved the idea of increasing my money stash. “Yeah. Okay. I guess.”
He didn’t tease me about my shaky acceptance, probably figuring the slightest remark would teeter-totter my decision in the opposite direction.
I let him walk the place now that he was going to be staying here, hoping he didn’t notice the stuffed bag in the back of my closet. If he did, he didn’t say anything. He had the strength to wiggle the divider doors free from the walls, saying he could fix them tomorrow so they didn’t rattle or screech. Now we’d be able to maintain some sense of privacy during the night. The bathroom was on his side, but he wasn’t fazed at all when I asked if my using it at night would make him uncomfortable.
He went ahead and crashed on the sofa that night, using the fleece throw as a blanket. I didn’t question why he didn’t just go stay in the room he already paid for.
Like always, I slept in a long sleeved tee and cotton pants, so I didn’t have to worry about feeling exposed or putting more clothes on to go pee. And for the love of God, I couldn’t keep from peeking over the back of the sofa on my way. My jaw dropped as I silently gasped. Oh, why did I have to look?
He was passed out on his back, t
he blanket covering him from stomach to knees, and every inch of exposed skin was bare. No shirt. No pants. Just a sleeve tattoo on his upper left arm that spilled onto his chest and shoulder, the lack of light too dim to define it. I sucked my lips into my mouth and hurried off to the bathroom, scolding myself for wondering if he was completely naked under there.
Great. Just lovely. So he was nice and freaking hot. That was just so awesome.
Nick woke up before I did and was quietly watching the news. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed to see him fully clothed again. Doesn’t matter, Megan. No boys allowed.
“Morning,” I murmured, averting my eyes, going to the refrigerator to get the bottle of water he had made fun of.
“Morning,” he replied casually. “I was going to get kolaches for breakfast, but I didn’t want to leave the door unlocked while you slept.”
My eyes widened. “Yeah, please don’t do that. Ever.”
“I’m still going to go, but I thought I’d get your key copied while I was out.”
“Okay.” I drank a few swigs of water on my way to the closet. Digging the key out of my purse, I swished the water around in my mouth, trying to rid myself of any lingering morning breath. When I passed the key off, I told him, “Don’t worry about getting me anything. I’m not hungry.”
With his back to me, he shook his head and playfully cried, “Hush!” before closing the door behind him.
I thought I’d have enough time to shower and make it back to the safety of my room before he got back. No such luck. I gathered my dirty clothes and froze two steps into the living room, nothing but a towel wrapped around my body. I frantically debated whether to make a run for the bedroom or retreat to the bathroom.
Sitting on the sofa reading a paper he must’ve picked up, his torso turned my way. I gasped, my heart suddenly putting in double the effort. His lips parted, and all expression fell from his face as he honed in on the last place I wanted him to look. My damaged skin was a stark contrast to the creamy beige complexion of my healthy skin. I hated the look of disgust most people gave when they caught sight of it, or the pity given by others.
