Salvage Her Heart

by Shelly Pratt

‘Are you saying I’m preoccupied?’

  ‘Well, Son, if that’s what you’d like to call it, then sure.’

  ‘What would you call it?’

  ‘Well, I’d damn say you were smitten, boy.’

  ‘Hmm, you’re a very perceptive woman, Jean.’

  ‘You don’t say. So, who is the lucky lady that she has so endeared your heart to keep daydreaming in such a fashion?’

  ‘Well…’

  I honestly think I’m about to spill my guts to Jean when the little bell above the door trills. We both turn to see who has entered the store. It’s Evie. Seeing her again is even better in reality. My daydreaming hasn’t done her justice at all. She’s lithe and graceful, and her beautiful green eyes dazzle me into producing a cheek-hurting grin.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ whispers Jean, shaking her head as she hurries off, pretending she’s suddenly forgotten something in the kitchen. Wicked woman; she’s left me completely alone and I’m suddenly tongue-tied as to what to say to her.

  Evie’s hesitant, almost a little reluctant to approach the counter, as if perhaps she has interrupted Jean and me. My smile must be welcoming to some degree, because she closes the distance.

  ‘Good morning.’ Her tone is light and earthy. You can tell she is the kind of girl who comes from money. There are no wasted words, no clipped sentences or inappropriately shortened words. She articulates each and every syllable, which makes you really concentrate on her lips as she speaks.

  ‘It is now.’ I grin back at her. She may blush, but she dips her head before I can catch it and tucks a strand of hair that fell forward behind her ear. Her hair is beautiful and silky. I can’t help but watch as she pushes it from her face. Right now, I would give anything to run my fingers through it.

  With her hair out of the way I can see her hollow cheeks. Amongst the slight spattering of freckles is a yellowish bruise across her cheekbone. I’m so shocked by the sight of it I can’t help but reach out and touch it, ever so slightly grazing her face with my rough fingers.

  She flinches at my touch, completely unsuspecting that my paws would dare. Her eyes hold mine. They plead, they beg. I want to do everything she doesn’t say out loud, but is clearly written on her face. We stand here, suspended in time by the touch of each other.

  In the corner of the deli, a tea cup smashes against the floor, dropped by a careless customer. The porcelain shatters on the slate tiles, forcing everyone’s attention to the broken china. Evie’s eyes go wild, perplexed by the breakage. Something deep within her eyes responds. It’s fear. I’m disturbed that she suddenly feels this way. I reluctantly remove my hand from the softness of her skin.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she hastily responds. ‘Can I just grab a quick coffee, please?’

  ‘You can,’ I say with a grin, ‘but only if you have it with me.’

  ‘What?’

  I wish I had a camera right now. The look on her face is stunning. She’s confused, entertained and anxious all at once. Her eyes dart away from mine, quickly scanning the footpath outside.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I just… I just can’t. I guess I’ll have to get my coffee from somewhere else.’ She turns to leave which springs me into action. She’s just about at the door when I bump against it, banging the bell in its place and forcing our bodies closer than I had intended. The sudden scent of jasmine emanates from her. The smell of sunscreen from her face completes the illusion it’s just the two of us in the middle of a field in summer. Fucking hell, how does she do this? Forget being an artist, this girl makes me want to be a poet.

  ‘Please? One cup of coffee… with me. I won’t bite, I promise.’ Her contemplation convinces me she’s ready to say yes.

  ‘One cup?’

  ‘Just one.’

  ‘Okay.’

  My grin returns, which earns me a shy one from her. While Jean cleans up the shattered china, the customers go back to drinking their coffee. I may have just got the prettiest girl on the east coast to agree to have coffee with me, but I’m by no means deluded into thinking that we’re going to have an immediate rapport. I may feel like I have a connection with her, but this girl is complex and she’s guarded. Even a friendly cup of coffee is going to seem like a bit of travail. But do you know what? I’m placing bets she’s totally worth it.

  Seven

  EVIE

  His smile melts my frozen heart just a little. I want so desperately to ignore him, refuse him, but my heart betrays my mind. It’s stupid; so, so stupid to flirt with another man. And let’s not even mention that it’s dangerous. But like a moth to a flame I keep going, knowing that in the end I’ll get burned.

  That’s the trouble with pretty men; they suck you in. They lure you into their world with hopes of bedding you. It’s the end game really, isn’t it? Sex. Perhaps Freud was on to something. If there is only one outcome for entertaining men’s affections, then why on earth am I having coffee with this man?

  I know the answer, even though there is no way I can admit it to myself without even knowing him properly. It’s because I think he’s different. He seems kind. He seems… like he knows what pain is all about, and that just makes me want to get to know him—his story.

  I’m hopeful to think that perhaps this man can actually be a friend to me and offer me some kind of escape for the execrable life I’m living now. I want all the warmth his brown eyes reflect; I want them to envelop me and hold me tight until life as I used to know it is restored.

  These are all just wishes—fantasises. How could I dare to pin all my insecurities on a man I don’t even know and hope that he can turn them into gold?

  Asking me to have coffee with him means I’m going to have to be guarded and careful. There is no use sharing anything personal because there isn’t a single thing on this earth he can do about it. So while he may seek someone to lay between the sheets with, I’m going to seize this opportunity to stave off the insatiable need I feel for companionship and friendship. Even as I think this though, I know that deep down I desire to be more than just friends with him.

  For far too long I’ve been used as an object; trodden down and made to submit to one man’s sick power trip. The inner voice screams at me, ‘No more! No more!’ For once, I want to heed it.

  ‘Just hang on a second while I make our coffee.’

  His voice is as warm as the milk he’s heating in the little steel jug. It makes my body tingle and respond unwittingly to his words. I almost feel like I should give myself a stern talking to and say, ‘Down girl.’ It makes me wonder what’s going on in his head. What does he see when he looks at me? The beaten down soul I feel; the timid mouse? Or does he see the gladiator woman I know still lurks somewhere deep inside? If ever I wanted to be a fictional character, now would be it. I’d certainly take dibs on Edward Cullen, just to see inside Grayson’s head for five minutes.

  When he pours the coffee, it’s not into the fine china the deli usually uses. He’s made use of the take-away cups and heads around the counter top to meet me.

  ‘Come on, let’s go.’ There is wild mischief in his eyes. I like it, yet I don’t. It scares the hell out of me to contemplate the unknown.

  ‘We’re not sitting inside?’ I ask as he shifts both coffees to the one hand.

  ‘Have you seen the weather today? There’s a killer sun out and you look like you could do with some.’ He doesn’t mean to insult me, but it kills me that it is so obvious that I don’t get out much.

  ‘I really don’t think I should…’ When he takes my hand in his I can almost feel the electricity that flows between us. His hands are slightly calloused—big and masculine. His skin is warm against mine.

  ‘What have you got to lose?’ he laughs. A damn lot I think but I don’t say. Instead, I bite my lip, wondering for the millionth time why I seem so intent on pursuing actions when I have no intention of facing the consequences.
Years of fight leave me. I surrender and allow him to lead the way out the back door. For this, I am thankful, because you never know when Alex’s controlling instincts take over. Several times I’ve noticed men following me around.

  ‘Just taking my break, Jean!’ he yells into the kitchen before we step out into the brilliant sunshine. ‘There, now isn’t this much better?’

  ‘You’re right, it is.’

  ‘Let’s go sit in the park while we drink our coffee.’ He tugs on my hand that he still holds in his.

  ‘Erm, you can let go of my hand now—I am coming.’

  Grayson stops abruptly and looks at me seriously.

  ‘What if I don’t want to?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘I’m just kidding!’ he says with a laugh before releasing my hand. He walks towards the park, leaving me to trail after him like a lost puppy.

  Grayson’s shoulder-length, wavy brown hair blows in the slight breeze behind him. His narrow hips are a stark contrast to his wide shoulders. When this man walks, he swaggers. There isn’t a single part of me that isn’t sold on his self-confidence. There seems to be an abundance of it in his back pocket. He settles under a shady tree and pats the grass next to him. I make sure to sit a safe distance from him—safe from the heat his body seems to radiate. I sip my coffee slowly, thankful for the beverage so that I can use it as a distraction.

  ‘So, Evie, tell me a bit about yourself.’ That, I might add, is the very last thing I want to do.

  ‘Ah, I’d rather not.’

  ‘Why not? Isn’t that what friends do? Talk about themselves.’

  ‘Who says we’re friends?’ It’s a little rude, even for me. He pays me no mind. Instead, he shuffles forward on his backside so his sitting square in front of me. His eyes beg I look at him, even though his stare burns right through to my core.

  ‘I do. You can deny it to yourself all you like, Evie, but you and I both know that we’re going to be friends.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ I whisper, almost afraid for a minute that perhaps he can actually read my mind.

  ‘Because your eyes don’t lie, Evie. If I’m being honest, which I am, I’m drawn to you. It sounds ridiculous because I hardly know you, but I think you feel exactly the same way.’ He kind of holds his breath while he waits for me to respond, staring intently at me.

  ‘Friends, huh?’

  ‘For now.’ I can see a glint of victory in his eyes. He casually sips his coffee, as though he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  ‘Well, friends get to know each other slowly. They don’t just spill their life stories all at once.’

  ‘So that’s where I went wrong in the past!’ Grayson laughs loudly.

  ‘Probably,’ I answer dryly.

  ‘Okay, I’ll stick with the basics for our first interrogation, but, for every question you pass on you have to give me a kiss.’

  ‘No way!’ I yell before he has chance to continue.

  ‘Alright, don’t get your panties in a twist. I can see that you feel uncomfortable with that. How about this? Every time I don’t answer a question, I have to give you a kiss.’ Grayson is one smug individual right now. I’m pretty sure his grin is ear to ear.

  ‘Absolutely not!’ I cry.

  ‘Why not? Seems fair…’

  ‘Because you would purposely not answer any of my questions just so you can kiss me!’

  ‘Ah-ha! So you do want to ask me questions then?’

  ‘I get the feeling I’m being played here.’

  ‘Alright, I’ll answer every single one. Shoot.’ He looks so innocent and young that I can’t help but feel playful.

  ‘Okay,’ I giggle, ‘your first ever crush?’

  ‘Easy,’ he says, ‘Betty Fitzgibbons, grade one at Pembroke Primary School.’

  ‘Seriously, Grayson? A grade one crush?’

  ‘Hey, don’t mock the answers. You asked, I told.’

  ‘Do they really still call girls Betty?’

  ‘They did at Pembroke,’ he laughs.

  ‘So what was so good about Betty anyway?’

  ‘Her pigtails; definitely her pigtails.’

  We both burst out laughing at that one. When we finally compose ourselves, he takes a turn to ask me one. ‘Now no lies, but what was the most embarrassing item of clothing your parents ever made you wear?’

  ‘Oh god! I think it would have to be grandma’s jumpers. Every Christmas she would send a hand-knitted cardigan from England and it would always have some cutesy animal on the front of it. It wasn’t so bad when you were three, but by the time I was eleven it wasn’t cool to be walking around in winter with a jumper on that had a fluffy yellow duck on the front.’

  ‘I would have loved to have seen that.’

  ‘Not on your life.’

  Just then, the back door of the delicatessen across the street flings open and bangs against the brick wall. Jean looks flustered and waves to Grayson. I look at my watch and realise it must be getting busy with their lunch time crowd.

  ‘I’ve got to go, but don’t think you’re off the hook.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

  ‘Walk back with me?’ He holds his hand out for me to take so he can pull me to my feet. I let him, and this time I don’t take it back once I’m on my feet. We walk slowly, neither of us wanting our little coffee date to end just yet. Grayson dumps our cups in the trash and turns to face me. His hand slips from mine to gently caress my cheekbone; his forehead touches mine lightly.

  I’m instantly lulled into his security. I want to sway with a drunken love, but fight desperately to stay on my feet.

  ‘Evie?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘What happened to your face? How’d you get that bruise?’ he whispers, his voice now serious and filled with concern. I sigh, hating that I can never hide from the tide of my life that just keeps sucking me back in.

  ‘Pass,’ I say, before gently standing on tiptoe to kiss his lips lightly. They are so soft and inviting that I really want the kiss to be so much more—to say so much more. Instead, I break away from the spell he’s cast over me and leave him to a life where he doesn’t know who the real Evie is. As I walk away, he calls after me.

  ‘When will you come back? Evie!’ I ignore the gentle call of his voice and keep on walking, because if I don’t, I think I would ruin our bond forever with the sickening details of my torment. Punishment and mistreatment don’t seem like anything Grayson would know a thing about, so why infect him with my dark, dirty soul?

  I keep on walking; walking all the way to the City Cat ferry so that I can traverse back to my prison. As much as I’d like to think that Grayson could be my salvation from the darkness, the reality is, my monster’s grips will never tire of holding me captive.

  I am Alex’s. He will make sure that I am his—forever.

  Eight

  GRAYSON

  ‘What’s going on in that head of yours?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I’m trying my best to sound as ignorant as possible, but by the look on Jean’s face, I’m not fooling anyone. We haven’t yet opened up shop for the day, and yet, I’m already staring out of the deli window like my life depends on it.

  ‘Well, I’m no genius, Grayson, but I’d be willing to put bets on the fact that sometime in the last month you’ve become a changed man. And by changed, I mean love-sick, which, by the way, has made your head space available anywhere but here at work.’

  ‘That obvious, huh?’

  ‘Yes, it certainly is.’

  ‘I’m not seeing anyone, although I damn sure wish I was.’

  ‘Can I offer you a piece of advice?’

  ‘Do I have a choice in the matter?’

  ‘No,’ she laughs, ‘but that is entirely beside the point. I’ve noticed since Evie came into the shop that now every time you’re working a shift, you’re expecting that little lady to come waltzing right through the front door. Heck, you’ve even started volunteering for extra shifts, which in my o
pinion is all because you’re hoping to run into her again. Am I right?’

  ‘You could be…’

  ‘You bet your arse I am. But I don’t think you’re looking at the big picture.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘She’s taken—married—hitched—or whatever you want to call it. Fact is, that woman will bring you nothing but trouble.’ I look at her sharply, giving her the best unimpressed look I can muster.

  ‘I never said I was going to date her, Jean. She’s just a… friend.’

  ‘Well if that ain’t the biggest load of bullshit I ever heard.’

  ‘She already told me she was married.’

  ‘I’m sure she did, honey. It doesn’t change the fact that you’d like to fuck her six ways ‘til Sunday.’

  ‘Jean!’

  ‘Oh, don’t get all saintly on me, son. I speak the truth and you know it, but there’s something you need to look out for with women like Evie, and that’s the baggage they carry around with them.’

  ‘Can you stop being so cryptic and come out and say what you really mean. Heck, you’ve come this far.’

  ‘No need to get testy,’ she says as she stocks the shelves in the refrigerator. ‘When Evie comes in here, what do you notice about her?’

  ‘Well, she’s shy, reserved and a little old-fashioned, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I would say, yes. But there’s something else you noticed and yet seem to be sweeping that under the rug just nicely so that little fantasy in your head can play out.’

  I’m sure by now my jaw is clenching. Damn Jean and her nosey-parker ways. Why can’t she just leave me to day dream in peace about the girl I know I’ll never get to have? The reality is I do want her—more than I’ll let on to anyone, especially Jean. I know she’s just trying to look out for me as she’s always done. Right now, though, I’m liking the fantasy just fine.

  ‘It’s the bruise on her face. Is that what you’re talking about?’

  ‘Bingo! You know, Grayson, for a smart guy, sometimes you can be a little slow.’

  ‘I’m not slow, I’m just…’

  ‘In denial?’