She hadn’t seen him in awhile; then again, “awhile” to her was in all reality only a week. She didn’t want to see him. Just the thoughts of being in his presence made her body go numb. She felt powerless when she was with him. He always seemed like a lion ready to pounce and sink his razor sharp teeth into her when she said the wrong thing. And even now, when she had gotten away from him, he made her feel uncomfortable.
Yet, she felt she was supposed to impress him. She fluffed her hair and pressed together her lips, making sure her Velvet Rose lipstick was evenly spread around. She had chosen that color to match her red hair: color 97. She colored it that color only because he said he liked it. He liked it only because his favorite number and his racing number were 97. She hated it now and even thought about shaving her head so that the color would no longer be a remembrance of him.
She had almost chickened out in doing this, but her best friend said she had to tell him. She knew she had to- she had no choice. She owed it to herself to tell him. But she wasn’t going into this blind; she hadn’t forgotten what he had done to her or put her through. She still had every scar from his fists to remind her of him every day.
He’d be there too. She knew it. It was a trashy place down town. Somewhere with a completely opposite feel to it rather than the place they had met. He had been into these trashy places. The kind where half the lights in the sign were out, and if one hadn’t happened before she got there, a bar fight soon would take place. She didn’t have to look for his car, because he would be there. It caught her eye though, the shimmering of the blue paint and the silver flames jumped out at her as if to mock her as she walked by. He had probably just waxed it. He loved that car: a 1969 Ford Maverick that had a leaky roof and torn apart interior because he was more infatuated with the exterior.
There he was, by the bar sipping his Corona and lime as if he owned the place. Sitting on a bar stool with his hand on his tight jeans that hugged his tall scrawny legs, and his plaid button-down farmer shirt that in all honestly he looked absolutely gorgeous in.
He was surrounded by his usual cloud of smoke. She stayed by the door- she couldn’t inhale that in her condition. It was a fragile situation. So she waited until he noticed her.
When his eyes caught a glimpse of her, she could almost see him foaming at the mouth. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he said. His clothes smelled as if they were washed in tobacco and his breath smelled like beer. His words were toxic.
She wasn’t giving into his fake boyish charm. “You didn’t want to anyway.”
“I did. You look great.”
“You didn’t. You don’t care if I am even alive. And I didn’t come here to fish for compliments. Stop trying to win me over- we’ve already been there, and I am not going back again.”
“Why you here then?” He seemed to give up on trying to impress her quickly and she was correcting his grammar in her mind.
“I need to tell you-“
“Nope, don’t care.” He cut her off like a slap to the face.
“I know. You never did. You know I am stubborn though. So I will…”
“Tell me.”
“I was going to.” Seconds seemed like years as they passed. She fumbled for the words that wouldn’t make him mad, but nothing seemed to fit together right. This was fire and dynamite she was playing with and any wrong word could lead to a deadly explosion. “I can’t. You said you’d throw me down the stairs if I ever told you this.”
“You have got to be kidding me!” His jaw dropped the same time his beer slipped out of his grip and shattered on the floor. She could almost see the steam coming out his ears and nose. His head looked like it was going to spin off like a tornado. She felt the cold liquid of his beer on her shoes.
“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be-“
“You never mean anything.”
Why was she apologizing? This wasn’t just her fault. It takes two to tango, that is what her mother always said. But, “I am sorry” just kept coming out of her mouth like word vomit. She sobbed in front of him like a baby. Her tears running into her mouth and leaving a salt after taste, this was a taste she could relate to when she was around him.
“You’re not sorry! You never were for anything! And didn’t you learn your lesson from me about crying?” He raised his hand like he was going to slap her, but instead he grabbed her hand in his. “Your palms are sweaty.”
“They’ve been like this since I found out.” She yanked her hand away with a how-dare-you-think-about-touching-me look on her face. “But what do you care? You want to throw me down the stairs, right?”
He rolled his eyes as he lit another cigarette. “Better yet…” he had no emotion. He was empty inside. “There is a bridge nearby. Want to go for a walk?”
She didn’t laugh; he was smirking, but she didn’t laugh. “I knew you couldn’t be civil. What kind of role model would you be? I’ll deal with this myself. I don’t need you- I never have.”
“C’mon baby, don’t be like that. Stop walking away from me.” He almost sounded sincere.
“No, I should keep going. I will not be your puppet to any further extent and I am not only protecting myself anymore.”
