He’s so familiar, and yet so foreign. I’m not quite sure how to understand him, or even read him. He seems cold, uncaring, and his actions dictate that.
Why did he help me?
Why did he feel the need to help me?
He doesn’t seem like the caring type.
He leans on the bench, dressed in his black suit, sipping his coffee. He doesn’t speak to me when I sit across from him, his beautiful eyes don’t even land on me. I stare at him longer than necessary, taking him in, drinking him in. He’s someone who’d turn heads, but you’d be afraid to walk up to. He looks me up and down, from my feet to my head, stopping there and staring at me. Assessing me maybe? It makes my whole body sing, his eyes on me.
“Do you want to know?” I manage to squeak out, trying to break whatever it is that’s happening here.
Twitching in my chair, I don’t want to tell him. I feel like I owe him an explanation as to why I’m the way I am, and that I’m not usually this way, never have been. Until him, until the man that destroyed me.
He continues to sip his coffee, reading the paper, totally ignoring me.
“I was in love once,” I whisper. At first I think he doesn’t hear me, or perhaps he’s continuing to ignore me, but when I look up his eyes are on me. Tight, zoning in on me. He seems angry, and then replaces it straight away that you would miss it if you weren’t looking closely. His straight demeanor is back.
“I met him when I was eighteen, and he was my world. He promised me things, gave me things. I believed everything he said. He was good…” I let that last word hang on the edge of my tongue. It feels odd to say that about Roger. He’s anything but good now.
“You became a druggie and a prostitute because of a man?” His lip twitches, like he thinks I’m being ridiculous. It makes me angry. How can he assume to have those thoughts of me? He has a right to, though, to say it to me like that. Hurts more than I will admit to.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done, I’m going to leave now.” I stand, placing on the shoes that his brunette left for me and walk to the door. I want to look back, to see those eyes, that beard, that hair, that body one last time. I choose not to and simply walk out.
He doesn’t say anything. I expected something, but got nothing. Not even a goodbye. I feel so angry at him, I just don’t understand why. I don’t know him, shouldn’t expect anything from him. He hasn’t been loving. He’s just cold, with a touch of soft. I walk past the house and start walking down the long driveway. A noise comes from behind me. It gets closer, and when it reaches me I see it’s Black sitting in his truck, looking at me with sunglasses covering his eyes. He nods his head to the passenger side of the car, so I walk around and climb in. I hide the smile, the smile that creeps up onto my face with the thought that maybe he cares more than he shows. His words don’t comfort me at all. They are the truth and they hurt. His actions, though, they are something entirely different.
I ask him where we’re going, but I get no answer. It’s like he chooses silence over company, and I wonder if there’s anyone he openly talks to.
He drives me to a train station and just sits. I look out the window and watch the trains moving, going either way. Some covered in graffiti, some newer. I open the door, turning back to him his hand slides over, dropping money next to me. I pick it up, knowing what I want to do with it, but knowing better. It’s time, it’s time I fight for me, for what’s mine. He helped me get to this point.
I don’t know how he did it, or why he did it. Someone showing the slightest kindness has put power in me. I haven’t been shown kindness in such a long time and it’s taken me by surprise. Even if, at first, it was wrong. It worked, he worked.
His hands go back to the steering wheel and he looks straight ahead, his sunglasses covering his eyes. I grab the money, go to step out, and decide to thank him. I turn and words fall flat on my lips. I don’t know how to, so I lean up, placing my hands on the seat, and kiss his cheek. He flinches, and his head turns to me fast.
I give him a shy smile. My face is still very close, and he smells good, like the ocean, so refreshing. I could smell that scent forever and never get sick of it. I move back, open the door and climb out. I take a few steps to the tracks and turn to see if he’s still in the same position—he is. He hasn’t moved, he’s watching me, eyes still covered with his sunglasses. I lift my hand slightly, giving him a wave and continue walking away, away from a man who’s scary and dark, but so beautiful.
The train ride is long and I sleep for most of it. A man haunts my dreams—Black. It was a pleasant change. Usually my dreams are terribly bad memories. Ones that got me into the position I’m in, in the first place. The train announces my stop, and I stand to stretch my legs, looking down at my hands and cringe. I’m so skinny, everything about me is. I was never like this, always had meat on my body. I had curves and good sized breasts. But it all seems to have gone.
I catch a cab to his office. It’s still daylight. My best option is to stop in there, as people will be present and he can’t hurt me in the daylight hours.
The cab stops, and I look up at the tall building, my heart beating furiously out of my chest. I haven’t seen him for almost two years, two long years of getting lost in drugs and alcohol. I wasn’t always addicted. I do, however, have an addictive personality, meaning I can fall into addiction quicker and faster than others. He knew this, knew so much about me. Used it all against me.
Each step I take into the building is like a knife to the heart, each step as painful as the next. Will he even be here? Of course he will, he never misses work. It’s his top priority. Once I thought that was me. How stupid I was.
Arriving at the elevator, I push the twenty-fourth floor while I watch people step in. Some look me up and down. I’m not dressed to be in a building such as this. I don’t have on a suit or an expensive pair of shoes. We stop at the floor just before his, and a woman steps in. She’s beautiful, and she looks at me with sorrow. I don’t want her pitying look so I glance away, avoiding her stare. My dress is too big, the shoes I have on just fit me, and my hair’s up in a messy bun. I shouldn’t be here. I should have come when I was better prepared and had worked up enough courage to see him. To stand up to him.
The elevator dings, and the lady that looked at me smiles on her way out. She has on a business skirt which comes up to her waist. Her shirt is loose at the top and tucked in. Shoes are high, and her hair immaculate. I watch as she walks away, then I step off and just look around. There aren't many people working on this floor. Roger has three other workers—his two receptionists and his partner in crime who’s as evil as him.
I start toward his office. It’s the last one right at the back. The receptionist looks up at me and I turn my head to his office. I can see him… he’s kissing a woman, the woman from the elevator. His hands on her back, pulling her to him. I stop and take a look around. The receptionist is now standing, giving me an odd look. I manage a weak smile and run back to the elevator.
I can’t do this.
Not yet.
Not here.