7. Seven
Seven
Rosie
T he moment Vic leaves the coffee shop, my new coworker, Samantha, comes barreling toward me with a scowl on her face. Great.
“So, what’s going on with you and Vic?” she asks with an icy stare, something I’m assuming she tries to do to intimidate people.
“Not a thing. He’s my brother’s friend,” I say, keeping it brief. I don’t know if they have a past, if she’s waiting in line for her number to be called, or if she’s just jealous, but I’m not a fan. I don’t like mean girls.
“Okay, good. Because he’s bad news. I’d hate to see you get hurt,” she says, not sounding at all worried about my physical well-being.
I look over at her, and recognition hits.
Blond hair, scowl, and screechy voice. She’s the girl he threw on the bed the first night I came. She has to be. I felt like she was a little snappy with me this morning, but I thought she just wasn’t a morning person. Looks like she and I won’t be forming a friendship anytime soon.
“No worries. I’m not interested in Vic,” I say as I resume stocking the rest of the coolers with pastries and ignoring her stare.
The last person I’d be interested in is Vic. Well, he comes in a close second to Manuel, my hopefully ex arranged marriage fiancé. Vic is a jerk and has weird mood swings. Let’s not forget about his endless roster of women. Just thinking about that reinforces the reason I’d never be interested in him.
“Good,” she all but snaps before stomping away to help a customer. Hopefully, that will suffice, and I’ll stay off her radar.
Jess kneels next to me and gives me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about her, girl. She’s harmless, but jealous a certain someone isn’t paying her the attention he’s paying you.”
“I don’t want his attention.”
“You sure? Every girl wants him in this town. They always have, and if they were getting his attention, they’d be all over him like a popsicle on a hot summer day.”
“But not you?”
“Absolutely not. He’s practically a brother to me.”
“So then Axl...?” I say, wiggling my eyebrows.
He came in this morning and bugged her until she made him food. Then, he paid her in compliments and money three times the amount needed to pay for the food. I watched their entire exchange with a smile on my face. He loves to provoke her, and she always rises to the challenge, creating a dynamic of playful banter. He even brought her a gift. She opened it in her office and refused to show any of us girls, which only intrigued me more .
After he left, her cheeks flushed with a bright shade of red, and she persistently rubbed her palms along her apron as if they were sweaty.
There’s a story there, and I can’t wait to hear it. I guess he did hear my suggestions when we were in the pool.
Jess scrunches her nose as if smelling something awful. “He’s a total manwhore and a jerk.”
“But you were something?”
“Unfortunately,” she says with a sigh, “we’ve had moments in the past that I wish I could erase forever. Just thinking about them makes me want to bleach my brain.”
“He’s still kind of cute,” I say with a shrug. I’m privately rooting for Axl, the underdog, with his endless questions on how to fix things with Jess.
I’m a sucker for a happy ending.
“I can’t wear this,” I mutter as I stare at myself in the mirror inside the fitting room of the boutique a couple of doors down from the tattoo shop.
Char, a friend of Jess’s, came into Sweet Escape yesterday, and we got to talking. She runs Burnouts, the local bar in town. When Char mentioned I could work a few weekend shifts, I immediately said yes. I want to escape Vic and his domineering presence while making a little cash on the side .
So here I am, uncomfortable as hell in practically nothing, but Jess says I need seduction attire to fit in. Initially, I was confused about the meaning, but I’m beginning to understand.
Despite feeling completely out of my element and a little anxious, I remind myself that it’s exactly what I need and have always wanted. Half of me is worried someone might recognize me, but my father or anyone else looking for me would never guess I’d be working in a bar.
A library or a painting studio? Definitely. A bar? Never.
“What? Why? Back up a little. You should add a choker necklace,” she says as she squints through the other side of the phone. We’re on FaceTime since she couldn’t leave her shop.
“I’ve never shown this much skin,” I say as I stare at the outfit with trepidation. The black leather skirt is a little short, stopping right under my ass with a slit going up the right side of my hip. My bra and cleavage are on full display thanks to my barely-there mesh crop top.
“You look amazing.”
“It’s not too much? Or I guess, too little?”
“It’s modest compared to the other girls, which is better. It leaves things to the imagination.” She wiggles her eyebrows, making me laugh.
“Is it silly that I’m nervous?”
“Not at all. You’re in a new place doing something out of your comfort zone. But you’ll be fine. I promise. Just make sure you wear this outfit. I’ll come see you after I close.”
“I’d like that. It would be nice to see a familiar face.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll see a couple,” Jess says with a huge grin.
The curtain gets ripped open, and I spin around with a shriek.
Vic stands in the doorway with a murderous look in his eyes .
“Oh my God. You scared the crap out of me,” I say placing my hands over my chest. “Get out of here.”
Vic looks down at me before stepping in and closing the curtain of this tiny fitting room.
“Jesus, get out. They’re going to think we’re... we’re—”
“Fucking?”
I slam my hand across his lips to stop any other crazy things from coming out of his mouth. “Shh.”
He’s still as we stand face-to-face until I feel a wet sensation on my palm, which is pressed against his lips. I pull my hand away and look down at it shine in the dismal light.
“Did you just lick my hand?”
A smile is his only answer. He’s trying to irritate me, and it’s working.
“Just leave the way you came and stop following me,” I whisper-hiss.
“No,” he says as he waves his index and middle finger in my general direction. “And no to this outfit.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s too—”
“Too what?”
“You have nowhere to wear it.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Where?”
I stop myself before saying something stupid. “Just around the house.”
“Fuck no. Put it back.”
“I’ll wear what I want. When I want. Where I want.”
Vic takes a step toward me. “I’m in charge of you, which includes your body and virtue, if it’s still intact. If you wear this, it’ll be more trouble than I want to deal with. I also know for a fact you’d never wear this. It isn’t you.”
“You don’t know shit, and my virtue’s none of your business. Get out now... before someone sees you.”
Vic gives me one more look from head to toe. “Hurry up and get back to the shop.”
“I’m not on company time. I’m on my lunch, so I’ll come when I’m done. I’m also tacking on another ten minutes since you’re wasting my private time.”
“Fine,” Vic mutters before ripping the curtain open with a loud squeal and stomping out the boutique’s front door.
“Geez, that was intense. Is that how all your interactions go?” Jess asks.
“Pretty much. He’s such a dick.”
“You should have seen the way he was looking at you in that outfit. He looked pained.” Jess laughs as an alarm goes off. “Crap, there goes the oven. I have to go. See you tonight.”
“Okay. Thanks, Jess.”
“Always,” she says before hanging up.
I look back in the mirror one final time. The outfit is totally too much, but now I’m determined to wear it because he said no.
Who the hell does he think he is?
Besides, it’s not like he’ll see me, anyway.
Once Vic and I get home after yet another silent car ride, I rush to my room and lay out my clothes. I’m too excited to care about his shitty mood. I swear, he needs a chill pill or a smoke. He’s taking his guard job a little too seriously.
I hear him walking down the hall, but pay him no attention. I can feel his presence at my back, but I continue setting out my new clothes. All I’ve worn are the couple of pieces I threw in my bag at my parents’ before I snuck out, so I’m pretty excited to wear something new.
“I’m going out.”
“Have fun.”
“You’re not gonna give me shit about you staying home while I go out?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.” He takes a step but stops. “Oh, I almost forgot. This was in the mail for you.”
I turn around, and my blood drains from my face as Vic hands me an envelope. I know exactly what it is once I see the writing on the front.
I rip it from his fingers and hold the thin paper between my hands and heart.
I look up at Vic with a tight smile. “Thanks.”
His head tilts as if he’s curious. Probably wondering why I’m holding a simple envelope like it’s the answer to world peace. It’s none of his business, and I just hope he hasn’t gone through the letter. I don’t need him telling Gage I’ve been corresponding with one of his friends for years.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like it from the way you’re holding it. ”
“None of your business.”
He doesn’t move, so I huff out an irritated breath. “It’s just a friend. We like to write each other letters.”
“There’s this cool thing called a phone. Don’t know if you’ve heard of it. You received these things called phone calls and text messages.”
I put my fingers over my lips as if shocked. “No way! You think I can get one after school?” I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
He walks away from my room without a word.
I close the door with a kick of my foot and rip the seal of the letter, giving myself a tiny little paper cut in my haste. I suck on the pad of my finger as I grab the letter inside with my other hand and shake it out of the envelope. I’ve lost my careful handling.
I want to know what he has to say.
I want to know his excuse for dropping me without a goodbye.
We never discussed when there would be an end to our letters. He even continued to write to me when he got out, then, when I went to college, and then nothing.
Radio silence. But the silence was loud.
He became a daily thought over the years. I told him my victories, defeats, dreams. Big and small, he heard it all.
His disappearance hurt like hell. It was like a loss. I mourned him as I did with my brother when he stopped writing. Anyone would have felt as I had once you’ve spoken to someone for years. I was such a masochist for months after the letters stopped. I went by my PO Box in town weekly, sometimes multiple times a week, just to put my key in the lock, open it, and see it empty.
All I could think of is the last letter I wrote him, testing the water on meeting him. I asked in the early stages of our letters, and he always let me down gently. I stopped asking until my last letter while in college.
I wanted–no, needed–to see the man I’d poured my heart and soul out to over the years.
Would we get along as well as we did through paper? He told me I should reach for whatever I wanted in life, no matter the repercussions. That my art was a gift and not some stupid hobby, as my father would say. Or would we debate, as we sometimes did, on the importance of my love for rom-coms over his action and horror? Him being opposed to them while I was for everything: rainbows, butterflies, and love in movies; no gore or death for me. Or him believing it was a necessity to dunk chips in his milkshakes while I thought that was disgusting. Soggy chips, no thanks.
But once the letters stopped, I wish I could hit rewind and go back to before I wrote the last one.
Maybe I pushed too hard to meet him? Maybe he got bored? Maybe he found someone and decided to devote all of his time to them?
I need to know.
I rip open the letter and see one line. One fucking line. One fucking sentence.
Dear Rosie,
You brought heaven to earth in that angel costume.
- Rush
Angel costume?
As I place my hand over my heart, a rush of thoughts overwhelms my mind. I’m transported back to the chaotic college party from months ago. The guy I danced with. It had to be him. He held on to me tight. Even when Marco showed up, I distinctly remember him squeezing me before he let me go, as if he was attempting to savor the moment like a lover would. Like he needed one more second with me. Or at least that’s what my mind conjured up.
But why didn’t he say anything then, and why is he barely writing to me now?
And how the hell did he know where to send the letter?