5. Lost and Lonely – Marie
It’s the third week in February and Christmas is well and truly over, thank God. I used to love Christmas. The weeks, months of childish excitement building and building until finally, the day arrives. When I was young it was always so special. And it wasn’t just about the presents, it was about the decorations, the special food, the visitors.
My mother’s Christmas trees were legendary; a perfect spruce, naturally, decorated in bows and ribbons with a fake gold candle carefully clipped to the end of each branch.
The most beautiful silver fairy always sat on the top. She would surveyed her kingdom, her polished porcelain face beaming down at all those who passed underneath. I used to pretend that she came to life at night and danced endlessly around the house. The only sound she made would be a small rustle of her dress as she constantly pirouetted round and round, never tiring. I wanted to be her, I wished I was her.
Perfect polished skin, untouched, unmarked, dancing almost silently and always alone. I should have been more careful what I wished for.
Now, Christmas is just a painful reminder that all those times were just another vehicle for my mother to show off but I was so young I never really noticed. All the neighbours would come round for one of my mother’s mulled wine evenings and my father would spend most of it in one corner with all the other men discussing sports or what the best model of mower was.
I loved it; so many people telling me I was pretty, listening happily when I was told to play the piano. I was just another vehicle too. Until it all changed. I’m not that perfect little girl anymore. Not just because I don’t go to church, or that I wear short skirts and tight tops sometimes, but because I’m different. Most people say it’s what’s on the inside that counts. Well, according to my mother, I’m bad on the inside too. Like a rotten apple. So Christmas is not a good time for me. I hate it in fact. I still miss them, despite everything. I miss my family. My old friends.
The thought that maybe I should have sent a card crossed my mind. I’m nineteen, I’m now legally allowed to be away from home, so there wouldn’t be any harm in sending a card and letting them know that I’m safe, letting them know where I am.
But I didn’t. And I don’t think I ever will. They haven’t bothered to try and find me. They haven’t bothered at all. All my friends probably think I moved away or got put in some asylum. Let them think what they want, I have a life. It may not be perfect, but it’s my life and I can do what I want with it.
Including waste a good part of it waiting for January to end and February to start. I hate that I have spent the last three and a half months wishing it away, because it really is a waste, but I can’t help it. I want to see him again. Even just for a little while.
A thousand scenarios have run through my head about what I will say, or what he might say, or what we might do… mostly what he might do to me. Thoughts of him have kept me warm through Christmas and the New Year. Thinking about his body, the way he moved. I laugh when I think about the way he called me ‘darlin’. But then I have had times when I was convinced that he would never coming back, why would he? I’m nothing special.
When I’m feeling really low, I’m honest with myself. Fact: he’s not coming back for me. He’s coming for the fights.
Though that in itself will be a thrill, I think. Most guys take their shirts off, get all sweaty and start parading round like caged animals. Logan has that power already, that presence.
Standing at the bar watching some of the locals around me talking, drinking and flirting, I can’t imagine anyone in here looking as good in that cage as Logan does. But then sometimes, we do get passers through who make your knees go a little weak. There were a few last year; young, fit, strong and cocky as hell. All talk, no substance, just muscle and mouth.
I like to know what’s on the inside too. Gina, on the other hand, loves the fights when those men come round; it’s like a playground for her. She’ll watch them fight and then by the end of the evening she will have them in the back room, fucking her like crazy while she screams her head off.
Once I walked in on it. They didn’t see me and it took me a good couple of minutes to tear myself away. I’m not a sick voyeur or anything, but it was so raw and hot that I couldn’t stop watching them. Thankfully I broke out of my daze and walked out, but I could still hear him smacking her ass and her screaming for him to go harder as I walked back down the hall to the bar.
I can’t help wondering if sex is always like that. In movies it’s all soft and tender, but from what Gina says, it’s rough and hard. ‘Nasty’ as she calls it. Not sure what I would want. All I know is I’ve gotten really good at it all by myself.
Sex. It’s confusing. Very confusing. Mills and Boon have a lot to answer for. They fill your head with fluffy visions of how you’re supposed to get swept off your feet and fall in love within a day. It’s all a load of shit. My parents weren’t happy. Any fool could see that, so why would I think that my life would be different?
It’s not too hard to guess what kind of a guy Logan would be. Dominating. Though I think any guy would have to be with me, cause I would have no clue what to do. Romance novels tell you that it all just happens, it’s natural and safe and full of love. But I still wouldn’t know what to do.
But how can it just happen? Things like that don’t just happen. In some books, when the cheating husband inevitably gets caught, he says ‘it was an accident’. That excuse is just ridiculous. ‘Oh whoops! I appear to have fallen and my penis has slipped into your vagina, so sorry’. Don’t think so.
I personally just don’t think I could trust anyone, I would be too scared. Scared of sharing my secret, scared of them finding out that I’m the freak that my mother said I was. God, what if something went wrong and I killed someone?
I let out a big sigh, I’m so gonna be a virgin for the rest of my life.
I look around the bar again, it’s quiet at the moment. Gina is clearing some glasses over on the other side of the room with the new girl Tony hired a month back for the fight season, so I sneak out the back. The store room is small and there’s a big freezer in the back, apparently they used to serve food, but the big man stopped it ‘cause of some food poisoning scare. I push past it and continue out the back door to the rear of the bar where the dumpsters are. Leaning against the cold wall with the fresh air on my face, I let the tears fall. I cry quietly, as I have no wish to draw attention to myself. From Gina or anyone else.
I like my life; it’s how I want it. Predictable and safe. I can’t handle change; I can’t handle anything to be honest. I know I can only be strong as long as I forget who I am and where I came from. Sounds crazy, but the minute that the memories slip into my head, I hear every bitter word that my mother ever said to me; feel every glare from my father. The disgust, the hate. Back there I’m not a real person, not a real member of any family, not even cared for.
Here I’m Marie Roberts, just a girl, just a normal girl who is trying to make things work. Trying. Really trying.
Wiping my face I take a deep breath and try to get my skin back under control. It flipped on the minute I thought about my mother. And it takes a moment or so to reel it in.
Not only does the truth hurt, the truth sucks. I may be a nice person, at least I’d like to think so, but I’m not normal, not like everyone else. I know there are others like me, trying so hard to hide, to fit in. They are all over the news, calling for equality, begging to be left to live their lives away from persecution and hatred. And they deserve it; every person should be allowed to live their own lives. I just don’t want to be the one to put my hand up.
It’s been about twenty minutes since I came outside, trying to get my emotions and my skin under control. Standing here I hear a few cars pull up, Tony’s big voice on the mic announcing someone and the rumble of a big bike or two, so I should go back in, it sounds like the cage is full.
Walking through the back, I check my face in the reflective door of the big freezer, no panda eyes, good. Gina is already hollering my name as I make it back to the bar.
“Girl where ya been, I’m startin’ to get killed here!” She shoots a glare at Claire the ‘new’ girl, who is really not very good.
I smile and immediately start assembling her next drink order for her. “Sorry, little girls room.”
She shakes her head as I pick up the tray filled with beer. “That one’s for a tall guy, blue checked shirt, in the back by the cage. Better get some glasses on the way back; dad’s just announced a fight.”
Making my way through, I can see the blue checked shirt guy, I smile and I put down the tray. He smiles back through a thick beard and looks me up and down, but his eyes don’t make it back up past my breasts. “Thanks sweetcake. Nice rack.” He laughs and throws some bills on my tray.
“Enjoy the view, only one you’re gonna get, sugar.” He laughs again and so do his friends.
I turn away and weave back towards the bar, picking up glasses on the way. Tony’s voice is booming again, I’ve learned to tune it out, but sometimes the odd thing catches my ear. “…never in all my days have I ever seen anything like this. Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?”
Curiosity has me turning and then I freeze. The din of cheers and boos and shouted obscenities muffle the sound of my suddenly loud heart beat. It’s ringing in my ears, vibrating through my whole chest I think I can even feel it in my legs.
Logan. Just standing there, thick cigar hanging from his mouth. He stops and drinks the shot of whiskey off the little ledge next to the cage, as smoke from his cigar swirls around him in slow motion. He’s wearing jeans, that huge Indian belt buckle and nothing else. He rubs the back of his neck and then braces himself against the cage with one hand as he leans; it accentuates the muscles across his back and through his arms.
A big guy with a shaved head stands up among the crowd and declares that he will fight. He’s a regular trucker who passes through a lot; I think his name is Lyle. Tony opens the cage. “Ladies and gentlemen, our saviour!” As I put my tray down on the nearest table, I can see Tony lean over and say something to him, but between the noise in the room and my thundering heart I can’t hear anything.
Lyle doesn’t wait for Logan to be ready; he kicks him in the back when Logan turns. Then Lyle punches him in the face twice. I actually wince in sympathy and jump; I can feel myself doing it. Logan goes down, his back is red, but then as I watch it fades quickly. Lyle kicks him in the stomach while he’s down, and then does it again. My hands are in balled up in fists as I watch. I can’t explain why, but my skin flips on. Come on Logan, get up.
He does and punches at the same time as Lyle does and fisted hands meet. I’m sure I hear a weird clanking kind of noise, but I can’t be sure, there’s so much noise. Lyle is grabbing his hand like he’s in pain but is coming back at Logan, who punches Lyle again and then head-butts him. Lyle is down- very, very down. It’s over. Less than 60 seconds and it’s over.
I can see the bruises already forming on Lyle’s face and across his hand as a couple of guys drag him out. As I look over at Logan, who’s just gone back to smoking his cigar, there’s not a scratch on him. I can see his chest rise and fall with a few heavy breaths. I see nothing but perfect skin covering strong muscle.
His head turns slightly and even though I can’t see his eyes, I know he is looking straight at me. Flustered, I look around and grab my tray, nearly knocking over the glasses I have on it before I hurry back to the bar. Tony’s voice rings out behind me. “…the undisputed king of the cage, The Wolverine!”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to Gidget for the Beta.