First Impressions

by Aria Ford

  He laughed. “Yeah. And then? If they take me away, what about your mother? Who'll pay bills? You thought of that?”

  “I'll think of something,” I'd said.

  That was when he'd said it. “You're worthless, boy.”

  I had stared at him. I didn't know how I knew, but I had this sense that fathers weren't supposed to say things like that to their sons. Fathers were supposed to like their sons – or at least not scorn them. They were, of course, also not supposed to hit their wives, or make them cry all the time. I could still hear mom crying.

  My fear was replaced by rage.

  “I hate you!” I screamed at him.

  That was when he hit me. Hard. My lips split and I tasted blood. I'd stared at him. He'd stared at me.

  Crazily, it was new for both of us. He'd always stopped just short of hitting me before. He hit mom with regularity. But never me before.

  “Get lost,” he'd stammered. “Just go. Get outta my sight.”

  I'd run.

  That was the night I left home. I'd taken a toothbrush, a jacket. My tiny model of a BMW bike my grandfather had given me when I was five. It was like a talisman.

  I'd run and not looked back.

  That was the day that changed everything. I had forgotten all about it until now – blanked it out, most likely. Like I'd blanked out all the fear and sadness and the cold with the booze and the weed, later on.

  I blinked, coming back to the present moment. I was riding through a sunlit field, my hands locked on the bridle of my horse. I was jolted a little by the rolling motion of the horse, walking.

  I focused on the present.

  Why had I remembered that?

  I shrugged. Maybe because, that day when I'd seen mom, was the last day I'd really felt loved. Until yesterday night.

  I snorted. “Stop it, Jared.”

  I wasn't going to think about that. Wasn't going to let myself believe that Darby felt anything for me. I had felt safe, and special, and cared for, lying in her arms. But that was my illusion. She didn't really feel anything for me.

  She's way above you. Alex's sister, for crying out loud. No way.

  She wasn't going to think twice about me. It was for a laugh, I told myself savagely. She wanted to sleep with a cowboy. That was all.

  So that was it. I snorted. I would just forget her. I would pretend it had been a night like any other, like one of those countless nights I'd spent with other girls whose names I didn't know.

  You don't care about girls outside the gang.

  I blinked. Where had that memory come from? That was Bricks. He was one of the gang's senior members – called Bricks for some reason everyone had forgotten, probably him too.

  “You don't care about girls outside the gang,” he'd told me. Non-gang girls were there for use, not to care about. Not that we'd have had the chance to care about them even if we had been allowed to – the non-gang girls we saw were mostly charging by the hour.

  And our gang didn't have any girls.

  I wanted to laugh at the irony of that. How were we supposed to have any meaningful relationships, when there was no one to have them with? We were unlovable, untouchable.

  I've never told anyone I love them.

  It was a surprising realization. But it was true. Even if I wanted to, I would have no idea how to go about it.

  I looked down at my wrist. The tattoo was still there. The gang's mark. I had stopped my horse at the edge of the paddock. I rubbed over the mark absently and wished, not for the first time, that I could have it burned out of my skin.

  I can't afford it.

  “Jared!”

  I looked up. “Yeah, Nics?”

  “Come join us!”

  I nodded. The guys were busy driving the cattle to a new field. I had been half-asleep and missed most of it. I squeezed with my knees and rode to join in.

  We took a break for lunch about an hour later.

  When we walked to the cafeteria I couldn't help my mind straying back to Darby and the night we'd spent. I remembered her sweet softness, the feel of her breasts in my lips. I felt so safe, so cared for.

  And she was stunning. Not in the lean, angular way of some of the hard street girls I'd known, but in a gentle, lovely way. I wanted her so much my loins jolted and got hard.

  “Hey, big boy,” Jacklyn, one of the waitresses, greeted me.

  “Hey,” I nodded. I looked away from her tight breasts forced into the small blouse, the red lipstick. She was sexy in a flaunting way. But it wasn't her who was making my blood surge.

  I ate lunch in silence, trying to forget about Darby.

  ***

  I tried to avoid Alex.

  I sneaked around, but I couldn't avoid it forever. When he finally caught up with me I was sitting in the garden, trying to forget about the night before. I was drinking coffee, enjoying the landscape.

  “Darbs?”

  I jumped, narrowly avoiding spilling coffee on myself.

  “Hell, Alex,” I said crossly. “Don't sneak up on people like that.”

  He made a sheepish face. “I'm sorry.”

  I sighed. “That's fine,” I said. “What?” I steeled myself, waiting for the interrogation.

  “Darby, what's up? It's not like you to keep secrets,” he began.

  I closed my eyes. “If I felt like I could tell you what was up, I wouldn't be so secretive, would I?”

  He sighed. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But please. If there's anything I can do? I wish you'd talk to me sometimes. It would have helped in the past.”

  I felt like he'd slapped me. “That was too much, okay?”

  He was instantly apologetic. “I'm sorry,” he agreed. “I shouldn't have gone there.”

  “No,” I agreed. “You shouldn't.”

  When he had gone, I put my cup down and resisted the urge to throw it at something.

  The past he was talking about was Alan.

  My ex-boyfriend.

  The reason why I hadn't told Alex about how he treated me was because I thought Alex approved of him. After all, it was Alex who'd made sure we met. He'd been at a party with Alex. A guy he used to work with.

  A respectable, entirely presentable accountant.

  He'd been a nightmare.

  “Darby, you're such a klutz,” I remember him saying to me once. “I feel embarrassed sometimes.”

  We had been out together. I still remember that day. We'd attended a thing with his colleagues. I was astounded when he said that. I mean, I'd done nothing.

  “You were acting all dumb with Jake and Lewis. I felt so awkward back then.”

  I had started speaking less at parties after that. In fact, there was a time when I had only spoken if someone asked me a direct question. I was getting back from that now, but it was taking time.

  That hadn't been the only incident like that, either – far from it. He'd criticized me mercilessly – my hair, my clothes, even my speech.

  “You have a southern accent,” he'd said once. “You won't get far with one of those as a lawyer.”

  It was only about a year later that I'd realized he was talking rubbish. Firstly, I don't have a southern accent. I might have traces of one from my mom's influence, but it's minor. And secondly, I never saw that be an impediment to anyone's career. Not in the real world.

  I closed my eyes.

  I wished Alex hadn't brought all that stuff up. It should be in the past. But he insisted on dragging it all up into the daylight. I was so mad.

  It did, however, make me notice something.

  I didn't think like that when I was with Jared.

  Not once.

  Usually, ever since Alan, I'd been shy with guys. Hesitant to open my mouth. Very unsure of myself. But with him, that all melted away. I'd let him in on the most fundamental level. And I never once felt triggered or afraid of criticism

  That was weird.

  I sighed.

  That doesn't mean anything, Darbs. I told myself. Maybe you were just tired. Yo
u've had a long trip. And Alex is right. You needed a holiday.

  All the same, it was worth noting.

  I shook my head. I was being silly.

  I couldn't stop thoughts of Jared going around my head, though. I was glad I'd spent the night with him. I might be ashamed to admit to it in front of my nearest and dearest family members, but I was actually glad.

  He'd reminded me of something I'd forgotten. What it felt like to be cared about by a man.

  It had, I reflected, been worth remembering.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Darby

  The day wore on. I knew I had to start getting ready to go back to work. I had only three more days here in Wyoming. Weirdly, even though that had once been something that made me mad – I hated the idea of having to spend more time here than strictly-speaking necessary – I regretted that.

  I could have done with a few more days.

  I had only just met Jared. There was so much more I needed to work through before I could leave. Not that I was planning to see him again – not exactly. I just wanted time to calm down. Recenter my brain.

  This was just an idyll. A sweet, pleasant break from everyday life. I had to get back to work.

  I answered emails that morning. There were about eight of them from work. I had to finish a report, and I did that too. By mid-afternoon my head was throbbing. I could hear my cousins in the yard and my aunt was in the kitchen below my room, making some dinner preparations. I stretched. It was five o' clock.

  Time to go for a walk.

  I had been sitting in one place for too long. I stood and stretched, feeling a few cracks and creaks as my muscles warmed up. I rolled my shoulders, heading for the door.

  The days tended to become a bit fresh toward evening, so I took my leather jacket – a pretty slate-blue one that matched nicely with my jeans and dusty rose shirt. I headed down the street. I was thinking of Jared. I pushed the thoughts angrily away, refusing to give them any airtime.

  I was walking along aimlessly when I realized I was probably on the wrong end of town. Looking around, the place gave off a decidedly seedy sense: the paint was peeling on the buildings, there was trash on the pavement and there were cafés with neon signs that looked like they hadn't been repaired in twenty years. I shivered.

  Hell, Darby. You do look for trouble.

  I was alone and had a big, conspicuous purse over my shoulder and my jacket was too small to hide it under. I was wearing pumps, at least, so I could probably run. I turned around and walked briskly back the way I'd come. How had I not noticed what a shady area I was in? The road out seemed to stretch back for ages, so I must have been here for quite a while.

  Heart thumping, I walked more briskly. I heard voices.

  “Yeah, Leo! We believe you.”

  Laughter. It sounded like drunken laughter.

  “You should,” someone added, swearing so creatively that I blushed.

  An angry yell followed, and the sound of a thump. The voices were coming toward me. I froze.

  “Hey! That'll show you. I...”

  The crowd rounded the corner. They saw me. All conversation stopped. I tensed, flinching.

  Somehow I must have taken a wrong turn, because the road had petered out into a long bare trackway bordered on one side by a wall. There was rank grass in the paving and an unpleasant smell.

  I breathed in and faced down the gang who faced me. There were three of them.

  The main guy – I assumed he was the main guy, since he was in the middle of the group – looked at me with an unpleasant, narrow-eyed intensity.

  One of the other guys cat-called.

  There were three of them, dressed in old t-shirts and grubby jeans, one with overalls on. They looked unwashed, uncouth and rough. And dangerous. There was that blank, hard look in their eyes that suggested they were the kind who would kill if they felt like it. During my years of experience as a lawyer I'd seen guys with that look in court for violent offenses. My heart started to pound.

  “Hey, Sean,” one of the guys said. He made a gesture with his hand. Two of them stepped forward.

  I wanted to run but I couldn't. I wanted to scream but my throat closed up with nerves. I wanted to do something, but thought was impossible. At the last minute, as they neared, my body took over. I ran.

  They caught me. I fell, screaming in complete terror.

  “Gimme that.”

  One of the guys took my handbag. I felt it slip down my arm and the lightness as it was removed.

  I nodded. I was sitting against the wall, knees drawn to my chest, and I was crying, tears of raw terror pouring down my cheeks.

  “Please,” I said. “Just take it. Take it and let me go.” I nodded, smiling through the tears. “Take it. Please.”

  I didn't care about my phone, my wallet, the expensive purse. I just wanted to be safe.

  One of them made a sound that could have been laughter.

  “Why'd we do that?”

  “Please,” I sobbed. “It's...wrong. You don't want to do this. You don't...”

  Whatever I was going to say, and whatever they would have said, dissolved very rapidly in the sound of a cry.

  As I watched, scrabbling backward and upright, screaming again, the scene dissolved into confusion. The man who had been standing looking down at me suddenly fell away, a blow striking him down. Then he was fighting back, hitting out at the guy who had him on the ground, punching him with a fearful savagery I had never encountered before.

  “No!” I screamed. It was Jared. He was going to kill the man.

  And the others might kill him. The leader's face had darkened and he kicked Jared savagely in the ribs. I heard him grunt, but he kept on hitting the guy on the ground in front of him. He was vicious with it, his fists slamming into his head.

  The other two guys started to attack him in earnest, kicking and hitting. He finished with the guy on the ground and stood. His face was bloody from where a kick had connected with his nose and his lip was swelling. One eye looked up at me and he inclined his head to the side. A blow connected his other eye and I stared, horrified, watching him stagger back as the other guy kicked his legs. When he looked up at me, staggering, his one eye was already swollen closed.

  As the guy kicked him behind the legs again I screamed and ran forward, throwing my weight at him.

  “Stop it! Get off... go!”

  I was screaming incoherently now. The guy turned around and threw a punch at me. It hit my arm and I hissed, staggering back. It felt harder than anything I imagined.

  “Darby!” Jared screamed. He was fighting with the other guy. I saw the guy who faced me laugh and I felt very real fear.

  Just then, the street erupted into chaos.

  “Gerrof!” someone yelled.

  “Out!”

  “Go on. Get away!”

  Three guys had appeared, armed with bats, staffs and barehanded. They ranged in age greatly from about nineteen to around sixty. They must have come out of one of the houses further down the street, alerted by the cries.

  I slumped against the wall, weak with the relief.

  The assailants scattered abruptly, leaving us in the street.

  I ran to Jared. He was standing, but only just. His face was a mess. His nose had bled freely onto his shirt-front. He staggered and I thought he was going to pass out.

  “Hey. You okay?” One of the guys said.

  “Help him,” I said.

  Then I fainted.

  I woke up later with a pain in my head. I rolled over and sat up. I breathed in and opened my eyes. I could smell the fresh scent of disinfectant and clean linen and a soft undertone of bleach. I looked around and saw my nose was right. I was in hospital.

  “Oh, for...”

  I sighed. There wasn't anything wrong with me! I fainted! That's all.

  I swung my legs off the bed and stood up. I dressed and I went into the hallway.

  “Miss!” A nurse frowned. She looked surprised to see a patient stridi
ng the halls so furiously.

  I couldn't blame her for that – it probably was surprising. I sighed. “Listen,” I said wearily. “I'm okay. But can you...I need to see Jared.”

  “Mr. Manning?”