17. Beatrix
17
BEATRIX
I ’ve changed somehow. I’m not quite sure in what ways, but there’s something different about me. As I stare at my reflection in the women’s bathroom of the funeral home, I try to figure out if it’s something external.
I look the same. At least I think so. Maybe my eyes are a little brighter. Or could it be that there’s a real, albeit small, smile clinging to my lips? When was the last time I smiled this much for this long? I suppose I never had a reason to before now.
Any sane person in my situation wouldn’t be smiling. I’m hosting a service for my mother and her husband tomorrow. I should be mourning, devastated to have lost the only family I had left. How could I possibly be smiling when five nights ago, I’d come home to two bodies in my house? When I sanctioned those deaths myself?
On top of all of that, I’d been assaulted, twice, by a complete stranger.
I should be falling to pieces, be in tears or, at the very least, in a numb shocked state. Instead, all I want to do is relive the thrill of danger and the intense orgasms I now know my body is capable of. Both times I’ve been visited by this unknown person, I felt more alive than I ever have before. Sure, I was scared but not in a normal way. This fear is like riding a roller coaster—both exhilarating and thrilling. It’s that feeling in your gut as it fills with anticipation as the car creeps slowly up a steep slope, approaching the inevitable drop.
I’d give anything to feel it again. Yet my stalker seems to have vanished. He tried to scare me, but maybe my confession scared him . Did he take off because I wasn’t a wilting flower? That would be a shame. But I’m sure I can find a way to elicit those same feelings. Fear and arousal seem to be an addictive combination because I crave the rush they bring. Maybe it’s not just this stranger that can do it for me. Maybe it’s time I step out of my comfort zone and go searching for this rush somewhere else.
With someone else.
Straightening, I run my hands down my blouse to smooth out the wrinkles, then pat my two braids to smooth out any frizz. When I’m done, I grab my purse and leave the bathroom. My smile comes with me.
I stroll up the hallway, only stopping when I get to the foyer. I spare a quick glance into the room where Bright Starr hosts its services. Inside, on the far side of the room, sit two white caskets. Flower arrangements sit on either side and on tripods behind them is a picture of both individuals at their, well, I would say at their best, but did they ever have a best moment in their lives?
Everything is ready for tomorrow’s service. The obituary pamphlets are in neat piles, and the chairs are set up—ready for anyone willing to waste an hour or so of their day to visit these two deadbeats. The only reason I’m doing this is because my mother mentioned wanting one a long time ago.
“It’s closure for the living, Trixie. I want to give people that,” she’d said while we wheeled a coffin into this very room.
I stare at her casket now and wonder if this is a stupid idea. I doubt there will be many people who come tomorrow. Most of Chasm made a point to steer clear from me, my mother, and Patrick.
Luckily for them, after the service, it’s just me they have to avoid.
Even that thought can’t wipe the smile from my face. Tomorrow I’ll be the good host and mourn appropriately before throwing those two assholes into the retort. Tonight, I want to celebrate my newfound freedom. With that thought, I walk out the doors, lock up, and head for the funeral van I pulled around front.
If I want to get that rush I so desperately crave, I need to step out of my comfort zone. Maybe I’ll head to Chicago for the night. I’ve never gone out dancing or drinking before, but tonight is a night for firsts. I’m free to do what I want. The sky's my limit. And what I want is to find someone who can do what my devil has done to my body. There’s no one in Chasm I want, and there’s no one here who wants me.
So Chicago it is.
My smile grows wider. Freedom and a night out on the town?
What a great way to start the rest of my life.
I chicken out.
The minute the Chicago skyline comes into view, I take the first exit I can to turn around.
Who am I kidding? I’m not the type of person to just throw caution to the wind and dive headfirst into a world of drinking, dancing, and sex. That’s not who I am. I’m not even sure that’s who I want to be.
That rush that I so desperately crave is a dangerous drug that I probably shouldn’t dabble in. Maybe it’s best that tonight didn’t go as planned. But heading home feels like I’ve failed myself in some way. I can do whatever I want, and here I am, quietly heading home, berating myself for thinking it’s ok to let loose for once.
My stomach knots as I scowl straight ahead.
No, I’m not going home yet. Maybe dancing and drinking aren’t in the cards for me but I’m going to force myself out of my comfort zone. It’s Friday night, I should be out doing something . Just as I decide that, I catch sight of a bar.
Given that I’m only a town away from Chasm, if I’m going to let loose in the loosest sense of the world, this is where it’s got to be. So, I pull into the gravel parking lot of the quiet, low key dive bar and park. It’s not much in the way of a night on the town, but if I was really looking to shake things up, it’s a good first step.
Dawg's Boneyard is a hole in the wall with hardly any cars parked in the gravel parking lot. The yellow neon sign flickers rapidly—clearly on its last leg—and the dirty windows have bars attached to them. There's a woman dressed in a dirty skirt and crop top leaning against the wall by the door, taking a drag on a cigarette as I climb out of my funeral van. She eyes me curiously—probably wondering who I am. A place like this probably only sees regulars walk through its doors.
Her suspicious gaze doesn't stop me from walking up the three crumbling concrete steps and yanking open the door.
The smells of cigarette smoke, burned fried food, and a hint of vomit hit me first. That’s followed by the stench of body odor and a hint of bleach. Old classic rock is playing on the jukebox in the corner of the room, but it's overpowered by the woman wailing in the microphone as she sings karaoke. There are five booths along the wall to my left. Three of which are dirty. In the middle of the room between me and the L-shaped bar are about nine tables, all slightly tilted, as if one leg from each of them is intentionally shortened.
In total, there are only about eight people in the entire establishment, including the older looking bartender. Out of the eight, only three look to be under the age of fifty. No one looks up as I take a step further into the room.
I head for the bar. With each step, I have to yank my foot off the sticky floor. I'm thankful both shoes make it across the room with me.
As gracefully as I can, I attempt to sit on a barstool. It wobbles dramatically. Before it can topple over, I pop back up and try another one. Then another. Finally, on my third try, I find a stool that can hold me. I'm aware that the bartender watched the Goldilock-ing, but I pretend he hasn’t as I hang my jacket over the back of the stool and meet his gaze. I smile despite the bland look he gives me.
He doesn't answer it. Not right away. When he does, it's only with a stiff nod. He places the glass, and the dirty rag he was using to clean it, down before meandering over to me.
“What can I get for ya?” he asks, his voice gruff.
I stare at him for a second. What can he get me? I haven't thought it through this far. I don’t drink, not really, and given that I have to drive home, alcohol might not be the best option. Shoot, now what? I take a deep breath as I try not to panic and turn tail. I’m not going to run away on my first night out. Not this soon at least.
“Could I get... um,” I glance down the uneven resin bartop for a menu but don't see any. Rather than ask for one, I choose an item I think most bars would have. “Wings?”
“We're all out of wings.”
Oh, ok. I try again. “A pretzel?”
Judging by his quizzical brow raise, I take it pretzels aren’t a thing here.
“Um, do you have, ah....”
“The jalape?o poppers are good,” a voice says from behind me, causing me to startle. I look over my shoulder to watch as a good looking guy takes the seat beside me. “My friends and I just devoured three orders of them.”
He jerks his thumb in the direction behind us. I spare his companions, who are sitting in the far booth just out of reach of most of the light, half a glance before turning to look back at him. Had I thought he was simply good looking? Boy, was I wrong. It takes everything in me to suppress the hard shudder of awareness that threatens to run through me. This man is absolutely striking. My breath catches and my heart skips six, maybe even seven full beats as I try to wrap my head around the attractiveness of my new companion.
It doesn’t take much to note that he has some Asian heritage mixed into his genealogy, though how many generations back I can’t be certain. He has raven black hair, gelled back to keep from falling into his face. His cheekbones are high, elongating his face some, and his jawline has such sharp edges I’m sure I’d cut myself if I tried to follow it with my fingertips. The smile that’s splayed across his lips is subdued but friendly. Encouraging but not too eager. Sticking out against his pale complexion is a light dusting of freckles that sit across the bridge of his nose. He’s tall enough to tower over me even while sitting, and he has a lean physique. His eyes though… They’re incredible. The left is light brown while the right is sage green. I’ve never seen eyes like his, and the fact that they twinkle with friendliness? That’s even more unusual for me.
My knee-jerk reaction is to avert my gaze, and I do but mentally scold myself and look back. He’s not from Chasm. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t think I’m a freak yet.
“Are they spicy?” I force myself to ask nervously.
“Decently so,” he says with a nod.
I glance at the bartender. “Jalape?o poppers, please.”
“Drink?” the burly man blurts out.
“A Coke please.”
Beside me the guy says, “I’ll have water, thanks.”
Without a word, the bartender turns and heads for the register.
“It’s funny, small-town people aren’t nearly as friendly as they claim to be,” the man beside me mutters. “I definitely don’t get the homey feel here.”
I chuckle dryly. “I’m not sure I’d feel homey in a place like this whether he was friendly or not.”
The amiability of his smile never wavers. It’s weird that it’s still hanging on. Usually, at this point in most conversations that I have, it’s fallen away. If past interactions have taught me anything, it’s that my awkwardness isn’t considered endearing.
But… my new friend isn’t gone yet.
As I glance down at his mouth, awareness creeps over me. Maybe tonight doesn’t have to be a bust? This guy is a good looking—ok great looking—stranger who might be willing to entertain me with some mind blowing sex. Maybe I can find that rush my devil had given me with him? Hope blossoms in my chest but it wars with nerves and uncertainty. Wanting that rush is one thing. Actively seeking it out and following through with it? I’m finding it harder to commit than I thought it would be.
“So, you stick out like a sore thumb. Where are you from? Chicago?” The man next me asks.
“No, I’m from Chasm, the next town over, southeast of here actually,” I murmur, still internally battling with myself. “What about you? Where are you from?”
He braces his forearm on the counter, not leaning close, but how he's situated in his seat—facing toward me—he's definitely not trying to keep his distance either. When he grins, it's magnificent. The dim lighting of the bar and harsh shadows aren't able to tamp down this guy's handsome features.
“Oh, I'm from all over the place. I go wherever the wind takes me.”
“Huh, that must be nice,” I say, meaning it.
“It is, actually. It's freeing.” He shrugs. “Being able to see new places, meet new people, explore uncharted territory... It's a thrill.”
I chuckle, “I'm pretty sure everywhere is charted now.”
His grin is so spectacular that I can’t stomach the heat crawling up my neck and into my cheeks.
“You'd think that, but no, there are still untouched places,” the stranger assures me. Judging by the brightness in his eyes and the widening of his grin, he's had a great time exploring said locations.
I make the decision right here and now to let my goal to chase that delicious rush go. I’m not the impulsive girl who hooks up with people. I’m Beatrix Starr, the lonely girl who is ok with chatting with this stranger in the hopes I could make a friend. Or at least not be so alone for a few hours on a Friday night.
“Oh yeah?” I ask. “Tell me about your favorite place.”
The man’s eyes roam over my face. It’s not an expression of sexual interest, it’s more like genuine curiosity. “Why don’t you tell me about one of your favorite places first? I could go on forever if you get me talking.”
My favorite place? I consider his question briefly. It’s easy since I haven’t really been to many places. My college campus was incredible. I start to smile as I think about the fall leaves, the snowfall, only to frown. I miss it there. Though I hadn’t made any lifelong friends, the people I met had been friendly enough.
Rather than get into that, I sigh and say, “I haven’t travelled much at all to have one.”
“That’s a shame. Is it work or family that keeps you shackled here?”
Oh, I really don’t want to talk about either. My expression must give my thoughts away because he laughs.
“I’ll take that as a little of both.”
After a dainty attempt to clear my throat, I attempt to steer the conversation in a slightly different direction, “Let me live vicariously through you?”
The stranger’s brows fly upward as his answering smile radiates excitement. “A beautiful woman wants to listen to me talk about my passions? This must be my lucky night.”
His charm is rare for these parts, and it’s disarming. Or maybe it’s just rare that charm is ever directed toward me. Either way, I feel a pull toward him. My body shifts a little as I turn to give him my full attention.
“You’ll tell me if I bore you, right?” he asks.
I nod though it’s a lie. I don’t have the nerve to call someone out on that.
“Right, well, where to begin…”
“—and that’s why I study a map thoroughly before backpacking anywhere.” My new friend grimaces as he finishes his story.
Since I gave him permission to talk, he hasn’t stopped. He’s been regaling me with his adventures through the mountains of Utah, the camping trips he’s taken in the woods of Oregon, and his long treks through the dusty flatlands of Texas. I’m not sure if he’s taken a breath this entire time. It’s almost comical. And as he dives into each story, his hands flail around wildly. It’s a marvel he doesn’t knock either of our drinks over or hit me in the face. Thankfully, his stories are interesting, and he doesn’t require anything from me other than an ear.
Suddenly, the lights flicker on and the music is cut off. Blinking rapidly to adjust to the brightness, I look around to find the bar empty. Woah, weird. We're the last two people here—other than the bartender who is glowering at us from the wall where the light switch is.
“Oh, I guess that's our cue to get lost.” My companion laughs warmly.
As he scoots off his stool, I can’t help but steal another glance at him.
He’s a strange guy. Oh, he’s definitely attractive, but while he might think that I stand out, it’s him that feels a bit out of place. Sure, he’s wearing a tee shirt and jeans, just like anyone would around here. But that tee shirt? It looks like he purchased it off the rack and not at the local box store. And those jeans with rips at each knee—each tear purposeful—have a small designer logo by the right pocket. Glancing at his shoes, I notice they’re new, hardly a scuff on them, and that watch around his wrist is understated but in an expensive way.
It's like he's trying to fit into a crowd he doesn't belong in.
“I suppose it is.” My gaze flickers to my feet when he turns and catches me staring.
I pull my wallet out of my purse and throw more than enough cash down to cover the bill. As I move to stand, my new friend steps back to give me some space. I grab my jacket and pull it on. That’s when I realize he doesn’t have one.
“Oh, did you leave your jacket with your friends?” I glance toward the booth where they were sitting to find it empty. The guy shrugs.
“I didn’t bring one. I don’t mind the cold, and my place is just across the street.”
I nod, and together we walk toward the door. Our sticky footsteps are loud now that the rest of the room is silent.
“Someone should mop in here,” the guy mutters in mock disgust as he opens the door for me.
I can't help it, I chuckle.
Stepping out into the night, I'm immediately wrapped up by the darkness. The neon light attached to the bar is now dark—I can't tell if it's because it finally blew or if the surly bartender turned it off. The nearest streetlamp is about a block away, giving off a dull orange glow that does hardly anything for visibility. The only other light comes from the pathetic looking motel sign from across the street that's supposed to be lighting up the name of the place. Too bad the paint has faded away and all that's left are a few red streaks.
“Well, it was nice talking to you...?” I turn to face the guy beside me who's scanning the gravel parking lot as if he's lost something. My words yank his attention back to me. As he turns to face me, he dons a bright grin.
“Oh, how rude of me. I never introduced myself. I’m Chase.” Just Chase… no last name. “What about you? Can I get the name of the nice woman who politely listened to me talk about myself all evening?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling at his playfulness.
“I’m Beatrix,” I offer.
His lips pull upward in a victorious smile. It’s like I’ve given him a trophy rather than a name. “Well, Beatrix, it was a pleasure talking with you, or, rather, at you.”
This is it. This is where we can either part ways or I could throw caution to the wind and ask him if he wants to come back to the house with me. I know I said I’d give up on that dream but… this is my chance. My heart climbs up my throat, choking off the words. I’ve never done this before. I’m so painfully out of my comfort zone at this very moment that all I can do is struggle to breathe without embarrassing myself.
Come on, you got this. Just ask… I urge myself. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a croak. God, please don’t let me chicken out on this. My whole life I’ve been walking on eggshells, I don’t need to do that right now. So what if he says no? If he’s appalled? It’s not like I’ll ever see him again. Just ask him if he wants to have sex!
“Thanks for entertaining me. I had fun,” I say instead.
Internally, I wince. Great, I’m going to blow it. I know right then and there I’ll never be able to say the words. With a rueful sigh, I turn and walk down the three steps to head toward the van.
“Hey, Beatrix?”
I stop when I get to the gravel and turn to look up at Chase. His eyes catch the strange light from across the street. The shadows around us seem to seep into his expression and twist his handsome features. For a fleeting moment, he looks dangerous. Like a fallen angel ready to pounce. My breath catches in my throat as my heart skips a beat.
Chase descends the concrete steps to join me, and the eerie shadows vanish. He shoves his hands into his front pockets.
“Why’d you pick this bar to stop at this evening?” he asks, his voice light. “You don’t seem like the type of person to frequent establishments of, ah, low quality.”
My embarrassment leaves me flustered. I look away, unable to hold his gaze as I give him some semblance of the truth.
“I didn’t intend to stop here. I wanted to go into Chicago and be anyone but myself for the night, but I choked. I backtracked when I got there. I guess ending up here is a middle ground, so I didn’t completely blow the evening.”
Chase hums thoughtfully. Whatever he thinks of that answer, he keeps to himself. When I think that’s all he’s going to say, I take another step toward the funeral van waiting for me.
“Hold on a second. It’s late; are you sure you want to head home?” Chase’s words surprise me. I jerk my head up to watch his full lips curve into a sheepish smile. “I’m staying across the street. If you want, you could spend the night with me? I’ll let you pretend to be whoever you want to be, if you’re still looking for that.”
It takes me a stupidly long time to figure out what Chase is offering. When it finally clicks, I’m floored.
Oh !
My heart takes flight as a thrill of excitement washes through me. He’s asking me to sleep with him! For a second, I’m stunned into silence. Then, my mind begins to race. This is the first time I’ve ever been propositioned. What do I say? What should I do? Do we shake on this? Talk about what we want or don’t want? The silence stretches between us as I run through all the questions and uncertainties in my head. I try to answer, I do, but when I open my mouth only a squeak comes out. Chase’s smile falters. Crap! I have to say something .
“Yes!” I say just a little bit too loud. “I mean, yes I’d like that. But,” swallowing down my nerves I press on, “only if you understand that me leaving right after I visit isn’t a slight on your part. I have a—” emotionally exhausting, sickeningly relieving “—long day tomorrow and it starts early.”
The smile that tugs at Chase's mouth is both seductive and subdued. He offers me his hand. Hesitantly, I lift a trembling one of my own and I take his. If he notices my nerves, he doesn’t remark on it.
Instead, he gives my hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze and asks, “Who said anything about letting you leave?”