Chapter 2 CIA Spy
?Azalea?
I pull into my driveway and dread fills my thoughts. The lights in the house are still on.
I turn my car off and hop out.
Maybe, just maybe, they won't be mad. Maybe they just forgot to turn the lights off before going to bed.
I find myself wishing to be talking to the mysterious guy from earlier and not walking into my house.
I carefully and slowly open up the front door and walk in as quietly as I can. From my side, I hear the sound of a clearing throat.
Both my mother and my father stand in the kitchen, beer cans in their hands and empty ones strewn over the counters.
"Took you a while," my father chides and my heart picks up in pace.
"Where's the moonshine?" my mothers slurred voice bounces off our high ceilings, causing a slight echo effect in my ears.
"I don't have it," I keep my eyes focused on the floor as I tell the truth.
"Why the hell not?"
"I gave the money to a kind homeless man," I explain, not hesitating to lie to them. There's no point in lying.
I hear the sound of my father undoing his belt and I close my eyes tightly in an attempt to keep them from watering.
I'm terrified of my father when he's drunk.
His dragging footsteps begin toward me and I gather the courage to run away from him.
I don't want this, any of it. I just want my normal parents back.
I want my brother back.
Running didn't work. He just whipped the belt at my back from a longer distance.
The stinging pain enters at a high level and I fall down on my knee with a quiet cry. His large hand grabs my upper arm and he yanks me back up.
The smell of beer and other strong alcohol envelops my nose and he folds the belt a single time as I squirm in his hold.
"Daddy, please," I whimper but I get ignored. He brings his arm back before crashing the belt against my back once more. I feel my back welt up and he brings it down another time in a matter of seconds.
My eyes find my mother's and she looks concerned.
Concerned, but not making a move to stop him.
He lets go of me and I drop to the floor, holding my back straight to keep the pain from intensifying.
"When we tell you to do something," he grips my chin, making sure I'm looking right at him, "you do it."
He pushes my face away harshly before raising his arm and giving me one more whip to the back, one the most painful of all.
"Jack," my mother begins, her voice a little less slurred, "she's learned her lesson, she's done for the night."
I keep my head down low as I let out silent sobs.
It's not even the pain of the belt that hurts the worst.
It's the fact that this is what everything has come to since Jake went to Heaven.
I understand why they drink.
I understand why my father does what he does.
They both hurt and they take out their frustration on breakable kitchenware and my father takes it out on me at times.
I'm the cause of all of this and that alone overpowers the excruciating pain radiating off of my back.
"You don't get the drink and you give away my money," my father shouts angrily as my entire back pounds and feels as hot as fire.
"I-I'm sorry," I whisper through my tears, looking up at my father who stands above me.
I catch a flash of remorse in his eyes but instead of speaking over his actions, he throws the belt on the ground next to me before turning and walking out of the kitchen.
"Clean this up," my mother nearly trips over herself as she follows him. I look around and all the glass from before still sits on the ground.
I stand from my sitting position on the ground, moving slowly so that my back won't stretch too much which will only make the pain ten times worse.
I then begin cleaning everything up.
I often tell myself that what he does is just a parent's form of punishment.
I tell myself that a lot.
~~~
"Oh, Mr. Terrip?" I call out, knowing he's most likely hiding from my presence.
I turn a corner and run right into his tall and lean figure.
"I didn't hear you come in, Azalea," he gives me his signature 'I'm lying to your face' smile.
"I'm sure you didn't Mr. Terrip," I offer him a smile back.
"It's the hearing, I'm telling you," he informs me and I just nod.
I'm totally sure that's it.
"Mr. Terrip," I say as I begin helping him put books in their correct places. I 'work' here, although it's unofficial.
He won't hire me because he likes to say he's an independent man but I know he likes to have my help.
"Yes, Azalea?"
"I met a stranger yesterday," I tell him and he shakes his head.
"Young one, you meet strangers often," he raises his long arm, putting a book on one of the top shelves.
Shelves cover most of the store. Considering he's not the youngest man ever, most of the store looks quite old. That doesn't keep me from loving it any less.
I think it looks quite aesthetic.
"You are correct, Mr. Terrip," I nod, "but, this time, I don't know. He was just mysterious, y'know?"
"Not necessarily," he shakes his head and I giggle.
I raise my arm to put a book on a high shelf and when I do, my back stretches painfully. I let out a quiet hiss and unfortunately, Mr. Terrip hears it.
Mhm, but he didn't hear me come in apparently.
"What'd you do to yourself?" the southern drawl to his words make me think back to my father's voice. When he's not drunk of course.
"I fell off my bed last night," I thankfully recover my mistake, "can you believe me, Mr. Terrip?"
"Crazy girl," he shakes his head and I begin on a nonstop ramble about how bed frames that are shorter should be made more stylish so that I could get one I like.
I didn't even fall off my bed, I don't know why I began talking about wanting a shorter bed frame.
"You appear a little low on energy today, Azalea," Mr. Terrip frowns, looking down at me.
Unfortunately, I was up all night tossing and turning. When your back hurts as bad as mine does, it's hard to find a comfortable sleeping position.
"You're right, Mr. Terrip," I nod, "I'm going to take a quick trip to town square for some coffee, would you like some?"
"I'm alright, kid," he shakes his head, "go ahead and get you some go-go juice."
I giggle at his name for coffee and bid goodbye.
A short five minutes later, I pull up to the sidewalk leading to town square. I hop out my Forerunner and begin walking amongst the many people.
I enter in the first coffee shop I see and hop right in line.
Once it's my turn, I step up and smile at the cashier.
"Hello!" I greet, "I usually get the same thing when I come to coffee shops and don't worry it's not that complicated. Thank goodness I'm not lactose intolerant or something of that nature. I would just like a small caramel iced coffee."
The man looks at me with slightly widened eyes and I feel like slapping my own forehead for going off on a slight ramble.
"Please," I add with a sheepish smile and he just nods, putting in my order on the touchscreen computer thingy in front of him.
After getting my coffee, I make my way out of the small coffee shop.
I don't drink just straight coffee. I like to add a little kazam! to my coffee. Caramel, chocolate, anything of that nature really.
I walk along the street of town square quietly humming Malibu by Miley Cyrus to myself. I end up in the middle of Red Street.
I guess I just want to see if that guy is still here.
I don't know why he would be considering it's been a whole day but my eyes still fall on the same bench where I first walked up to him at last night.
Now, an older man sits at the bench.
Is that him? I mean, it can't be.
This guy isn't that old but he isn't really young. He's got graying hair on the sides of his head and slight wrinkles on his forehead.
My famous guesstimation: 54 years old.
He seems nice though.
I imagine him to have two fully grown kids and a loving wife. His oldest child just had a baby and now he's a happy grandfather.
He's just got one of those grandfatherly looks.
Realizing I'm looking at this man a little too much, I look away. If he would've caught me, he would most likely think I'm an undercover spy.
Or maybe just a weird person with a staring problem.
The sound of a door to one of the restaurants by day, bar by night opens sending me out of my mind-ramble and back into reality.
If the sound of the door opening right beside me didn't send me enough into the real world, then my body clashing with someone else's does.
I basically ricochet off the person's body but I'm able to keep myself standing by using my special CIA balance technique I learned from watching a CIA training documentary.
I'm basically qualified to be an undercover CIA spy.
My coffee flops and splashes to the ground though. Apparently, I'm not trained quite enough to be carrying a coffee. Or to deal with the pain of the slashes from the belt on my back because it's returned to stinging right now.
"Fucking watch yourself," the person grumbles angrily as I continue to wobble on my own feet.
I know that voice.
That voice has been stuck inside my head since last night.
"I know you!" I turn my attention to the guy at my side. My eyes widen slightly as I take in his appearance in the light of day.
He is tall and he is muscular. He is gorgeous.
He's also not that older guy sitting on the bench.
His dark, deadly eyes bore into mine as I stare up at him. His eyes are black. They appear so...empty and scary.
I'd love to know why.
His dark brown hair lays floppily on his head and his long eyelashes cast a shadow over his cheekbones.
His nose is only slightly crooked, most likely a sign that it has been broken before. His light pink, plump lips catch my attention next.
The corner of his upper lip sits in a small sneer as he glares down at me, his strong jaw clenched tightly.
Standing right here in front of him, the top of my head just barely reaches hardly anything past his shoulders.
His voice sounds the same as it does last night. Wonderfully wonderful.
His eyebrows pull down and although I'm not the greatest at reading people's expressions, I can tell he has no clue who I am.