Frayed Rope (The Ugly Roses Book 1) Page 5

  A truck was there last night but gone by this morning. I’m constantly assessing my surroundings so I know the truck is not one I have seen before, I also know it’s a newer model Ford, black in color. I scan my area once again, memorizing the landscape.

  Quiet.

  Lack of persons.

  No threat.

  The home is bigger than mine with newer renovations. The board and batten style home is a graphite color and if the chunky outdoor furniture and grill are any indication, I assume he lives alone. The dark home with its lack of foliage strictly screams ‘man’.

  I’m assuming he too must be like most of the families around here that have dedicated themselves to serving this Country because that home is way too nice to be left empty for any other reason. A little landscaping and a few potted plants is really all that's lacking.

  Mind out of the architectural gutter Elle. Time to shop.

  * * *

  Jacksonville is the closest city, and by that I mean it has more than two stoplights. I grew up in a small rural town of a few thousand people and though the bigger towns and cities are a necessity for most, I choose not to live directly in the middle of one.

  Too many unknown variables.

  Too many risks.

  I could have handled it all a few years ago, hell of could have handled anything, but not anymore. This chapter in my life is all about risk assessment and planning ahead. Two things I didn’t even blink at before.

  My old life was one of spontaneity and taking risks. I didn’t strategically plan where to stay on vacation or what I was going to do when I got there.

  I didn't assess each person on the street or in the store like they could be hiding a Ka-Bar behind their back ready to stab me to death.

  I also spoke, made jokes and made the odd idle friendly chit chat with strangers. Not often, but it happened depending on my mood.

  Lost in thought I miss my turn for the clothing chain I wanted to hit, so I make my way through suburbia to get myself turned around. I’ll hit the food stores last so it’s not rotting in the truck while I’m debating between skinny, or boot cut jeans.

  I’m in no rush today.

  My windows are down; the weather is mild, Avenged Sevenfold pounding through my speakers and a smoke in my hand. It’s truly the simple things that make me slightly happy anymore. I could almost smile if it didn't make me feel so goddamn guilty for doing so.

  Most people would say you should smile as often as you can, you’re alive.

  Most people would also say life is a gift.

  I most days however, see it as a punishment.

  I’m waiting at a stop sign for the old granny across from me to pass through the intersection. It’s a four way stop and she was here first, however I think she decided to take a nap with that stop because the old bat hasn’t moved an inch since she got here an hour before me.

  “What the hell grandma move your ass!” I shout through the windshield. Patience not being a virtue I possess.

  Still no movement on her behalf.

  To go or not to go?

  I don't need an accident written up on my driving record; even if it would be her fault for T-boning me in the middle of the street.

  Lay low; don’t attract any unwanted attention to yourself, Elle.

  I chant the Ol’ Man Tiny’s words to myself and notice she’s staring in her side mirror, assessing what's behind her. I lean over my steering wheel to look down the street and it confirms the group of shirtless sweat ridden men heading our way.

  “Huh. Maybe granny didn’t need a nap after all?” I say to myself.

  Dirty old bird.

  I’d like to say I’m not affected since my need for men has significantly dwindled since the attack. Don’t get me wrong I am still a hot blooded female, but I just haven’t wanted the attention. I’m also reluctant to bare my scars and stripes.

  The questions that would bring could blow my cover in this small town, so it’s not worth it. I should also accept the fact that it sure as shit isn’t pretty to look at either.

  Men with scars are badass, for women not so much.

  Maybe one day, in the dark, if he has his hands tied behind his back so they can’t make their way up my back to feel the ridges that reside there. Maybe then, under those circumstances I could be intimate with someone again.

  Until that day, I suppose there’s no harm in looking.

  Or in this case, eye fucking.

  Five of them are jogging. From a distance they look relatively similar. All around the six foot mark, most with tattoos along their arms or neck. I’m guessing most are mid-thirties. The only thing that truly sets them apart at this distance is hair length and color.

  The man closest to granny’s side of the street captures the most attention as they edge closer. Well, should I say my attention? Beautifully tanned skin, longer inky dark hair that brushes the back of his neck and what looks like tribal fire in black burning up his left arm. His face is stuck on a scowl most likely from the exertion if I judge by the amount of sweat pouring off his body. Light scruff coats his jaw and for the first time in a feels like a century I wonder what it would feel like between my legs.

  Fuck Elle get your shit together.

  Most of the men have sunglasses on so eye color is a miss at this point. I haven’t really taken in any other predominant features from the rest of the group because I can’t take my eyes off of Mr. Broody leading the pack.

  One of the men bringing up the rear breaks off and heads to granny’s car. Two more follow and its apparent they must know each other, either that or this golden girl has more game then I do when it comes to picking up men. Mind you she could be their grandmother. The silver lining here is that she seems occupied enough that I begin to carry on through the intersection to get started on my shopping.

  I reach over to dump my smoke in the half empty water bottle in the cup holder and hear a bang on the hood of my vehicle. I slam on my breaks and note the pack leader leaning on the hood of my truck, the scowl still on his face.

  I know for a fucking fact I didn't hit the broody prick, he was still on the sidewalk when I edged through the intersection!

  “What?”

  I scream over the music at who I am now going to refer to as the smug looking bastard. He walks towards the passenger window and leans his forearms on the door.

  “That shit’ll kill you one day. Or perhaps it will kill the innocent man about to jog through the intersection while you were too preoccupied trying to put out a smoke in a vehicle that lacks an ashtray.”

  I’m slack jawed at a voice that could melt the panties off a nun, but the racing of my heart from shock is enough to make me remain pissed off.

  I’m debating putting my foot back on the accelerator and flooring it so I can wipe that smug fucking look off his face but I don't want to be charged for careless driving, and I’m positive that from where he stands assessing me that he’s already clocked my size, weight, zodiac symbol and memorized the tags on the vehicle. I gather up all the calm that I can before I reply.

  “Thank you for your concern, surgeon general, however last time I checked anyone old enough buy a pack is entitled to abuse them as often as they wish. And unless you ran out into the street prior to looking in both directions which, may I add is knowledge ingrained into even the smallest of children's minds, then its due to your own fucking stupidity that you almost dented my vehicle. Now, if you’ll kindly take your hands off of my truck, I’ve got shit to do.”

  What started out as my sweet voice turned bitter the moment I heard myself. My voice is still so goddamn raspy from being strangled half to death, and I was told it may never return to normal. It’s not so much that it’s a bad voice, it’s just not the one I’m used to hearing due to lack of use. My innocent rant turned heated, now I just want to get the fuck out of here.

  The stunned look on his face even though I can’t see his eyes is almost enough to make me want to apologize. Almost. To hell with it, I pu
t my truck back into drive as he backs up so I can continue on my way.

  “FUCK!” I bang my hands on the steering wheel and speed towards the shopping center. What started out as a good day is quickly going down the shitter.

  I know the only reason I’m pissed is because I’m attracted to him. Deep down I know he’s someone the old me would have flirted with and soon took home.

  But when your voice and looks are nothing like they used to be, whether for the better or worse, it still makes a woman feel like a fraud. Add in a new name to boot and it’s full on fucking actress. I don’t know if I could play that game, being a different person with a man?

  Who am I kidding; I am different regardless of the voice, the new name, and face. I changed a long time ago and there’s no turning back now.

  * * *

  Four stops and many stores later, I’m heading back home. It’s almost supper time now and I have a pile of shit to get into the house before it gets dark. When I turn the corner onto my lane I notice the black Ford truck from last night backed in the drive in front of my neighbor’s house.

  The front door is propped open and whatever is in the back is being unloaded into the house. Maybe my neighbor has returned home and is restocking his pantry much like I’m about to do. Or maybe he’s not unloading, but loading and moving out.

  I pull around the bend into my driveway and park the truck as close as I can get to the door. Norma is barking in the house and I’m sure it’s at the neighbor since she should be used to the sound of my vehicle by now. This is one of the reasons I don’t mind to leave her at home. Any dog owner can tell whether it’s a frantic bark or a ‘hurry and let me the heck out gotta pee’ kind of bark. It’s another security feature for me, much like the squeaky hinges on the front door.

  She waddles outside while I prop open the door. I don't mind shopping, but carrying a hundred bags in makes me want to consider delivery next time.

  I’m on my last load of canned goods when the damn bag rips open and sends soup and spaghetti sauce rolling in every direction from the porch to the house. A heavy soup can hits my kneecap on the way down.

  “Motherfucker!”

  I could cry right now. I’m exhausted, I’ve been up since before dawn and I just want to stuff my face and down a bottle of wine before I crash into bed. Norm won’t stop barking and I realize it’s not friendliest kind.

  “Do you always have such a filthy mouth, or is it only when I’m around?”

  I know that voice, and after this morning I hoped I’d never have to hear it again.

  Okay, maybe that's a lie. But definitely not so soon.

  I whirl around to face the bastard as Norm comes barreling up the steps. I give her a settle down motion with my hands and address the stranger while reaching my hand inside the hobo bag that holds my gun. I’m sure I won’t need it. He doesn't look threatening, actually he looks pretty damn good in worn out jeans and a long sleeve Henley.

  “What the fuck are you doing at my house?”

  I’m not sure whether I want to weep or shoot him because I haven’t had any visitors here, and although it gets lonely I haven’t come to terms with the fact that I may need to have a friend again one day.

  Definitely not today though. Wisely he takes a few steps back, not because he’s afraid of the dog that he’s looking at with adoration but obviously he’s noted the confused and pissed off expression on my face. He holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

  “I saw the dog outside; I also saw what looked like somebody moving in. Wasn’t sure if Tom finally moved back and got a dog, or rented the place out.”

  He’s looking over my head into the home, which is much different from Tom’s older decor.

  “It’s rented.”

  “So it is.” He gives me a skeptical look.

  “What?”

  “The what is, I’m glad Tom finally moved on. And I guess I’m here now to introduce myself to my new neighbor.” he says all this with a shit eatin’ grin on his face.

  “I don't have any neighbors, now if you’ll excuse me I’ve got-”

  He cuts me off “Ya, ya, shit to do, so you said this morning. Well, I live next door. Just thought I’d give you a heads up.”

  “Neighbors?”

  “That’s what I said woman.” He looks way more pleased than I am.

  “You’re fucking kidding me?”

  “Afraid not.” The smug grin returns.

  I back into the house and begin to close the door. What are my odds? Apparently not fucking good. I should be more afraid of this morning’s stranger showing up on my porch, but the mention of Tom moving on and the truck next door brings it all together. Of course he’d live in the nearly black box next door. I don't know him from Adam but the dark and broody house suits him, I can admit that much.

  I really have nothing left to say so I bend down to pick up the soup can that’s blocking the door while he begins to collect the few that are left on the porch.

  “I can get it.” I say more forcefully then intended.

  “Already done.”

  He frowns, hands me the rest and backs away from the door. I can’t handle the attention, or him looking at me like he’s trying to figure me out. I give him a nod and close the door behind me. From what Tom mentioned he’s not home often so I shouldn’t be running into him every day.

  I can’t decide whether that pleases me or not.

  Chapter Six

  I wake up with a pounding headache to something that's sounds as loud as a chainsaw.

  Gah, shoot me now.

  I take stock of my surroundings when the room starts to settle. It still baffles me waking up somewhere new, but I’m slowly getting used to it.

  No nightmares last night, or at least not the kind that woke me up. Perhaps it was the two and a half bottles of wine I drank before bed that kept me comatose throughout the night. They may keep me handicap for the better part of the morning as well.

  I peer towards the window and it looks like it’s going to rain soon, judging by the lack of sunshine. I hate days like this, they remind me of the loss. I used to embrace cloudy cool days, curl up on the sofa and read some mystery smut in front of the fire with a good bottle of wine. Now I’d just prefer to sleep the day away, or forgo the smut and head straight to the wine.

  Nature calls and I have no choice but to drag my sorry ass out of bed. I finish my business and get to brushing my teeth. One look in the mirror reminds me how I feel. The bags under my eyes reflect my constant lack of rest; my hair is a giant mass of bed head curls since I didn't iron it after my shower last night.

  I’m always pale after I drink which, makes the marks stand out more around my neck. I could have gotten the scars fixed at Doctor Reveres, but he wouldn’t do everything at the same time and I refuse to be there longer than I had to. I can hide what’s left on my body with clothing and jewelry.

  A handful of ibuprofen later, coffee in hand I make my way to the back deck. The noise has stopped thank god so it should be my typical quiet morning staring at the water. Norm takes off like she usually does to make her morning rounds as I curl up in a light blanket on the lounge.

  If this were the past I’d have my cell phone stuck in my hand right now checking Facebook updates and planning a dinner with friends and their kids.

  Now my morning routine consists of coffee and blank stares in the distance. I hoped to contact my best friend from home when I finally got settled under a new name. But either I haven’t found the time, or I’m still too fucking scared to potentially put her life in danger.

  Most likely the latter.

  I have one prepaid burner phone in my bag. I’ve only used it twice in the past month to confirm deliveries to the house. That’s it.

  I’ve survived on practically a few sentences, with a handful of strangers for the past six months. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to go home again and be at least partially the woman that I once was. Then I wonder if I even want to go home again?

&nbs
p; My old passport and identification is in the safe deposit box with some money. I don't know if I’ll ever need it again, but it’s there none the less. I used it to enter the United States the day I ran from home. The day I left the only sister I’ll ever have, hopefully not only ensure her own safety, but mine as well.

  The visit to my home from the useless Detective Braumer cemented it all for me that day. Solidified the fact that I couldn’t stay in my old little town any longer. I was still recuperating from my attack, hell bent on proving to the Detective that another man was out there to get me. He blew the theory out of the water and dismissed me like shit off his shoe.