Chaos and Control

by Season Vining

  I take a seat in the chair next to her bed and lay my hand over Bennie’s. “So, our parents only show up during catastrophes? That’s comforting.”

  “I’d hardly call this a catastrophe, Wren. I’m tired. That’s it.”

  “Whatever. They’re jerks. They didn’t even acknowledge Preston,” I say, gesturing to the quiet man behind me. “I just don’t understand them, Ben. If they’re not preaching at me, they’re ignoring me.”

  “It could be worse, kid.”

  “It was worse, and you know it.”

  Bennie nods, and her gaze drifts to the window. “Well, we made it to adulthood. That’s a blessing.”

  I sigh and squeeze her hand. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Much better. Just ready to sleep in my own bed where people don’t wake you up every hour to check your vitals.”

  Bennie bitches and complains about being tied to her bed—which she isn’t—until they let her leave. The trip home is quiet, and after we park, Preston helps get Bennie upstairs and into the apartment. She waves us both off and goes to lie down in her room.

  “You work tonight?” Preston asks as I drop Al Green onto the turntable. The gentle melody fills the room.

  “Yes. What are you doing tonight?” I take a seat on the sofa and pat the space next to me. Preston looks a little uncomfortable but takes a seat anyway.

  “Work in my shop upstairs.”

  He’s wearing that plaid shirt again, the one with the pearl snaps that hugs his shoulders and biceps so well. Just one quick pull, and that shirt would come apart in my hands.

  “Wren?”

  My eyes shoot up to meet his, and I realize I’ve been wordlessly staring for a while. Heat floods my cheeks as my teeth scrape over my bottom lip.

  “Sorry. I’m zoning out.”

  His brows furrow, and now Preston is the one staring. “Please stop doing that.”

  “What?”

  “Your lip. It drives me crazy.”

  I smile now and get up on my knees, scooting closer. “Good crazy or bad crazy?”

  “I’m not sure I can tell the difference anymore.”

  Preston’s large hands grab my waist as I throw one leg over his lap and straddle him on my sister’s sofa. He gives me that sly smirk that I love.

  “This is my favorite shirt.” I trail my hands from his shoulders to the bottom hem.

  He looks down at his chest and back to me. “What’s so special about it?”

  Giving Preston my most innocent smile, I yank on the two sides of his shirt and am perfectly satisfied by the pop, pop, pop of the snaps coming undone. He sucks in a breath at my bold actions. My fingers travel over the planes of his hard chest where I circle his nipples without actually touching them. Preston’s intense gaze follows my movements.

  “What are you up to?”

  Firm muscles twitch beneath my fingertips as I navigate my way over the ridges of his abs down to the low waistband of his jeans. The delicious V of his hips disappears beneath the denim, and I want to trace those lines with my tongue. I don’t just look at him with my eyes, I see into him. My entire body is hyperaware of him—his skin beneath mine, his breaths coming quicker, the smell of his shampoo, the way light and shadows curve around muscles.

  “You are so beautiful, Preston.”

  Instead of words, Preston responds with actions. His hand wraps around my neck as he pulls me down to meet his lips. There is no introduction kiss, instead he immediately slides his tongue into me, dominating. I can’t control the whimpers that escape my throat. I am at his mercy, and I can tell Preston likes it this way.

  The scruff of his short beard scrapes against my chin, but I love the feel of it. That, along with his demanding mouth, has me grinding down on his lap. I can tell Preston appreciates this by the growing hardness there.

  “Wren, you have your own room for this.”

  Preston and I break apart and turn to find Bennie standing in her doorway. She’s wearing her favorite pajamas and an evil smirk. I hop off his lap as Preston stands and adjusts his crotch behind me. Bennie raises one eyebrow.

  “Uh. Sorry, Ben,” I say, pulling Preston into the kitchen.

  “I’ve got condoms in my room if you need them,” Bennie yells when we’re out of her sight.

  “Shit,” Preston says while fastening his shirt snaps. “That was embarrassing.”

  “That wasn’t so bad. Bennie has caught me in much more compromising positions.”

  Preston frowns and smooths down the front of his shirt. “I don’t want to know.”

  “Okay, okay.” I hold up my hands. “I won’t say a word.”

  “Well, I better go,” Preston says, nodding toward the door.

  “You don’t have to leave. We could continue this in my room.”

  He shakes his head. “You’ve got to get ready for work, and I need to…”

  “Handle this problem yourself?”

  Preston chuckles and plants eight kisses on my lips. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Tonight.”

  A giant on a child’s swing

  I give in

  Pushing off, kicking up

  I am soaring

  Her smile returns

  Hello old friend

  It lights up the night

  A firefly

  Demands to kiss her

  I comply

  Lips and chains

  Excite me

  - Preston

  Chapter Seventeen

  Get Nervous

  “Preston and I did just fine on our own yesterday, Bennie. You don’t have to be here.”

  She shoots me a look and flips the sign over to open. “I’m very capable of working in my own store. I’m okay.”

  “Fine.” I blow the overgrown bangs from my eyes. “But you will sit in this chair,” I say, pointing to the one behind the register. “And stay at the front counter. Preston and I will deal with customers.”

  “I will do what I damn well please,” Bennie says, glaring.

  I throw my hands on my hips and shake my head. “Stubborn.”

  “I prefer the term strong-willed.”

  “Everyone’s a critic of my choice of adjectives,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  With a satisfied smirk, Bennie takes a seat in the chair, and we both ignore the fact that she did exactly as I asked. I pull a bottled water from her small fridge under the counter and set it next to her. She doesn’t acknowledge it.

  “Stay hydrated and off your feet, strong-willed.” I leave her with her magazine and water.

  In the afternoon, we get a steady stream of customers. Some are looking for furniture, some for music. Preston and I take turns helping them while we keep Bennie at the register. I can tell she’s annoyed, but I don’t care.

  A group of guys around my age comes in. They’re loud and look a little lost. Preston keeps his distance and a close eye on them while rearranging furniture in the back of the store. I can tell from the set of his stiff shoulders that he is uncomfortable with their rambunctious behavior. I decide to see if I can hurry along their shopping.

  “You guys need help finding something?” I ask.

  “Actually, yes,” a tall guy with shaggy brown hair answers. He gives me a once-over—the kind that’s supposed to be inviting—but it just makes me feel dirty. “We’re looking for some eighties music for a throwback party we’re having tonight.”

  “You want hair bands, punk, or pop?” They look at each other and shrug. “Come, boys. Let me take you to school.”

  I lead them over to the second aisle and skim through the stacks. When I see a record they need, I pull it out and flip it over my shoulder.

  “You’ll need this.” I pass them the quintessential eighties pop album, Michael Jackson’s Thriller. “And this.” Journey’s Greatest Hits follows. “And definitely this.” I hand them Poison’s Look What the Cat Dragged In, along with a few more necessary records.

  When I’m done, I turn to find them divvying up th
e stack. Three of the guys head toward the front to pay, while Shaggy Hair lingers behind. He gives me a goofy grin, and I know what’s coming next.

  “You seem like a down girl. You want to come to our party tonight? We could continue my music education.”

  I grin, but shake my head. “Sorry. I have to work tonight.”

  “Oh,” he says glancing toward the front of the store. “Are you guys open late?”

  “Not here,” I clarify. “I’m a bartender at The Haystack.”

  “Oh,” he repeats. “That’s too bad. Maybe another time. Thanks for the help.”

  The guy jogs away to catch up with his friends, and I busy myself with straightening the stacks. I can feel him before I see him. Preston’s presence is not subtle.

  “Hello, Preston-who-eavesdrops-on-conversations,” I say without turning to face him.

  “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need any help.” His deep, possessive voice sends chills racing across the back of my neck. Every inch of my body is aware of his nearness.

  “I know music, and I know this job.”

  “I didn’t mean help with music,” he clarifies.

  The door chimes, and I know our customers have left. I spin to find him only a few inches away. His intense eyes challenge my easygoing attitude.

  “I know boys, too. I can handle them.”

  “You seem like a down girl,” he says, mocking Shaggy Hair.

  I’m about to respond to this when we’re interrupted.

  “Wren!” Bennie yells. She’s speed walking down the middle aisle, waving something. She lowers her voice when she gets closer. “Wren, this came for you.” Her face is worried, and she’s panting. “It’s from him, isn’t it?”

  “From who?” Preston asks.

  I take the envelope from her and look at my name and address scrawled on the front. It is from Dylan. The contents are bulky and strange between my fingers. I hold it at arm’s length, unsure if I even want to open it. But I know I have to. Even with my pulse pounding and the panic in my head, I’m aware of Bennie’s and Preston’s eyes on me.

  I turn my back to them and clutch the envelope to my chest. Squeezing my eyes shut, I find the strength to tear it open. I turn the envelope over and out slides a necklace. The charm lands in my hand, and I recognize it immediately.

  “Here, baby. I got you something,” Dylan said. His voice was sweet. It was the voice he used after he had gotten violent. I think it was supposed to soothe me, but it only reminded me of the bruises left on my arms.

  I didn’t look at him, but stared out the kitchen window. I abandoned the dirty dishes and my hands sat idle in the soapy water.

  “Baby.” I didn’t respond. Instead, I blinked away tears before he could see them.

  “Wren.”

  Dylan’s body pressed into my back, and his hand appeared in front of me. Dangling from his fingers was a necklace. The charm was a bird in a cage.

  “You like it?” he asked.

  I nodded my head.

  “Good. That’s you, baby. My little bird.”

  Dylan draped the necklace around my neck and fastened it. His thick, rough fingers traced the line of the chain until his hand was wrapped lightly around my throat.

  “My little bird in her cage. She won’t fly away.”

  “He gave me this,” I say, turning to show Bennie. “I left it behind when I ran.”

  “Ran?” Preston asks. There is an urgency to his question.

  “It’s a birdcage,” Bennie says.

  “A wren. Locked away,” I clarify.

  Fear sinks through me, pulling me down to the floor. I drop the envelope and pull my knees against my chest. The pendant sits heavy in my grip, the edges cutting into my palm. I stare at the empty envelope, trying to decipher his message. I want to believe that he is just returning a gift, but I know better. This is a warning.

  “What did you run from?” Preston asks, his voice louder and more demanding now.

  I look up to find Preston’s beautiful face contorted. His brows are low over each eye, a deep V appearing between them. The muscles of his sharp jaw twitch. I open my mouth, but can’t find the words.

  Internal noise makes it hard to concentrate. My pulse is pounding like thunder in my ears. Memories of bruised ribs and Dylan’s violent hands around my throat threaten to bring up my lunch. Bennie gives me a sympathetic look and turns to Preston. She tells him everything, all my dirty secrets. I should be angry with her for doing it, but I feel nothing but relief.

  I hook my finger in the collar of my T-shirt and slide it back and forth. Preston’s hands curl into fists that he presses into his thighs. The muscles and tendons of his arms tighten into cords. He shakes his head slightly as Bennie tells him how I escaped. When she finishes, Preston presses each palm into his eyes. His shaking fingers slide through his hair and interlock behind his head as he blows out a breath. He has yet to look at me.

  Bennie drops to her knees before me. She’s whispering my nickname and holding my face in her hands.

  “The phone call, the postcard, and now this. Wrenie, what does it mean?”

  I shake my head because I don’t have an answer for her. Over Bennie’s shoulder I watch Preston retrieve the envelope from the floor and study it. I wait for something, anything from him.

  “He’s probably just fucking with me,” I say to Bennie. But my words don’t sound true.

  “How dangerous is this guy?” she asks. With a silent look between us, I don’t have to give her an answer. She knows.

  I glance to Preston, standing there, still holding the envelope in his hands. His expression is all anger and worry.

  “Bennie said he’s from Buffalo,” he says. I’m confused. I nod as he hands over the envelope. “It’s postmarked from Cleveland.”

  “What?” I flip it over and read it for myself. “He’s coming,” I say. My voice cracks, and I stand quickly. Bennie scrambles to get up and takes the envelope from me.

  “We don’t know that,” she says, studying the postmark.

  “Shit,” I say. “Shit!” I run my hands through my hair and try to think. “He’s coming here.”

  “You should go to the police, Wren. Make a report. I’m sure they can do something,” Bennie begs.

  I ignore her suggestion. What I don’t need is anyone else getting involved in my mess, especially Sawyer. I took care of it before, I’ll take care of it now.

  “He’s coming for me.”

  “He’s not going to fucking touch you,” Preston says. His voice booms over the soft music in the store.

  Bennie and I turn toward him, our faces holding identical expressions of shock. Preston looks furious and a little bit scary.

  “What?” I ask. I’m not sure why I ask or what I’m questioning.

  Preston steps between us, Bennie totally eclipsed by his large form. We are so close he has to crane his neck to look down at me.

  “No one will hurt you, Wren. I swear.”

  There is a growling kind of rage in his tone, and his words sound like the truest statement I’ve ever heard. We stand there, exchanging breaths, until the current racing between us threatens to bubble over. I step back so I can clear my head.

  “I’ve got to get ready for work,” I say. My eyes stay glued to the floor as I walk past both of them, pushing through the swinging door. I take the stairs two at a time and throw myself into the apartment. I don’t cry until I’m locked in my bathroom and under the spray of the shower. Here, my tears mix with the scalding hot water and disappear down the drain.

  …

  “Coach, can you hand me two Coronas and a Miller Lite?” I slide my tray onto the bar and wait while he loads it up. “Thanks.”

  I drop off the drinks and check on my other tables before heading back to the bar where I find Sawyer parked on a barstool.

  “Hey, Wren.”

  “Officer Sawyer. What can I get you?” My eyes scan the rest of the bar, searching for his gang of cronies, but I don’t find t
hem. The confession about Dylan sits on the tip of my tongue.

  “A Stella and three fingers of Johnnie Walker.”

  I busy myself grabbing his drinks and almost drop the bottle of Johnnie when I see Angela Louise emerge from the bathroom and sidle up next to Sawyer. Dylan is forgotten, and I can’t help the smile that pulls across my face. I place the Scotch in front of him and the beer in front of Angela.

  “Thanks,” she says. Her eyes shift from me to her lap before grabbing her beer and downing half of it.

  “My pleasure.”

  “I’m just going to grab a table,” she all but whispers. Angela points over her shoulder and picks up her drink. Gone is the confident, snarky girl I talked to the other night. This one is quiet and unnecessarily nervous.

  “Okay,” Sawyer answers. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

  “That’ll be $13.” He hands me a twenty and tells me to keep the change.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

  I shake my head and wipe down the bar.

  “I can’t believe you actually listened to me.”

  “Well, it was the nice tits comment that sold me.” He gives me a grin. “No, but really, I figured if anyone would know me well enough to know what I like, it’d be you. I imagine you know me better than most of the assholes I call friends.”

  Sawyer slaps the bar and tips his glass at me before joining Angela. I smile at his back. He’s right. I probably do know him better than anyone, but he doesn’t know me anymore, not the girl I am now.

  The rest of my shift flies by. It’s last call and I head to the bathroom while Coach closes out tabs. I find Angela in the cramped space, applying a fresh coat of lip gloss.

  “Hey,” I greet.

  “Hi,” she says, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

  “How’s it going?”

  Angela spins and leans against the sink. “Umm, it’s as good as a first date can be, awkward conversation included. I mean, you assume that the guy you’ve always crushed on probably has some kind of terrible flaw or that he’s a jerk—a third nipple maybe. But Sawyer? He seems legit, pretty transparent. I don’t know about that nipple thing yet, though. Is it weird to be talking about this with you?”

  I laugh and lean against the sink next to her, bumping her shoulder with my own. “It’s cool. Who do you think told him to ask you out?”