Unscathed

Thankfully there wasn’t much around in this tiny town and I found it fairly quickly. The Marlin was the bar’s name. I almost smiled at the memory, but then I remembered that my dad was gone, probably dead, and Mina had just ripped my guts out. I didn’t need fond memories or smiles. I needed a stiff drink.



I wandered into the bar. It was pretty dark with torch lamps burning on the walls and round tables everywhere. It reminded me of something you’d see in a pirate movie. I walked over dusty planks of wood up to the bar and ordered a straight whiskey from the old timer who was wiping down the countertop there.



He nodded and threw the towel over his shoulder. Turning around, he poured a large measure of amber liquid into a thick scratched glass and set it down in front of me. I slammed it back in one swallow and signaled for another. He raised a bushy gray eyebrow at me and poured another. I paid the man and took it to a dark table in the corner to lick my wounds.



The first shot had gone straight to my head quickly and I decided to nurse this next whiskey. A calming, numbing feeling began to spread throughout my body and my head began to get fuzzy. I could feel my body and brain begin to relax, but the anger still ebbed through me, buzzing around like an annoying bee. I had to take deep breaths to keep myself from punching a hole in the table with my fist.



As I sat and watched two couples slow dancing to some sappy country song on the small dance floor, I couldn’t help but let my mind drift to the events of the night. My brain ruthlessly replayed the entire erotic scene with Mina, starting at our flirtations over dinner to the very end when we were lying in bed together, sated and high on sex hormones. I began to get angry with myself for already mourning the loss of any future sexy romps with her.



I knew I could get laid pretty much whenever I wanted. But after being with Mina, I had realized that I wanted something more than a roll in the hay. I’d never had emotions like that during sex before and honestly, I didn’t even think it was possible. I’d heard people talk about it, and thought they were bullshitting.



I gritted my teeth together and forced myself to think of something else – anything else. Which of course led to me thinking about my dad again. It was like a punch to the gut every time I thought about him. I felt physically sick. If he was dead, at least I could bury him and move on. Maybe buy a boat and name it after him or drink myself into oblivion with grief. Go leave a six pack on his grave on a sunny Sunday afternoon and tell him how much I missed him. But there was no closure when you didn’t have answers. I needed to go talk to the cop in charge of his case… but that would probably lead to more frustrations and letdowns. If they had any leads, I’m sure they’d tell me. Obviously the case had gone cold and nobody cared anymore. Who gives a shit about an old drunk who disappeared? Apparently, only me.



I wondered what my mom would think about this whole situation. I wished she were here so I could talk to her. I thought about her short blonde hair and kind, smiling blue eyes and how badly I missed her. My dad probably wouldn’t be missing if she was still alive. I had always had a sneaking suspicion he had gone on a bender and had gotten in an accident of some sort that day. I never once believed he had just run away and left me here to cope without him. He may have been a drunk and a bastard sometimes, but I knew it was the alcohol and grief that caused those traits, and that he loved me, for whatever it was worth. I wished I had a brother or sister to talk to, but I had been my parents’ only kid, so now I was alone in the world. I had begun to think maybe I’d have Mina by my side as my lover and partner in life, but that was out the damn window now too.



I looked down at the liquid in my glass and tapped my fingers against it. What the hell was I doing with my life? Maybe I should try to go back to school and make something of myself other than a frickin’ mechanic. The world will always need mechanics, my dad used to say, as if to justify not needing an education. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a good, honest payin’ job, son.



I thought about the last time I’d seen him. It was a late Saturday afternoon and I was in the driveway tinkering with an old Harley we’d bought to fix up. He said he was running to the store for smokes and just never came back. I didn’t actually start worrying until the next morning when I woke up and he wasn’t there. I knew sometimes a cigarette run lasted hours. I never knew where he went, but I knew he would drink and not want me to see, which led to drinking and driving, something else I knew he hid from me.



I thought about the cigarettes and considered leaving this dump and going and buying a pack. Maybe the nicotine would calm my nerves and let me think straight. I’d quit over a year ago when dad went missing, but now sucking on a cancer stick sounded kind of enticing.



I threw back the last of the whiskey and walked out of the bar, my boots clacking on the hardwood floors, and went out to the parking lot. As I fished around in my pocket for my keys, I felt a small piece of paper and pulled it out and looked at it.



Heather’s business card.



I looked at the photo of her perfect bikini-clad body and the side of my mouth kicked up in a grin. Just because I’d once had feelings for Mina didn’t mean I couldn’t go find some hot piece of ass to make me forget about her for a while.



Chapter Twenty-Six



Mina



I stood alone in the hallway, the sound of Jax's truck rolling away in the distance. My heart felt heavy, like a dead weight inside my chest. What did I do now? I didn't know. I had feelings for Jax, that was for sure, but was he ever going to be willing to listen to me? Would he ever make the time so I could give my side of the story? But even if he did, what would I say to him? How could I even begin to explain why I had been spying on him, watching him, making secret recordings of him? Who would understand that? I don't know if I would, had it been the other way around. How would I be feeling right now if I had discovered secret pictures of me on Jax’s phone? Images of me sharing intimate moments with him, leaving my home, in my car, at school, with my friends? I wouldn’t have understood, and it would’ve freaked me out – just like it had Jax.



Turning away from the door, I made my way up to my room. I needed to speak with Jax. I just couldn’t leave alone what had just happened – I couldn’t let us part like that. With the sheet still wrapped about me like a cloak, I dropped onto the bed. My phone was in my hand and I thumbed through the contact list. Hitting Jax’s number, I called him. With the phone pressed to the side of my head, and my heart thumping, I listened to the series of bleeps and clicks as the phoned tried to connect with Jax. But it just rang and rang and rang, then went dead. I quickly called Jax again. More rings and more ringing. Pressing the disconnect button, I sent Jax a text.



Call me. Please Jax, just give me a chance to explain.



Clutching my phone, I sat on the edge of the bed and sobbed. My body shook with regret and remorse. I had been here once before, and here I was again. Last time it had been different. That time, I had hurt my mum. I had betrayed her trust, and now I had betrayed the trust of another. It was at times like these when I really missed my dad. I missed him more than anything. That friendly smile and his green glittering eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses. I always knew that I could talk to him. But he was gone.



With my heart aching and feeling alone, I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I kicked the red dress and scarf under the bed. I crossed the room and sat by the window. The night breeze blowing in cooled the hot tears on my cheeks. Again and again, I looked down at the phone in my fist, hoping that Jax just might call me – hoping that he might’ve calmed down and had stopped feeling that anger and confusion which I knew he would be feeling. And how did I know he would be feeling like that? Because I had seen those emotions in my mother’s face, shining out of her eyes like black shadows of mistrust and despair. She had looked just like Jax had when she’d discovered the photographs I had taken before – when she had caught me with her lover.



The shock of seeing her that night as she stood in my bedroom doorway, John's arms wrapped around me as he lay on top of me on the bed. How she had looked as I peered over John’s shoulder, her face a white mask of contempt and hate for me. But it shouldn’t have turned out like that. I hadn't taken the pictures of him because I wanted him. I had taken them for another reason. But just like Jax now, my mother had never given me the chance to explain. She had seen only what she had wanted to see in the pictures. So she had sent me away. That had been my punishment. But what would my punishment be now? I couldn’t be sent away again. I was here to stay. And I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to run again. I didn’t want to hide like some freak. I wanted to explain to Jax why I had behaved like I had. I wanted him to understand me – I needed that chance. Didn’t I deserve that at least? I had taken the pictures for him – just like I had taken them for John.



Again I turned to my phone – that lifeline – that piece of shiny plastic I always held in my hand. The one thing that had brought me so much trouble and despair but I seemed unable to live without. Sliding the phone into my pocket, I just wanted to be free of its touch. I left my room and went back downstairs. In the kitchen I found the laptop lying on its side on the counter. Its screen was flickering, like a blinking eye. I righted the laptop and stopped the recording. Alone, I sat at the kitchen table and watched the secret recording I had made that evening. I could see myself entering the kitchen, Jax at my heels. We were talking. He poured me a glass of wine. We were sitting at the table, eating the fishcakes I had baked for us. It was like watching one of those reality shows. The conversation was mundane – natural – not scripted. We chatted and laughed, and it was then I saw the reason why I had been filming him. But this time it was different – different from the other times I secretly filmed Jax. It was different from all those other pictures I’d taken of him. Tonight there was something else; something I hadn’t been expecting. It confused me. It chilled me. My skin was turning prickly and hard with gooseflesh as it crawled up my back, over my shoulders, and down over my chest and arms. Over the flat of my stomach and legs. My teeth began to chatter as if stepping out of a warm bath and into the cold, as I stared at the screen. There was something there. Something I hadn’t seen before about Jax. Unable to watch the footage any longer, I snapped closed the lid of the laptop. I pushed it away from me to the other side of the table. Glancing around the kitchen, I pushed my chair back from the table and stood up. If only I could show Jax what I had seen. If only he would give me that chance. But where would I find him? Would he have gone home? Headed straight for Rowdy’s Bar? Was he already in the arms of another woman as he tried to forget? Trying to drown the feelings of hurt and anger I knew he would now be feeling towards me. And I couldn’t blame him. If I were him, wouldn’t I now be looking to fall into the arms of another, desperate to bury the feelings of betrayal and mistrust?