by Ana Jolene
My head was a mess of emotions. Hell if I’d share that with her. “An arson case,” I lied. “I helped clear it up. Mind if I take a shower?”
“You sure you can get that wet?” Her face crumpled as she looked down at my injury. “It looks serious.”
“Positive,” I said as I removed the pistol tucked into the waistband of my jeans. “It’s when you can see your own bones through the tissue that you know you’re fucked.” Her reluctant smile caused my chest to tighten. She was worried about me. “Where’s your shower?”
“Upstairs. I’ll show you.”
As she led the way, I watched her ass move the entire way up the stairs. I may be injured and grieving, but not a eunuch. Sex was my usual way to deal with emotions I’d rather drown out anyway.
As I stepped into the bathroom, I turned to face her. She was far too silent and there was worry in her eyes. “Indy.” Her eyes shot to mine. Hardly anyone worried about me. That she did, I felt grateful for the first time in my life. “I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll be down in a bit.”
“Okay,” she whispered as I lowered my mouth to hers for a kiss.
When we parted, Indy bit her bottom lip and offered me a small smile. I was hard in an instant. “Towels are above the toilet,” she said before closing the door between us.
Right. Get cleaned first.
We’d work on us later.
Indy
When the sound of someone pounding on the door rattled the house, the last person I thought it would be was Hastie. I figured Seven had forgotten her keys again and was too drunk to find the doorbell. But when I checked the door and saw Hastie’s mug covered in black smudges and blood, my heart immediately leapt to my throat and my stomach bottomed out.
I knew he wasn’t telling me everything about what had happened, but I was going to find out. That burn he had on his arm looked pretty serious. He said it was an arson case, but what was he even doing there? Did Glory MC even deal with that kind of stuff? Did they get attacked?
I know it was selfish to say but, despite the disaster, I wasn’t sorry that Hastie was here right now. Between the time I left his bed and now, it gave me the time to think more on last night’s events. The hog roast had been an eye-opener. Seeing Glory MC through a clear, unfiltered lens was a surprise at first. They lived so freely and so unapologetically that it was both inspiring and scary in equal measures. Last night, I saw firsthand a part of Hastie’s life. I had always known he lived a dangerous one, but seeing it with my own eyes was startling. If I ever questioned the differences between us, then last night measured the distance and it was miles and miles.
After that I made a proposition to him, hoping that he would take me up on my offer. When he didn’t automatically say yes, it screwed with my head a little. Hastie’s reverent touches and dirty words, the way he handled my body and made me come over and over again; it was too much. I realized that I was falling hard for him and that scared the shit out of me. So I fled the scene.
It was all too surreal. We hadn’t known each other for long, and yet Hastie had managed to get under my defenses and aim true, right into my heart. I was feeling things I never thought I would. Never thought my brain would comprehend. It was scary to think that someone meant so much to me that I felt inclined to be better for them, especially when I wouldn’t even do it for myself.
Last night as I lay in bed next to Hastie, I learned that if you weren’t careful with your heart, you could accidentally break it even without ever giving it to someone. What was there to give when not even your whole self was enough to be with the person you loved?
I shook my head, trying to get the image of a wet Hastie out of my mind, knowing that train of thought would lead nowhere good. As I walked back down to the first floor to pick up his leather jacket from the couch, my eyes dropped to the pistol.
Seeing it was like a trigger. My mind sprang open and I didn’t like what I saw in it. It was dark, dreary, and desolate; a place as tangled and as dangerous as a jungle, but also as devoid of life as a wasteland.
I closed my eyes to push the memories away, but I had learned that once they were there, there was very little I could do to beat them back. Sometimes, like now, I would embrace them and let the dark, haunting feelings wash over me.
As if of its own volition, my hand picked up the pistol. Holding it felt predestined somehow. Though the weight of it felt unfamiliar in my hands, after seeing millions of TV shows, I knew how to release the safety. It felt warm to the touch after having been pressed up against Hastie’s body the whole day.
My hands didn’t even shake as I put the mouth of the gun beneath my chin. The pressure felt strange yet it was thrilling how quiet my mind became in that moment, as if it realized the threat and knew that one pull of my finger would end us both.
My eyes remained closed as I forgot myself. Mind drifting, I remembered . . .
“I can’t do this,” I said, voice panicked and strained.
“Yes, you can.”
“Seven, I can’t. What if something bad happens, something terribly wrong?”
“Just calm down. Count to ten with me.”
“But—”
“Count to ten with me,” Seven said soothingly.
I nodded, even though the coiling snake in the pit of my stomach continued to twist and curl.
I set the phone down and forced myself to take in a few deep breaths. My pulse was still spiking as my panic attack lingered. Closing my eyes, I counted. “One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . .”
“Six . . . seven . . . eight . . .” I counted now in a low whisper.
As the strong emotions associated with the memory hit me, my finger tightened on the trigger. “Nine . . .”
My eyes fluttered open.
“Ten,” I breathed.
Hastie’s voice broke through my haze. “Indy, what the hell are you doing?” I twirled around and found Hastie clad in a black pair of jeans and nothing else. Eyes narrowed, he stared at me as if he didn’t know me at all. “What the fuck were you doing just now?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I was just putting it aside so I’d have space to check your wound.” Lies often poured freely from my mouth and this time was no exception.
I handled the pistol as if it had turned into hot coal, dropping it onto the coffee table as if burned. I felt suddenly disgusted by it. I hadn’t actually planned to pull the trigger, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t fantasized about shooting myself in the head once or twice.
Sometimes, I yearned to do the reckless. Even if I knew it was bad for me, that edge made it desirable. It was like the drugs and the meaningless sex. I salivated at the sight of it, even knowing that one hit would make me crave more.
Hastie was still staring at me with a strange expression. I smiled thinly at him, trying to ignore the riot in my belly. “Sit here while I grab some aspirin and the first aid kit.”
“Fuck that, Indy.” His voice was hard and unrelenting. “Tell me what you were thinking when you held my pistol up to your head?” His eyes remained cold as ice shards.
“Why do you have a gun anyway?” I deflected.
“Protection,” he said easily enough.
I snorted. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”
Hastie moved towards me with powerful strides until he was standing before me, towering and using his intense glare to pin me into place. I felt as helpless as a butterfly caught in a spider’s web. “Don’t fuck with me, Indy. What the hell were you thinking?”
A storm of emotions hit me then. Anxiety. Anger. Fear.
But mostly fear. I didn’t want him to know. I couldn’t have Hastie looking at me differently if he knew about my disorder. I wouldn’t be able to survive it. I had kept this a secret all along, only to have to spill out like a can of beans. I knew I was about to ruin everything but I couldn’t stop it. “I said it’s nothing, Hastie. Just drop it.”
“No, tell me why. Is this some kind of sick joke to you?”
I could tell my words angered him. His eyes burned hot with fury. But I would rather die before he knew the truth about me. So I armored myself in the only way I knew how. With anger.
“Then what the fuck was that all about?” he exploded.
My own voice took on a lethal edge. “I said, drop it, Hastie. I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever.”
“What the fuck? You expect me to drop this shit?”
“Yes!” I yelled. “Sit down, shut up, and let me treat your wound. If not, then you can just leave.” The storm of emotions within me caused me to vibrate with my anger.
Hastie turned away from me like he couldn’t bear to look at me for a second longer. Running a hand through his hair roughly, he muttered, “You’re fucking crazy if you think . . .”
I didn’t process the rest of his words then, only focusing on the first half of his sentence. You hit the nail on the head there, Hastie. I am crazy.
He looked at me then, eyes filled with anger and confusion. I crossed my arms over my chest, pretending that my heart wasn’t ready to burst from my chest at any second. “Choose, Hastie.”
He shook his head and cursed violently. Then, in a movement that was too quick for me to see, Hastie punched a hole in the wall, leaving a fist-sized gaping opening. Fury rolled off him in heated waves. Before I could open my mouth to protest, he stormed off without a word. I heard the door slam shut with a furious bang. As the sounds of his heavy footsteps faded, the silence felt deafening to my own ears.
I was officially the biggest asshole. That’s two! my mind helpfully chimed in. Unless you want to count the screw-up you made when you ran from his bed this morning too. Way to go, girl. Three down, care for one more?
Despite all those errors in thinking, I still believed my burdens were my own to bear. My lapse in judgment allowed my feelings to surface, resulting in the shock I knew would happen if Hastie ever saw me in a weak moment. If this was how Hastie reacted to this, how would he react to learning about my disorder? It wasn’t as simple as turning it off whenever he was around.
Wilting like a flower without sun and water, I drooped against the wall to the floor, covering my face with my hands. This was what I wanted, right? For him to remain at a distance so that he wouldn’t see my internal scars, wouldn’t see the truth.
Then why the hell did it hurt so much to see him run away?
FIFTEEN
Show Me
Indy
After that, we didn’t see each other for days. I did my regular shifts at Neptune’s but whenever Glory MC rolled in, Hastie was never with them. I tried to ignore the hollowness in my chest the best I could by keeping busy behind the bar, but it didn’t erase the dull pain that lingered with his absence.
I kept telling myself that it was better this way. Hastie could go on living his reckless life and my secret would be kept safe. I knew I had lost any chance of being with him. I had made too many mistakes that were unforgivable. But if that meant keeping my mental disorder behind doors so I didn’t have to live as a constant victim of pity and stigma, then I would do that. Maybe it was time to just accept my fate.
Sighing, I focused on the important task of clearing more of the empties from around the bar. It was approaching closing time, which meant less people, but as long as I kept busy, I wouldn’t have to think. And if I didn’t have to think, I wouldn’t hurt. I spurred myself into motion, more than happy to get things done.
“Whoa there, darling,” Hanna said, laying a hand on my arm. She steadied me before I could topple over her. “You’re the Road Runner zipping through here so quickly. Why don’t you take a break?”
“I’m fine.” My smile was bright and cheery. All fake.
“We’re closing in fifteen. Clear the bar and then go help the rest of the guys stack the stools up so that we can clean the floors later tonight.”
Nodding, I moved onto cleaning like it was my mission. Once that was done, I walked over to Charlie, the cleaning guy, to help. He was picking up the stools and flipping them so that they lay on the tabletops. Mimicking his motions, I picked up the stool closest to me and started stacking them. Pick up and stack, pick up and stack. I was so absorbed in my work that I failed to see Charlie until I clubbed him in the head with one of the stool’s legs.
“Ow! What the fuck, Indy?” Charlie was clutching his head. His eyes shot daggers at me, his anger rising to a boiling point in record timing.
“Oh my God!” I cried when I had realized what I had done. “I’m so sorry!”
Charlie stumbled forward to clutch the end of the table and I instinctively stepped back. My ass and my hands bumped into something behind me and the next thing I knew, Hanna was cursing and the floor was covered with a sticky substance. Beer?
Whirling around, I quickly apologized, the words tumbling from my mouth so quickly I barely heard it myself. “Oh Hanna, I didn’t realize you were there. I’m so sorry!”
“What’s going on?” Seeing Charlie injured, Hanna stepped over the mess I made on the floor.
He recoiled from her, his eyes still harboring hostility that was focused solely on me. “Get her out of here!” Charlie yelled. “What the fuck is she doing here anyway?”
By then, the rest of the staff had come out to see what all the noise was about.
“I work here,” I said lamely.
Charlie’s gray eyes met mine. “Yeah, and you’ve been causing more work for me with the way you’re running around here like your feet are on fire, darting from one task to another. Do you know how hard it is to clean up after you? You talk so fast that no one fucking understands you. Half the shit you say doesn’t even make sense.”
I blinked. Did he know the truth about me? Nobody had said anything except for Hanna just now. And as for my tendency to talk really fast, I knew that would always be a problem for me, so it cut me deep when he called me on it.
“Charlie!” Hanna said with a disapproving tone. “Stop this! Indy, go on home. I can handle this. And watch your step there.” She pointed to the spilled beer at my feet.
“I can clean it,” I offered quickly.
“No, just go home and come back tomorrow, okay? I’ve got this.”
I turned as Hanna helped Charlie past me into the back room. “There must be something I can do.”
“Yes, there is,” Hanna said softly as she left. “Go home.”
I opened my mouth to say more, but I was the only person left in the room.
* * *
The next day, I gave Charlie a wide berth. I’d be lying if I said his words didn’t cut deep. People shot me pitying looks as they walked by, no doubt hearing what had went down even if they hadn’t been there to witness it themselves. I ignored them and kept busy, trying to keep my mind blank as best I could. But it was becoming hard to work when every single person you spoke to looked at you as if you were an animal that had recently escaped from the zoo.
Without even realizing it, this hypomanic phase had consumed me. Since that first night with Hastie, I’d been taking my medication, hoping they would stabilize my moods more. But sometimes it took a couple of weeks to see a difference. I had little insight into my own actions, believing them to be normal when everyone else around me could see the drastic changes. It was just another reminder of how out of orbit I was. While everyone else was here living on earth, I was in my own world, clueless to the problems but those belonging to me.
Hypomania was a seductive thing. It changed you, made you impulsive, lowered your inhibitions, and made you feel free. Yet with that liberation came the slow process of self-destruction. What happened when I stopped feeling any
thing at all?
It was late in the afternoon, and luckily, the flares hadn’t taken the power down. This had been the longest we went without any flare action. In some ways, it was good. It reminded me a lot of the time before the flares where we lived our lives without worry and the threat of sun fever. However, there was also that impending sense of doom that followed me as time went on. What would happen if the flares stopped for good? Or was there another big series of flares just waiting to unleash and take our electricity and means of communication indefinitely?
Over the music, I heard the familiar rumbling sounds of engines in the distance. My anxiety spiked as if it was a pre-conditioned response to the stimuli. I turned to Hanna who was standing behind the bar. “Are Glory coming?” It had been days since they last returned, Newt’s death keeping them occupied. Hastie hadn’t told me about his death; I had actually learned about it from Hanna and it hurt more knowing that Hastie had that weighing on his shoulders as well when we fought.
Hanna gave a little sniff, ignoring my question as she placed the more expensive alcohol on the back shelf. I shuffled quickly to her, placing my hand over the bar and repeating my question again.
She turned and met my eyes, anger lingering in the deep pools of blue. “Yeah,” she finally answered. The one word held a world of bitterness.
“Hanna, what’s going on?” I asked carefully.
Sighing heavily, the redhead settled her hands on the neck of a Jack Daniels bottle. “We’ve stopped seeing each other.”
My eyes bulged out like a cartoon. “What? When did this happen?”
“A few days ago.” Wait. Was this why Glory MC hadn’t been rolling in as often?
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Hanna shook her head, sending tendrils of red falling out of its clip where she had put it up. “I don’t need to talk about him! He’s wasted enough time in my life.” She leaned over the bar. “I’m a smart woman, you know?” She paused, looking to me. I nodded vigorously. “I’m not just one of Glory’s groupies. I’ve got a bar to run. I don’t take any shit from anyone. So I left him.”
