Mallory
Sitting in the truck, staring out the window as the scenery flies by, I contemplate the past few days. Being blindsided by his sister was not expected. I’d had no idea Jason had told her anything about me, much less that I had been in an abusive relationship. And it pissed me off the hell off. I didn’t want to talk about something so personal with a stranger. Then she broke out the wine. After a few glasses and some well-placed questions, the words came pouring out of me. And it was cathartic. It helped to know she had been in a similar situation when she was my age, and it amazes me how she overcame that relationship and thrived. Her recovery, both physical and mental, had driven her to go back to school to become a psychologist with a focus on helping other abuse victims. It also helped her meet the love of her life, Max. Max was in the Marines. They had been married for two years when they had Emma. Emma was the light of her momma and daddy’s life. But proving life’s not fair and fate can be a cruel bitch, Max was killed in action on his last tour in Afghanistan. In a heartbeat, she was a widow with a four-year-old little girl who didn’t understand why her daddy wasn’t coming home. She’s so strong, unbelievably so, and it makes me want to be that strong too. She told me how beneficial counseling was for her recovery. During the abuse, she felt weak, helpless, and stupid. She couldn’t even think for herself. He told her what to wear, what to eat, who she could be friends with—all under the guise of love. He knew what was best for her. Someone she was close to recognized the signs, encouraged her to leave. But, like me, it took her months before she built up that courage. Unlike me, she didn’t get the hell beat out of her the day she tried.
The choices I’ve made keep running through my head. Why did I stay? Why didn’t I call the cops on his sorry ass? Why did it take me so long to decide to leave? Looking back now, I can’t fathom the reason. If it were now, I hope I would have left his ass at the first sign of trouble. But as they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty.
The only stop we make on the way home is at Buc-ee’s. No matter how I feel, this place always brings a smile to my face. While Jason’s fills up his truck, I head inside to use the restroom and grab some snacks. As always, when I walk in, I’m in awe. After grabbing a couple drinks, and sweet and salty snacks, I reach the checkout just as Jason comes through the door. Glancing at the stash in my arms, he smiles and shakes his head, then walks toward the back of the store. By the time I’ve made my purchases, he’s returned to my side. He takes the bags from my hand and opens the door for me. Climbing back in the truck, we get back on the road for the three-hour long trip back home.
My head hits the window, jarring me from sleep. Sitting up in my seat, I rub the side of my head to relieve the sharp pain.
“Sorry, Mal. Hit a pothole. Nowhere to dodge it in this construction.” His voice is contrite.
“It’s okay. Are we already in Dallas? I can't believe I slept that long. I’m a bad traveling partner,” I say around a yawn so wide, my jaw cracks.
“I think you just crashed after all that sugar you had.” He chuckles.
Glancing in the sack, I realize he’s more than likely right. There are remnants of gummy bears, peach rings, and cherry sours in the bag along with the empty Dr. Pepper bottle.
“You could be right.”
After a few minutes, we arrive at our exit. Jason smoothly navigates across the traffic and takes the ramp. Ten more minutes, and we are pulling into his designated space. As soon as I start up the stairs, I pick up my pace, my bladder screaming. I hadn’t realized how bad I had to pee until I stood and started moving. I hurry through opening the locks and make a mad dash for the bathroom as Jason's laughter follows me.
After washing my hands, I walk back out into the living room. My bag is sitting on the couch, but Jason is nowhere to be seen. Hearing a door shut in his apartment, I feel a pang of disappointment he’s not here. After grabbing some pajamas, I get in the shower and let the hot water help relax my tense muscles. Moving through my shower routine by rote, I finish quickly. Blow-drying my hair, a sound draws my attention. Turning off the machine, the noise returns, and I move toward the door as knocking registers. Looking through the peephole, I smile and open the door. Jason walks in carrying two pizza boxes, and the smell of garlic and pepperoni invades my space.
“I figured one last hoorah of eating crap before I start back on my usual eating plan. I figured you wouldn’t mind sharing it with me.”
“Of course, I don’t mind. Come in. Just put it on the table. We can find something to watch.”
“Anything in particular?” he asks, placing the boxes on the table.
“Will you see if I recorded The Conjuring? I can’t remember if it’s already recorded or will be in the future.”
“A horror movie?” Surprise lights his face.
“You don’t like horror movies?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think girls did. I always thought guys suggested scary movies because it gave them a chance to get their hands on the girl.”
“I could see some young punk trying to make a move on the scared girl.”
“Hey now.”
“Now, me, I happen to love scary movies, and I don’t need some big, strapping guy to protect me.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” he answers, laughter in his voice.
“Find the damn movie. I’ll get the food.”
Loading up plates with pizza and wings, I grab a couple bottles of water out of the fridge and tuck them under my arm. By the time I make it back to the couch, he has the movie keyed up, and the opening scene is starting. With rapt attention, I become engrossed. At certain times, I lean toward Jason and hide my face in his shoulder. When the final credits roll, I glance up to find Jason smiling down at me.
“Don’t need protection, huh?” he asks with a smile.
“Shut it. That was great.”
“It was pretty good. Not that cheesy horror crap.”
“I like that cheesy horror crap, too.”
“Lord help me.”
Punching him lightly on the arm, I mutter, “Butthead,” and he just laughs.
“You pick something else to watch since you don’t like scary movies. I need more pizza. You want anymore?”
He nods and hands me his plate while he scrolls through the channels. Jason’s finds The Hangover and the ridiculousness that is Zac Galifianakis.
The pillow under my head shifts and I snuggle in deeper. Moving again, my eyes fly open, realizing I’m not lying on a pillow, I’m snuggled into Jason’s side. Pushing away from him while trying not to wake him, I stand as he makes a little snuffling noise and buries himself into the couch cushion. Pulling the throw from the back of the couch, I lay it over him and tread quietly into my bedroom. The bed feels too soft after being pressed into Jason's side. Rolling over on my stomach, I close my eyes, wishing I was still on the couch.
Waking up the next morning, it’s apparent Jason already left. There’s no noise coming from the living room, which tells me he turned the television off. Glancing at the clock, it’s later than I initially thought. After taking care of my morning business, I walk into the kitchen to make some coffee. Sitting next to my Keurig is a small white and green box with a delicious smell wafting out. Hot freaking donuts. I snatch the note from the top of the box and read it.
You were sleeping soundly when I woke up. Grabbed you some junk to eat. Enjoy these and think about me slaving away at the gym this morning. They were hot when I dropped them off.
P.S. Coffee’s ready to go, just hit the button.
Jason
Pushing the button to start brewing the nectar of the gods, I open the box and pull one of the warm, sticky-sweet treats out. The bite melts in my mouth. God bless the man for buying me half a dozen of these babies. Coffee and donuts—the breakfast of champions. After downing four of the donuts and two cups of coffee, I get dressed in a blue t-shirt and leggings and start cleaning my apartment while jamming out to P!nk. By the time I finished with the bathroom and picked up my bedroom, I ran through my whole P!nk playlist and scroll to Maroon 5. Dancing my way into the kitchen, I start wiping down the counters and shaking my ass. “Sugar” comes on, and I break out my sexy dance moves, using the broom as my prop. It becomes my microphone and stripper pole. As I spin, Jason leaning against the wall with the goofiest grin on his face comes into view and I rear back, my hand clutching my chest as the broom clatters to the floor.
“You scared the crap outta me!” I gasp, my heart hammering against my ribcage.
“I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I was worried. I hollered when I opened the door, but you didn’t hear me.”
“I had the music turned up. You could have let me know you were there, though. Jeez, you about gave me a damn heart attack.”
“And miss the show? Not a chance in hell. You’ve got some pretty good moves there.”
My face heats up thinking about what he saw me doing. He always seems to catch me at my worst.
“I was just cleaning up,” I say, picking the broom up and placing it against the wall.
“I think you have more fun cleaning than I do. Have you gotten your therapy exercises in for today?” Jason walks to the refrigerator and gets a bottle of water for each of us. Settling back against the counter next to me, he twists the lid off the bottle.
“No, not yet. I was going to take a breather after I finished cleaning and do them then. I thought I would head to the gym here and get a workout in. Lord knows after the way I’ve been eating the last few days I need to work some of these calories off.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone as small as you eat so much. I think you eat some guys I know under the table.”
“I’ve always had a super high metabolism. I continued eating like a teenage boy for years. When I was young, it was very hard for me to gain any weight. I had to eat several times a day just to maintain my weight. I still have to eat a lot of calories a day not to lose. I just make smarter choices, most of the time.”
“I bet that was hard growing up.”
“It was. I got picked on a lot in high school. They always called me a boy. And forget about getting any attention from the guys. I may as well have been invisible.”
“I don’t think anyone would mistake you for a boy now.”
Glancing down at my chest, I would have to agree. “These didn’t grow in until the summer after graduation. I got plenty of attention then, and I soaked it all up. That got me called all kinds of other names. Funny thing was, I stayed a virgin until my sophomore year of college. But I was a slut long before that according to the girls I went to high school with.”
“I never understood how girls could be so mean to each other.”
“Society makes us this way. They put out there how girls are supposed to look and act. And they try to live up to the impossible standard. Models on the covers of magazines are photoshopped. They can’t even live up to those standards. We break each other down to make ourselves feel better when it should be the other way around. I think the world would be a better place if everyone just built each other up.”
“Amen to that.” He lifts his water bottle in salute. “How do you feel about shooting a gun?”
“Where the hell did that come from?”
“I was just thinking.” He rubs his hand across the back of his neck. “If you learned to shoot and were comfortable with a gun, you could get your license to carry and might feel safer when I’m not here. We’re going out on a longer tour in January, and I want you to feel safe.”
“I can shoot. My dad used to take me before I went to college. It has been a few years though, so it might be a good idea for a refresher course.”
“I know a place we can go tomorrow if you want. Do you have a gun?”
“No, I don’t. I guess I’ll need to get one.”
“What did you shoot before?”
“Dad had a nine-millimeter and a thirty-eight. I’ve shot them both.”
“We can go shopping this afternoon if you want. Pick something out. I have a nine-millimeter and a forty-five, but they may be a little large for you.”
“Sure. Holler at me after a while and we can head out.”
And that’s how I found myself to be the new owner of a purple gripped .380. Jason and I headed to the gun range after lunch the next day. We set up the target, loaded the guns, and proceeded to breathe in the scent of gunpowder. The weight of the gun in my hand was a familiar memory, and brought back good thoughts of my dad. The ricochet of the gun was a comforting feeling, knowing I would be able to defend myself. Jason was impressed with my aim, especially since I hadn’t shot in several years. I hit the center of the target more than I missed, but of course, he had to show off, grouping his shots perfectly without one stray bullet outside the center. Bastard.
“Damn, girl, you weren't lying when you said you could shoot. I saw a flyer on the wall for a class. We need to call and get you set up to take it. Sometimes there’s a waiting period.”
Grabbing a card attached to the flyer, I called on the way home. Before we pulled into the parking space, I was scheduled to test.