by Natalie Hart
“I can’t believe how small he is,” she said. “I’ll never get used to it. Can I be here for his birthday?”
“That’s for your Mom and Dad to decide,” Emma said.
Emma looked up and saw Patrick standing in the doorway, his face full of pride; his family.
Torment’s End Teaser
Meghan felt her anxiety rise. She couldn’t ignore it. Her stomach had just caught that little bit of nausea and a buzz surrounded her mind. Not her head, or brain, it wasn’t a physical feeling, it was her mind that was the issue. She could never describe it to her doctors, or anyone else for that matter. The best she could do was come up with analogies that never really captured how disorientating it was. It’s like being on edge, tension over something unknown, it’s like you’re trapped in the static from the TV. She didn’t think anyone could understand, not unless they experienced it for themselves. And she wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
Meghan ran down a mental checklist. She had 10 hours of sleep which was average for her. Everyone she texted that day had texted back, no anxiety over being abandoned then. She had no outstanding bills, thanks Mom. She checked the time, it was 4pm. She woke at noon. She had it. It was food that was getting to her, well the lack of it, she was sure of that. Meghan knew it was just normal anxiety, if she didn’t eat regularly, or get enough sleep, or drank too much coffee, or stayed up too late, or for too long it would hit. This was an easy fix, she’d made a giant pot of soup on Sunday and she’d just pop it in the microwave. Despite not having eaten she already felt a little better now she knew what was wrong.
After eating she felt much better; a spicy chorizo and sweet potato soup really hit the spot. She checked the time again, she was meeting Hayley at the archery range soon and she’d need to get going. She grabbed her equipment and coat and headed to the bus. There were no weirdos on it, which was good. Stress also set Meghan off. She hadn’t had a psychotic episode in over seven years, which is what schizophrenia was famous for. It was all the other symptoms that kept her back; depression, anxiety, sleep trouble. Unfortunately those issues were all too common in the world. She often talked about them with her internet friends. Though she rarely revealed she was schizophrenic, that might make her stand out amongst people who suffered anxiety. Sometimes she felt at the mercy of her illness.
***
Hayley was waiting at the door by the range. She handed Meghan a new wrist guard.
“What do you think?” Hayley asked.
“I love the sunburst detail.”
“I’ve been planning it for a while, I sketched it loads and managed to carve it first time round.”
“Do you have a buyer for it?” Meghan asked.
“No. I’ve decided I’m going to sell them online. I know someone who will help me make a website.”
“Will that cost much?”
“He’s doing it as a favour. We’re meeting in Grant’s after the session, you should come along.”
Meghan didn’t want to commit. She knew her anxiety could flare up at any minute and she didn’t want to back out of another social event. She’d done it far too often and she knew it would annoy her friends, more annoying than replying “Maybe” to their frequent drinks requests.
“Let me see after I shoot some targets,” Meghan said. “If I do badly I’ll want to go home and sulk. If I do well it’s tequila slammers and fine whiskey all round.”
“You never do badly. You really should shoot in competitions.”
“You know I only like to practice here. I prefer shooting foam in the woods. Being one with nature and all that. I don’t enjoy the pressure at competitions.” Meghan said.
Pressure was not good for Meghan. She really hated that she couldn’t handle situations that everyone else managed to stride through with ease. The first few times she attempted archery even the soreness in her muscles raised sweats in her. Now archery was a relief, it soothed her, and distracted her from any worries, and she was good at it. She needed things to go well, or she’d retreat to the safety of some downtime in her apartment to recover.
Even that wasn’t good for her, it was far too easy to lock yourself in your home, and suddenly a week had passed and she hadn’t seen anyone. A lack of social communication would set her off as well. It was all such a tough balancing act. Everything in moderation, always calm and never wild. Some days she wanted to scream at the boredom in her life, scare it away and replace it with reckless abandon. That was just dream though, she knew she wouldn’t throw her health away but she’d have fun imagining weeks of partying.
Meghan drew her bowstring and released; a nine with her first arrow. Her troubles faded away as she concentrated on her stance.
***
Walking into Grant’s Meghan was pleased she shot well. She fancied a drink and was relaxed after an hour of on form archery. Her friends were right, she was good at it. Hayley waved at someone as they went in the door.
“James, this is Meghan. I’ll get the drinks in.”
They all had a beer and soon they were sitting in the snug in corner.
“Meghan is an amazing archer. If she entered competitions I’d have her endorse my wrist guards,” Hayley said.
“Archery won’t pay the bills, and anyway I shoot for fun” Meghan said.
“So what do you do to pay the bills?” James asked.
“I’m between jobs at the moment, I got sick a few months ago and had to quit.”
“I’m sorry. I hope you’re feeling better.”
“I’m coping, I guess.” She said. “And thanks.” She didn’t feel thankful, not for nosy busybodies.
Meghan’s attention was grabbed by the door slamming. Damn, that was fancy hair! She couldn’t take her eyes off it, it was too good. It was in a classic style, longish but not unmanageable nor verging into rocker territory. A side-parting, it swept back behind his ears, his fringe framing his deep blue eyes and strong cheekbones. Strong cheekbones? Meghan laughed at herself, eloping with a haircut, get yourself together woman.
He was quite attractive, his plain black t-shirt contrasted his milk-bottle white skin. The sleeves cut against his taut biceps. He was good looking, and stylish, sure but he was probably a dick. A dick with a great butt, Meghan thought as he turned looking for someone. He glanced over at them and Meghan caught herself, she had stared at him the whole time he walked over. Was he annoyed at her?
“This is Aaron,” James said, “The only straight male hair stylist in the city.”
“You know that’s not true,” Aaron said.
“You’ve come out?”
“Only if you’ll have me.” He stood behind James and massaged his shoulders with real power. The moment lasted long for Meghan until he went to the bar to get a drink.
Meghan felt the tension in her own shoulders, she’d pay for a massage if she had the money. She spent her time writing poems. She’d get a phrase or sentence in her mind and the whole poem would flow from that. She’d open notepad on her computer and become engrossed in it for an hour; the right place for a comma, a word with the allusion she really wanted to emphasise, a sentence with a frenetic beat. She’d spend an age working on her words.
Supposedly schizophrenics had a different understanding of how they related to words, the tortured artist and all that, not that anyone read her poems. Word-soup was common during acute schizophrenic episodes, although not for paranoid schizophrenics like her. Meghan knew if she could frame the right sentence in her mind, with the right flow and sound, she could release all her troubled thoughts on a page. The problem was finding that first sentence. Sometimes it came to her in a flash but often she’d sit and wait for it to strike, to release from her mind.
She’d never be able to afford a massage, poetry books were not noted for being big sellers, so the one thing she was really good at would never fund a better lifestyle. She worried about jobs, she could never hold one down. The stress became too much after a while. She didn’t know how she’d survive in her internet frien
ds’ countries. Social welfare didn’t make for an easy life here, but you could survive on it, with basic living. In those countries? She shuddered at the thought, their episodes seemed far more stressful than hers. More often than not her mother helped her out. Meghan wanted stability, it bothered her how reliant she was on others. If she could just achieve something with her life.
A sentence for a poem broke into her mind, callused caress on tense knotted... An image of Aaron, his strong arms massaging the tightness from her shoulders flashed across her thoughts. She smiled, imagining rough hands against her soft skin, she must have looked far away because James burst into a laugh and called to Aaron, “Meghan really enjoyed us two going at it!”
“Now there’s an idea,” Aaron said, winking at Meghan.
“Do you have those massage chairs when you wash people’s hair?” Meghan asked.
“No, but I’m doing a massage course so I can give a quick shoulder rub when I’m styling. People spend hours in those chairs”
“It’s a pity massages are so expensive.”
“I need a volunteer for my exams. I don’t know you’re if free Thursday morning, in a week and a bit, but if you want I could use a victim.”
Meghan’s anxiety raised at the thought of doing something so public but she quietened her mind. Her doctors said she needed to be more active, even if it was volunteering, and she was sure a massage would actually relax her.
“I’m free that morning,” she said. “I don’t need to get naked do I?”
Aaron hesitated, “You’d need to take your top off, well unclasp your bra and lay the straps by your side. My examiner is a woman, but if you don’t feel comfortable around the two of—”
“I’ll be ok, I think,” she said. She knew she would, the thought of someone forcing the knots out of her back had filled Meghan with happy feelings. And anyway, they were only boobs.
“If you have to back out it’s ok. There’s plenty of people in college who can fill in. You can be my first client when I’m qualified.” He winked again. Meghan always thought people who winked were pervy old men but Aaron was disgustingly charming.
Walking home that night Meghan really appreciated what he had said. He needed a volunteer but he didn’t want to force her into committing. She knew getting into tense situations was not good for her health. She figured she’d be ok with Aaron, they had spent the evening chatting, he was really good fun. Even if they were forced to entertain themselves. The other two were deep in conversation over website plans, but it was easy to talk to Aaron.
When Meghan arrived home she took her medication. The doctors said the pills should help her rest but she never found that to be the case. She’d often lie in bed for ninety minutes before giving up on sleep, at least for another hour or two and then she’d try again. Her GP said if she didn’t fall asleep after forty-five minutes she should get up and read, she’d only stress herself out failing to nod off. No computer screens though. She thought him mad, if she got up after forty-five minutes she’d never fall asleep. She blessed the rare nights when was off within thirty minutes, which was usually because she had been awake the entire night before; thirty hour days were common for Meghan.
***
It was 2pm the next day when Meghan woke. The few hours after she got up were always tough, which is probably why she liked to stay in bed. She’d read about diurnal mood swings, where people’s mood was hell in the morning but lifted after being awake a few hours. She’d have to talk to her doctors about that, because she was always uneasy after waking up. They wouldn’t do anything though, they probably couldn’t do anything. She knew what she suffered was an acceptable level of discomfort in their opinion, even it wasn’t in her eyes.
Meghan remembered she agreed to be Aaron’s victim for his exam. She felt a slight panic rise at that but she thought logically. She knew it was a good thing to do for him, she knew she’d enjoy it, and it would be something different. She certainly couldn’t afford a massage herself. After putting her thoughts in the right context she realised she was worried about getting up so early. She hated getting up in the mornings, her sleep cycle was too wild, there was no guarantees with it. She knew she needed to work hard at managing her sleep cycle in the days before his exam. She didn’t want to let him down.
She was tidying the apartment when her phone beeped with a text from Hayley.
“I’ve offered your services as an archery coach,” she said.
“No! You know I’m not good being put on the spot.”
“Too late, I already told him you agreed. He’s giving you a massage next Thursday in return.”
Meghan’s chest fluttered. She thought maybe he asked for her to coach him. Maybe he wanted to see more of her. She didn’t want to ask Hayley if he asked for her or if she suggested Meghan would do it. She went over her texts again, “I’ve offered your services...” Maybe it was just Hayley trying to set them up. Meghan surprised herself knowing she was perfectly fine if that was Hayley’s plan.
***
Torment’s End is the second standalone short in the Grant's Bar Nights series.
To buy Torment’s End browse to Amazon.com. Torment’s End is available an Amazon and on Kindle Unlimited.
Did you love To Love a Way of Life? Then you should read Bad Boy, Tough Woman by Natalie Hart! Bad Boy, Tough Woman is the third standalone short in the Grant’s Bar Nights series.
Mark is a bad boy, or at least he thinks he is. He spends his nights drinking, and sometimes fighting. Most of his nights are spent with women but he’s never had a girlfriend long enough to fight with her. He enjoys himself even if it means spending his days battling a hangover. Then Mark sees Lucienne in Grant’s, his local dive bar, and he’s ready to work his charm.
Lucienne was a bad girl, even if she wouldn’t admit it. She’s tough and regularly drank the men under the table. Now she’s devoted to her career. She works on a paediatric’s ward; the cases can be tough and sometimes she likes to blow of a little steam.
Lucienne likes Mark, but she’s not going to make it easy for him. Will Mark’s bravado work its charm on her? Or will the tough Lucienne beat back Mark’s bad boy ways?
Bad Boy, Tough Woman is available at Amazon.com and for Kindle Unlimited.
***Bad Boy, Tough Woman is the third standalone short romance in the Grant’s Bar Nights series. It follows the regulars of Grant’s, a dive bar with loyal customers, (mostly) friendly patrons, and a selection of beers for every taste.***
Read more at Natalie Hart’s site.
Also by Natalie Hart
Grant's Bar Nights
Dive Bar Heat
Torment's End
Bad Boy, Tough Woman
Watch for more at Natalie Hart’s site.
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About the Author
Natalie Hart is a 30something author living in Ireland. She lives with a flatmate who is equally unlucky with love. Natalie likes strong beers, even though they’re bad for her. She listens to everything from math rock, to black metal, to 60’s psychedelia and film soundtracks. Natalie likes to cycle and her dream is to spend a summer peddling her bike around Europe with a tent.
Natalie’s first publication is Dive Bar Heat. The second novel and follow up in the Grant's Bar Nights series is Torment's End. Bad Boy, Tough Woman is the third in the series.
Read more at Natalie Hart’s site.
