Ivy
I watched Creed walk out of the door, wincing as he slammed in behind himself. The wall quivered and bits of drywall and paint fell to the carpet as the force of the door slam shook the whole building. “He’s right, you know.” I wiped the tears from my eyes with the corner of my sheets, trying not to let myself fall into full, red-eyed, heaving, ugly crying. “He’s so right. I’ve been waiting here like a damsel in distress hoping someone would ride by on a white horse and whisk me back into a better life.”
But as I glanced around the apartment, already dull and dirty and ugly, it seemed to grown even more so. This is my life now. And I either need to accept it or do something to change it.
I stood up, feeling every bone in my body cry out all at once. I stiffly walked to the shower, a bittersweet half-smile on my face remembered where I’d gotten all of those bruises and sore spots from. Flashes of last night haunted my every step as I got into the shower. I wanted to cry; I certainly felt like crying, but my eyes were dry. It was hard to be mad at Creed, even if he’d wanted me so much last night and then tossed me in the morning like a rotting vegetable. He is right.
So I showered, brushed my teeth, got dressed in one of the two outfits I had left (that weren’t my waitress uniform from my old job), and walked out the door.
My feet carried me down across Sakura Street and across the park to the bus stop without me even having to think about it. It was a good thing too, as my mind was occupied with something else entirely. I boarded the bus, feeling empty except for the throbbing pain in my aching chest.
It was a ten-minute ride over to Brandy and Broad. It was a very different part of town. There were people outside, wearing designer clothing and snacking on designer street food. They walked designer pets and moved between shiny, nearly new vehicles parked right on the street. No one looked at me, no one acknowledged my presence, but I caught them eyeing my scruffy, washed out sweater and leggings.
I no longer fit in here. The quality citizens of the world wanted to pretend people like me, from over by the canal and down by the docks, didn’t exist. Sitting here and tapping their designer shoes against the sidewalk in the free time, they didn’t want to think about the people in the city that were starving to death while they talked over deconstructed sandwiches at their favorite gastropub. I was a reminder that world existed, so it was best to pretend like I wasn’t there.
Feeling invisible, I walked down West Laurel Lane, watching as soccer moms and their spoiled, iPhone-bearing kids made a wide birth around me like I had the plague.
Sighing, I glanced into the window of a dress shop, eyeing all of the lovely things I could no longer buy. There was a little black and white polka dotted thing, cocktail length with hints of red spattered across the fabric. I ached for it, just to try it on, just to touch it. But even that was out of my reach.
Continuing down Laurel, I took a left, then a right, ending up on Cherry. I didn’t want to be here, but my feet dragged me here, as unwilling as a toddler in a tantrum. I just wanted to head back to that hole of a room I’d rented and wallow. But I didn’t belong there. I didn’t belong anywhere.
Two more blocks and I was there. The little stone building was slightly off kilter; the building was nearly as old as this city and filled with history. All of its years echoed out of the building like a siren’s call. It was what had drawn me to this building in the first place. The front windows were huge, gaping black holes covered in tinted glass. The scrolling letters on the outside read: Brick and Mortar.
It was my store. The future that Janice Maypole had stolen from me only months before. I stood outside, feeling an icy breeze blow in from the south. But the cold couldn’t seem to reach me through the ice that had already covered over me, just under the surface of my skin. I watched as people flowed in and out of the store, coming out with bags and parcels and packages, oblivious to me.
“Everything will be fine, Ivy,” Janice had said, a smirk on her lovely red lips. “My credit score is better, so we’ll put this in my name, add you in later. We’ll have a great line of credit in no time.”
She’d been able to fool me so completely. Now my living, which was as popular as I’d always hoped, was out of my hands. I could still smell the fresh lacquer of the flooring as we’d moved the shelves and furniture in. I remember lovingly unpacking our first shipment of art, setting everything up on walls still scented with a pungent hint of paint fumes.
If only I had kept something of it in my name. If only I’d been smart enough to get her to sign something. If only I had proof this was all mine, something Janice wouldn’t have had access to and burn the moment my back was turned.
But there was no proof, and I was left out in the dust. I turned on my heel, forcing myself away from the glass front that should have brought me joy but had only been able to bring me pain.
If only I had the guts to do whatever I had to do to get my store back from that thieving bitch.
What Janice had done had been illegal, but I was unable to find proof left. She’d been too through in her removal of me from all of the papers. No, I had dug for days looking for receipts to prove all of the money had been mine. But everything I’d signed, all of the documentation I had collected, had all magically disappeared in a moment.
No doubt Janice had laughed out loud as she burned every last one of them.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” Janice said, her eyes glittering with malice. “I’ll take good care of my store. Now get out and don’t come back. All of this is mine. I dare you to even try to prove otherwise.”
Turning my back on that beautiful, affluent part of the city, I turned back to the docks where I belonged. I watched the world fly by from the window of the bus, watching as the roads became smaller, dirtier, and more pockmarked. I watched as the pretty, colorful flowerbeds disappeared, leaving room for trash piles and boxes filled with homeless men and women wrapped in blankets against the cold.
But I didn’t take the bus home. Instead, I headed down Main towards the Devil’s Edge.
Perhaps it was a mistake, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more I could do. So, still aching and sore from not only my rough night and even rougher morning, I tried desperately to remember where the Devil’s Edge warehouse was.
After getting turned-around twice, I finally saw something I recognized. The huge, looming building of metal seemed so ordinary on the outside. Too bad I knew from experience that this was anything but ordinary.
I glanced around several times to make sure I wasn’t being followed. My heart thundered in my chest, making my steps fall and my fingers tremble, but I pushed myself forward anyway. I knew without a doubt that unless I made a change, nothing would change. This was my only way out.
I walked around the front of the building, shivering in the chilly air. “I wish I still owned a coat,” I mourned. But I forced myself to go on; I needed to talk to Pearl. If there was anyone in the world who could help me solve my Janice problem, it would be her.
But I stopped short when I came to the door.
The heavy wooden door was broken and burned, caving inwards. The entrance now looked like a huge gaping mouth, nothing but blackness inside. My heart seemed to implode in my chest as I stumbled forward, horror choking the breath from me. Both Josh’s and Creed’s faces floated into my vision for a moment.
They could be hurt-- Before I had even completely processed the thought, I was running for the doorway. I had to know that they were okay. I had to know--
The lights were off inside of the door, and I stumbled to a halt inside of this massive darkness after the daylight. I was blinded. My vision came back to me slowly, but my view was just as dark. Most of the wooden structures were blackened as though torched. The floors splashed around my ankles; there must have been a fire sprinkler system in place.
I blinked, trying to shake off the last of the blindness from my eyes. But every second just brought into focus something worse than before. Shattered lamps and broken glass scattered across the floor. The motorcycles which had graced the clubhouse floor were either missing or in broken, battered pieces. The few people around sat in a small circle, their eyes glazed over with the memory of what this place had been.
Suddenly, the lights came on, blinding me for a second time. A collective sigh went through all of the people here as they, and I, got their first real look at the damage.
Before I could do anything else, someone grabbed my elbow. “Looks worse than it is,” Pearl’s voice said, her hands warm on my arm. I glanced back at her. She was smiling, but some of the light had gone out of her eyes. She patted my elbow and steered me away from the door, leading me past the worst of the wreckage. “We’ve been bruised up worse than this before, and I’m sure we’ll be bruised up again.”
Pearl’s curled, white hair was tied up in a messy bun, her gypsy clothes covered in dirt and lined with water. There were dark circles under her pretty eyes, and she seemed to have aged a few years since I saw her last, only the night before. Blood soaked into the leg of her pants and dribbled down the side of her face, but she didn’t seem to notice.
My eyes widened at the sight of her blood, and I could feel my heart collapsing in my chest. “Are Creed and Josh--” I choked on the last word, my voice rough even to my ears.
Nodding, Pearl’s smile lifted a little. “They are just fine, my friend. The same can’t be said for Creed’s bike. A few of the boys got banged up, but neither Creed or Josh were here when the fighting came down.”
“What about you?” I asked, pointing to her forehead. “You are bleeding?”
Pearl grinned wickedly, her eyes ablaze for a split second with fire. “Oh, if you think this is bad, you should see the guy that did this to me.”
I grinned but could feel no humor at her joke. “Who would have done something like this?”
Making a grunting noise in the back of her throat, Pearl crossed her weathered arms over her chest. “Did you forget that we’re a biker gang all of a sudden, girl? This sort of thing is rivalry. The other clubs in the area, they--” Pearl hesitated, looking around to see if anyone was within earshot. “They don’t like the Boss’s new idea of business partners,” she whispered, her pretty eyes still darting all over the room. “And Kelly had made it no secret he intends on driving every single one of the other gangs out of town with his little business transactions with the cartel.”
“Cartel?” I whispered back, just as urgently.
Pearl and I glanced across the room at Patrick’s ruined office, my eyes running over the broken, battered space with regret. “Yes. There are many people around that thing Kelly’s gone crazy. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, as an outsider, but I think you should know. This is what you are getting into, being close to someone like Creed.”
“Pearl, dammit, I told you to hold still!” Patrick’s voice howled from somewhere nearby. “You’re bleeding, you stupid bitch.”
“Pearl?” I said as all of the blood ran out of my face, leaving me feeling cold and light-headed. “Just how injured are you?”
“Injured enough,” Patrick answered, coming up beside us. He had a shiner on his face that made me wince in sympathy, but it didn’t seem to bother him. “Now, come on, Poppy, old gal. Sit down and let me tend to you.”
Reluctantly and with a lot of cajoling from both Patrick and me, Pearl finally gave up and sat down in a folding chair her husband had brought with him. I gasped when she lifted up her skirt; there was a poorly wrapped gash on her leg. “This is going to need stitches, Pearl.” I eyed the cut, watching as it bled through the half-hearted bandage.
“No big deal, girl,” she answered, her face paling as Patrick unwrapped the bandage. “No one here is better at stitches than my Patrick.”
I sat and held her hand as Patrick sewed her up, chatting with her even as I felt like running away. A sick, unhappy feeling rose in my gut every time I looked I looked too carefully at what Patrick was doing. But Pearl, despite my only knowing her for a short time, felt like a friend. I couldn’t just leave her here to suffer without anyone to hold her hand.
When it was finished, Patrick let me take care of his eye by rubbing a little Neosporin into the bruising. “It won’t do much for the swelling, but it will help with the little cuts from getting infected and might numb a little of the pain.” I rubbed the gel into his skin as gently as I could, and Patrick didn’t even grunt in discomfort as I did.
As soon as I was done with Pearl and Patrick, I turned my attention to the others.
There were twelve injured, and while I wasn’t a nurse, I’d gotten banged up enough over the years to learn basic first aid. So I helped where I could and brought food or water when I couldn’t.
It took me nearly an hour to begin to wonder why I wanted to help all of these men so badly, men I didn’t even know. But even when I couldn’t come up with a proper answer, I kept going.
There were still others left to help.