Broken, page 3
“Annie?” His voice broke through to my feeble train of thought. I shook my head.
Why, oh, why was this man affecting me like this?
I brought my gaze up to meet his again, and he was no longer smiling. He looked smug.
Yes, handsome, I was ogling you.
“I need to fill’er up then we’ll be on the way.”
“Okay,” I replied, a little too eager. After all, he had just caught me checking out his lips, of all body parts. I dropped my head and stared at the oil-stained pavement. I didn’t trust myself to look at him.
He laughed before dismounting the bike, and I almost lost my balance, but he caught me. “Place both feet on the ground. I’ll be right back.”
All it took was the touch of his hand and the deep timbre of his voice to bring my attention back to his enchanting face. No wonder he was on the tip of every girl’s lips in Carterville.
“Got it,” I said, and tried my hardest to hold a somewhat seductive smile.
He laughed, then turned to head into the gas station, giving me a moment to gather my bearings.
Annie López, you have screwed more men than you care to admit. Why is this guy turning you into a pile of mush? I thought.
“How old are you?” Clay asked, signaling that he was back.
“Twenty,” I answered. “Why?”
“You’re just too innocent,” he said, and stored the nozzle back into the pump.
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“Anything you say,” he said, and braced himself back on the Harley to start the engine again. “Real tight, babe,” he reminded me.
No problem, babe.
Once my arms were around his middle, he shot out into the direction I pointed.
When we got to my house, he pulled off into the front yard.
Before he even had the engine cut off, he said, “This is where you’re living?”
He had replaced the warm timbre I had heard all night with an almost angry, assertive tone.
I climbed off the bike and answered, “Yes,” before chewing on the side of my mouth.
“Since when?” he bit out, as if it was the ugliest statement he had ever said.
“About five weeks. Why?” I asked.
“Maybe you’re right and not so innocent,” he said, before gunning his engine and skidding out of the yard.
That was when the rain started pouring.
I hate rain.
It always found the most poetic time to fall, like when some bonehead dumped me on my front lawn as if I were the day’s trash.
Chapter 3
Annie López
The water stain on the ceiling had grown and seemed to extend down the wall. It didn’t care, it was just there destroying the integrity of the drywall. It had become the metaphor of my life. The boy slamming in and out of me didn’t care about my integrity and how his actions were chipping away at me. The marks left on my body made me unpleasant to everyone.
“She’s good. She doesn’t care what you do to her,” my foster-monster-brother slurred from the other side of the room.
I opened my eyes to see some burly man-boy — whose lack of personal hygiene was grossly apparent— standing over me. The joint dangling from his mouth was close to becoming a blunt and burning his lip.
“Really? Maybe, I should try her. See if she can keep up with me,” Mr. Burly said, and reached down his hand to test the strength of the ropes they had me tied with. He smiled, and the only thing holding the joint in place was one of his three remaining top teeth.
The screams woke me once again, and as always, they were coming from my own voice box.
I bolted upright in the bed and placed my hand on my chest feeling the familiar erratic beating of my heart. The screaming would always lay just at the surface. The pain, the living nightmare, was a part of me.
But I refuse to cry one tear over what those monsters took from me.
I lay in bed another hour, staring out my bedroom window. The mid-morning sun filtered down through the vast amount of cedar trees. My rental was in an established neighborhood, yet, secluded in its own small forest. A family of squirrels was dancing from branch to branch, and I could make out a momma bird feeding her young. I could’ve laid there for hours forgetting the past.
A walnut fell from a nearby tree and smashed against the window with a ding. I startled and sat up, knocked from the state of tranquility. Glancing out the window again, the idea of spending the day drawing the scene in front of me seemed peaceful, but work called, instead.
I scooted my feet over the hardwood floors, my muscles tensing with each step. A crushing, absent pounding in my chest erupted as I envisioned the disgust on Clay’s face when he saw where I lived.
I inhaled three deep breaths, reminding myself why I was even there and snapped open the shower door to turn on the water.
The world around me faded away as the spray of water took on the sound of heavy rainfall. I leaned my face back and closed my eyes, letting the water wash down my back.
Another day. A day I doubt would include any Carters. A day free from any monsters from my past.
I turned off the faucet and dried off the remaining water beading on my skin before stepping out of the shower. I picked up my uniform thrown over the edge of the tub. Too bad I needed the money because, by the image staring at me from the mirror, eight more hours of sleep was in order.
I blow dried my hair, applied a minimal amount of makeup, then slid on my ugly, black, non-skid tennis shoes and was out the door.
Thirty-five minutes later, I’d arrived at the Downtown Cafe. I was getting faster at the walking gig.
****
Clay Carter
“Time to leave, Katie,” I said, frustrated. “You know I don’t do mornings.”
Kate had been the last-minute hook-up after I flipped out on the one, I wanted to spend the night with. I had to get Annie out of my mind. I had a strong hunch she was my dad’s new sidepiece.
I slid two slices of bread into the toaster as Kate walked up behind me in a huff and placed her jaw over my shoulder.
The overwhelming scent of her perfume, my shampoo, and sex began to suffocate me. I turned and leaned onto the counter but didn’t step away, so she wouldn’t think I was insulting her.
I had a strict “no staying the night” rule, but Kate thought rules were beneath her. One of the many reasons she grated on my nerves.
“Baby, you’ll do me any time of the day.” She licked her lips.
It was getting harder and harder to do her at night… much less mornings.
Come to think about it I had only given Kate the time of day to make my mom happy — to make my mom pleased with one of my choices.
“When are you ever going to settle down? I know we’re too young for anything permanent, but I won’t stick around much longer if you don’t stop playing the part of the man-whore,” she said.
I smirked and shrugged my shoulder, letting her assume my silence was an admission that I agreed, but my silence was clarity that not in a million years would I ever commit to her.
“Bye, Katie.” I flipped around just as the toast popped up.
“Grow up, Clay, before you lose a good thing.” She grabbed her purse off the kitchen table.
I stared out the window above the kitchen sink, not looking at her. I was a horny guy, and she was hot, but I refused to give in to her and her demands. Kate had a way of making you see things her way, usually by the tricks she performed in bed.
The sound of the door slamming caused me to let out a sigh of relief. I rubbed my hand over my face before grabbing a jug of orange juice out of the refrigerator.
“Are you ever going to cut that damn hair? You look like a girl,” Dad said, as he walked into the kitchen.
I said nothing at first, simply placed the orange juice on the counter and reached up to release my hair from its tight bun then shook my head forcibly letting my hair fall around my shoulders.
“If you had a daughter, would you act like she didn’t exist too?”
Dad winced, and the pain in his eyes was more real than any emotion I had ever witnessed on his face.
Never once in my nineteen years of life had I ever seen my dad genuinely smile. Good at plastering on that fake smile when he was in front of a crowd, but the smile that came from somewhere deep inside and lit up his whole face never graced his lips. I asked him once if he had ever been happy. He told me that when he was about my age, he was the happiest man in the world… then life happened.
I couldn’t understand what life had done so bad. Most of the men around town would cut off their right testicle to trade places with him.
If you knew anything about Carterville, you knew who Wes Carter was.
The Carters were the backstory to everything concerning Carterville. At one point, my great-great-great-grandfather James Floyd Carter owned the whole 23.6 square miles that encompassed the town. In 1852, he donated some land, allowing the Chattanooga to St. Louis Railroad to have a proper station. After his kind donation of all that land, they named the train station Carterville in his honor. It beat Decherd, which was what he wanted to call the place. Decherd was the name of his prize-winning horse.
“I’m headed off for a few days.” Dad slammed an overnight bag on the table and picked up the morning newspaper.
What else was new? Dad was the county judge and farmed some land on the side, more a hobby than anything else, and nothing involving his job explained the times he would leave for days. I had often figured that was what kept my mom in bed, mourning a life she didn’t sign up for. I shrugged. Why should I defend my mom and their marriage if she never did? My parents had never argued; in fact, they simply coexisted with each other. The only time I ever saw them touch was when they had to make a show of being the perfect family.
Don’t get me wrong; they were never bad parents. Not once did they hit me or anything like that. A beating might have been easier to deal with than the idea I was an object that got in the way unless they needed to take me out and parade me around to their friends.
There were three facts about me that everyone knew — I had a father who loved power, a mother who loved herself, and a family who had more money than God. People only cared about the money. Only Granny cared about me.
I didn’t say those things to get attention either. I abhorred people that used it as an excuse for their immoral behavior. I didn’t become an asshole because my dad never played ball with me. I didn’t sleep with every girl who would willingly spread her legs because I was a Carter. I did those things because that was the person I was — I was an S.O.B. with no help from anyone.
“Hey, Dad?” I said and let out a breath of relief when he acknowledged me and turned around. “The girl, Annie López, who is living in your bachelor pad. Who is she?”
“Oh, that. Bob called your granny and said he had a girl working for him that needed a place to live.” There was a slight hitch in his voice, and I swore at the sound of Annie’s name his eyes watered. An odd reaction for someone he didn’t know. “So, the next thing I knew, she was letting her move in. You know how your granny is.”
My granny was that kind of person. She was the one who took me fishing when I was younger, there to cheer me on at all my baseball games, rocked me when I was sick, all that small stuff that every little child needed to grow up to be a productive adult.
“Granny arranged it? She’s not one of your friends?”
He shook his head and diverted his eyes. “Clay, leave Annie alone. She’s been through enough without you hurting her more.”
Dad grabbed his bag, took a giant gulp of coffee, and walked out without even a kiss my ass, much less a goodbye.
That didn’t bother me; Dad was dad. It was the idea that what I wanted with Annie had the capability of hurting us both.
****
Annie López
It was more of an involuntary curiosity than an actual willingness to work that had me looking up when I heard footsteps approaching. It was late afternoon, the usual downtime at work, and I found the only people working to be Bob and myself.
The first thing I noticed wasn’t the finely made suit the man was wearing, his red hair and thick beard, or even the slight graying around his temples, but the way the smile he had glued on his lips betrayed the rest of his face. He was hollow and trying to keep his head held high as if every day he had to work to put on a fake face. Something told me he wanted someone to understand, to recognize his loss, to be there for him. It was the kind of depression that found a way into your heart. He was the most depressing man I’d ever come across.
He approached the counter, and I could have sworn I’d met him in another part of my life. His eyes alone were as familiar as my own.
After an exaggerated and uncomfortable pause, I offered an off-the-wall greeting. “Welcome to the Downtown Cafe. Home of fried pies, hand-patted patties, and the best milkshakes this side of the Rockies. How can I serve you?”
His smile started to take on the resemblance of real emotion, and when it hit his eyes, they had a brief flash of happiness, causing me to smile in response. Everything about him confused me.
“Good morning,” he said. His voice was deep and commanding, but there was still a touch of deep grief in it. I couldn’t fathom what kind of spell he had over me, but he had taken root deep somewhere inside.
I hated the feelings I was having and wanted out of there and as far from him as I could get. Bob must have sensed how uncomfortable I was because he came from the back and had stepped between the cash register and me.
“Wes, can I help you?”
Wes’s brows creased together as he tilted his head to look past Bob and at me. “I just needed… never mind. I’ll take a strawberry milkshake.” He tapped his knuckles on the counter twice, out of nerves.
“Remember how much she loved strawberries?” Wes asked, then looked at me. “Do you like strawberries?” He reached out his hand for me to shake. “You might know my son, Clay Carter?”
No wonder Clay was a little off. Wes Carter had gone past odd into a territory all his own.
“Yes, sir.” I shook my head. “No, not really. I mean, I met him once.” I took Wes’s hand. “Annie Lopez.”
“Annie, why don’t you make Mr. Carter’s milkshake?”
Wes scratched his head as if he was wondering what was happening. I raced to the back but kept my eyes on the front of the restaurant. Bob had his hand in his always messy hair. I strained to hear what was said between them. Every word left unheard. However, their actions roared, — Wes was an unwelcome guest.
I raced to the counter and then offered Wes the cold cup. I almost jumped out of my skin when he took it, and his fingers lingered over mine. “Nice meeting you, Annie.” He handed me a ten. “Keep the change.” He raised the cup. “Bob, good running into you again.”
Bob slammed down the towel he was holding on the counter and stormed to the back without a word to either of us.
What the heck happened? I guess I should’ve counted myself lucky Clay dropped me like a bad disease.
I should have just stayed in bed with my sketchpad.
Chapter 4
Annie López
I slammed an empty tray down on the kitchen counter and took several deep breaths. Twelve-hour shifts were for the dogs. Never mind, dogs deserved better.
“What’s the matter, chickadee?” Will asked. “Is it that bad out there?”
The assignment board had a dining room marked in red by my name.
I managed a nod and pasted on a smile. Will was direct, and I thrived on direct; it took the guesswork out of the equation. He walked up beside me, and I placed my hand on his broad shoulder.
Bad move.
Will had been trying to get me to date him since I first started working. It wasn’t a great idea. It had nothing to do with his physical appearance. Will passed as good-looking, with a mop of brown curls that fell over his shirt collar. His eyes were green, not any special green, but they always held an extra sparkle, kind of like he was hiding some magical secret. His body although fit was nowhere near the build of Clay Carter.
Oh, hell, how did his name come into the equation?
I was not about to compare every guy to Clay.
The main reason I wouldn’t go there with Will was that he was Bob’s nephew, and Bob had been one of the few who had shown me any kindness since I moved to Carterville.
Will blew his hair off his forehead and looked down at me, as if he was deciding if things were changing between us. I moved my hand.
“Have you heard the old saying, I used to like people, but people ruined that for me,” I said, trying to switch his train of thought.
Will placed two drinks on a tray and handed it to me. “Hope I’m not lumped in the ‘I hate people’ group.”
I laughed. “You’re one of the very few I like,” I said, and balanced the tray on my shoulder. “Which table?”
“Table two,” he answered, and elbowed me in the side.
“Be careful. I can still put you in the ‘I hate people’ group.”
I pushed the kitchen’s swinging door open with my backside. I hated waitressing, but I still rocked it.
Faking the act of confidence had never been my issue; I was full of it as far as the world could see. That was until I flipped around and saw them: Clay Carter and Kate Armstrong sitting at table two. It threw me for a loop. Not sure if it was the fact he was on a date or the fact he was there at all.
Sweat dripped down my back as I shook my head and started toward his table, still not sure why I was upset over Clay having a date. He let me know I was disposable. Another fact I learned all too well growing up in the foster system.
I had concluded that Clay would never be more than a fantasy to me… a nightly, highly effective fantasy.
