I was taping the walls getting ready to paint when I heard a knock on the screen door. I had all of the windows open because I had spent the last two and a half hours washing the walls down with bleach. I was sore. If I thought my ribs were sore from bartending, they were completely sore from scrubbing these walls, but everyone knows you don’t paint dirty walls. I set the blue painter's tape down and saw Mickey through the doorway.

“Ye painting?” he asked through the screen door.

“Not yet. Prepping,” I sighed.

“Ye about ready?” I gave myself a once-over. I was covered in grime, my hair was a mess, and I must’ve smelled. There was no way I was ready.

“Give me a few. Yeah?” I said gesturing to my outfit. I walked away and went into my bedroom. I closed the door the best I could, but the damn thing never latched. The door always seemed to stick in the jam. I quickly changed out of my dingy shorts and threw on the cutoffs I liked to wear. I lifted my shirt over my head and was about to put on a bra when I heard Mickey shout, “Going to use the jacks.”

“The what?” I turned towards his voice not sure what the hell the jacks were and forgetting about the damn crack in the door. Mickey was there, and my breasts were on display. Not just that, but everything. My scars. My bruises. It was all right there like a roadmap of the monster I was married to. I gasped and turned around. “Mickey, what the hell?” I asked as I grabbed a shirt and quickly donned it overhead.

“Feck!” he swore and slammed the bathroom door.

Tears welled in my eyes. I was embarrassed. I sat on the bed and quickly put a bra on under my shirt. My back was still to the door, and I didn’t want to look at Mickey. I tried to hide in my shame. I tried to pretend my past wasn’t a horror story. I didn’t need Mickey to pity me, or be disgusted by me. And, yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have cared what he thought. Perhaps I should’ve been mad that he stood at the door, but all I could focus on was the absolute shame I felt.

The first tear fell, then the second, and again I found myself crying. My shoulders shook, and even that gave me more shame. I didn't want to be weak. I didn’t want to feel ashamed. It wasn’t my fist that did this, but I still felt shame. I couldn’t even explain it. It was just there; surrounding me, suffocating me. I couldn't breathe. My chest felt tight. I was gasping and choking on my sobs. I hurt.

I didn’t hear Mickey walk into the room, but suddenly he was there. Crouched in front of me. He grabbed my hands from my throat. “Can’t breathe,” I choked out.

“Look at me,” he ordered. “Breathe in. Breathe out.”

I was trying, trying to hear his voice and do like he suggested. “Come on Marie, breathe. In. Out. You got this.” He continued encouraging me. It wasn't until I’d started to calm that I noticed my hands were in his and he was rubbing circles on my palm with the pad of his thumb. I focused on that. It was soothing and calming in a way that surprised me.

Once I was calm, Mickey did something that completely shocked me. He stood, bringing me with him, and brought my head to his chest and hugged me. I wasn't sure how long he had held me, but for some reason, it was the safest I’d ever felt. He was quiet after that.

I moved from his embrace and went into the bathroom to clean up my face. Reluctantly, when Mickey asked if I was ready, I nodded and went with him. I needed my car. I wanted to sit with my feelings, but when Mickey held me, it made me feel a little less shame and a little more comfort, so I agreed.

“Ye up for a ride?” he asked. It was precisely what I needed.

“I’d like that.” We rode to his shop, and I had the feeling that Mickey took the long way. Oddly, I didn't mind. The wind against my skin with nothing holding me back was the freedom I needed. Maybe Mickey sensed it. He went under an underpass and revved his engine making it echo off of the small space, and I laughed. Mickey put his hand on my knee and squeezed. It felt natural. I didn’t blanch at his touch.

In fact, I didn't even think about it. We pulled into a gated lot, and I quickly saw that this was their clubhouse and it was in the same parking lot as their shop. It wasn't like there was a big sign that illuminated the clubhouse. To most people, it would have looked like a warehouse, but I’d been around enough clubhouses to know precisely what this place was, and judging by the security at the gate and the newness of the building, my guess was they had money. This meant two things. One; everything was not above board with these guys. And two; there must be some reason they needed security.

Unease built in my chest. What if someone recognized me as Drake’s old lady? Mickey grabbed my hand and rubbed a tiny circle on my palm as if he understood this was making me anxious. He pulled into an open bay in the garage.

We got off the bike, and he walked me over to where my car was, only it wasn't the tan color it was before. “It’s black?”

“Aye, thought it needed a paint job, and a new set of plates too.” I raised an eyebrow at him, but then I understood exactly why he did what he did. He got that I didn’t want to be found and was making it a little less easy for me to be.

“Mickey,” I sighed, “this probably cost a mint. This car isn’t worth the work you put into it.”

“Aye, but it’s yours.”

“Hey, Mickey. Who’s your friend?” A beautiful blonde with gorgeous caramel-toned highlights asked on approach. She was wearing a lavender sundress with little yellow flowers. She seemed way too sweet for bikers.

“Marie, this is Aubrey. Aubrey, Marie. Aubrey does our shop books part-time. She’s Daws' wife. Do you remember him?” Mickey casually leaned against my car.

“Ponytail?”

He responded with a nod.

“Nice to meet you.” Aubrey was quiet when she spoke. There was a sweetness to her, but at the same time, an underlying hardness. It made me wonder how old she was. She was one of those people who looked extremely young, but there was that thing about them that told you there was no way they were really that young.

“She the Camry?” Aubrey asked Mickey.

He gave a subtle nod, “Leave the invoice for me.”

I darted my eyes at Mickey, “You let me know how much it is. I’m not making much yet, but I’ll pay you back.”

His light blue eyes looked to me, and spoke volumes about his intentions. He wasn't going to let me pay.

“Mickey, a word.” I wanted to pull him aside to talk to him about this without broadcasting everything in front of Aubrey.

“Daws around?” he asked Aubrey ignoring my plea for privacy.

She was looking between the two of us grinning, as she responded, “He wanted me to tell you to meet him in the clubhouse when you got here. He called about ten minutes ago to see if you showed up already.”

“Thank you.” Mickey gave her a warm smile, then dug into his pocket and pulled out a key. “Let me pull it out for you.”

I stood next to Aubrey while Mickey pulled the car from the garage. During that time, Aubrey took it upon herself to talk to me. “Mickey’s talked about you,” she said holding my eyes.

“He what?” I asked, confused as to how I’d come up in such a short time.

“Don’t be mad. I got a past. A real messed up one. He said he could tell you were beating something back,” she paused and watched as I flinched. “None of that." She placed her hand on my arm calming me, then continued, "I used to be here full time, but a few years ago I started counseling at a women's shelter. I've seen a lot of things. Been through a lot of things too and when you’re ready, I want you to come and talk to me, and if you don’t want it to be me, I got friends too honey.” She was kind. I shouldn’t be embarrassed, but I was mad at Mickey. I couldn't believe he was telling people about me. What did he know anyway? Aubrey handed me a card with her contact info, and I felt like this was all staged. I didn't like it, but I took the card.

My emotions were rampant today. I thanked Aubrey without saying much else. Mickey had pulled the car out, and it was idling in front of the garage bay doors. He was standing there waiting for our “talk” to be finished. Having had enough of Mickey’s meddling, I moved quickly to the car. Not saying much of anything to him, I threw open the car door.

“I’ll be paying you back for this; I won’t owe you.”

Mickey’s features changed growing visibly harder, darker even.

“Marie,” he barked, intending to say more, but before I allowed this, I got in the car and took off faster than a bat out of hell.

***

TALON HEAVED HER HEAVY backpack next to me on the couch. She’d walked in the door approximately five minutes ago. She seemed like she was in a mood. I sat up. I’d been sleeping on the sofa, and my eyes were bleary from my overwhelming morning. I’d heard her, of course, when she got home, but I was not moving quickly enough for her.

I wanted just to lay there, but I knew she had a bug up her butt. “Hey, Tal.” I realized I hadn’t called her that in a while. “How was school?”

“Fine,” she said with her hands on her hips, “Whose car is that out front? It can’t be ours. Our car was gold and that one’s black.”

This all came out like an accusation. One I didn’t care for. I sighed, “Mickey did it. I haven’t really said what we're running from, but figured he gets it. I didn't ask him too; he just did it. He’s just being nice.”

She pursed her lips at me like she didn't believe me and it reminded me so much of her Aunt Nic that it made me look up, breathe in, and pray for patience.

“Stop. If you haven’t noticed, we aren’t actually in a great place. If someone wants to help us, I’m not going to stop them, because honey, we gotta take all the help we can get.”

She harrumphed and plopped down on the couch next to me. Well, that battle seemed to be over. “What are we doing for dinner? I’m starved.”

“Pasta.”

“Again?”

“It’s that or pb&j; your choice.”

“Pasta it is.”

“Do you have homework? How're your classes?”

“I did it on the bus, and my classes are fine. They have a school newspaper that I’m thinking about joining.”

This news made me happy. “Oh, Tal! That’d be awesome.”

She shrugged, “I guess,” then she looked around the room, “You got a lot done today.”

“I would’ve liked to get more done, but it’s coming along.”

“I’m going to start some water for the pasta.” She stood and headed for the kitchen. I decided it was time I got my butt off of the couch. I moved to the bathroom to freshen up. I was a mess. My green eyes looked more red than green, and my hair was a disheveled mass of curly unruliness. I needed to shower. I quickly undressed and let the water fall over me. Maybe I shouldn't be mad at Mickey.

It just all felt like too much. I had to admit that after the way I had cried on his shoulder, maybe I did need to talk with someone, and as exposed as I had felt with Aubrey, perhaps his heart was in the right place.

I finished my shower, threw on a pair of jeans and a tank. By the time I was finished, Talon was scooping out two bowls of pasta and mixing in pasta sauce sparingly.

“Thanks, honey, for cooking. Real sweet of you.” I took a bite, noting that she had cooked the pasta perfectly, so I said, “This is cooked perfectly. When did you learn to do that?”

She slowly chewed her food and stared at me as if contemplating her words. “That was the first time I saw daddy hit you, but you know, there were plenty of times where he said you were “laying down” and that I needed to make myself something. Dad would usually head out, and I’d need to fend for myself.”

“What?” How had I had no idea that this was going on?

“Mom, saying this the nicest way I know how, you’ve always been there, but at the same time you haven’t.”

Oh, my! I stared at Talon. What could I say to that? She’d apparently been fixing herself dinner for quite some time. I offered up what little I could. “I’m sorry about that, honey. I’m here now, and we’ll get through all this. Okay?”

She gave me a weak smile, and we finished eating our dinner in silence. I think we both needed the quiet. For me, I wondered how many things I thought I'd been paying attention too, but wasn’t because I was lost in my own abuse. It made me realize that even though that was the first time Talon had seen Drake hit me, that in many ways, she was as much a victim as I was. I shouldn't have been blind to the fact that she was observant and could see my pain.

After dinner, I cleaned up and Talon put a movie in: Who Framed Roger Rabbit. We were both quiet, but it felt like her confession lifted some burden from her. “I’m going to go for a walk. You want to join me?” I asked, hoping she would.

“Nah, you go,” she waved me off.

I walked past the boat slip and kept going for about ten minutes, then turned and decided that I wanted to sit on the boat slip. The air was a bit cooler than it had been. I sat on the edge with my knees pulled up to my chest looking out at the water.

I didn't hear a creak in the wood to alert me to his approach; I only heard the rich timbre of his voice. “It will be cooler soon.”

I startled and sighed, “Mickey.”

“Brought ye a beer.” He set a beer down next to me and took a swig of the one he already had open.

“A beer sounds nice.” We sat for a few minutes without talking, just the two of us casually sipping our beers.

“I gotta ask ye something. Yer not going to like it.”

“Then maybe you shouldn't ask.”

I didn't want the questions, but he’d already seen too much, already knew too much. He ignored my request. Of course, he did.

“I want his name.”

Fear seized me again. I couldn’t do it. He thought he was going to be my hero somehow, but if I gave him a name, it would just bring the monster to my door, and all of the terror that went with it. I stood without answering Mickey, “Thanks for the beer.”

I walked away from him; from the peacefulness his nearness brought me. I didn’t look back, not even when I heard him call my name.