Chapter 19
The Journal of Daisy D. Stiles - Twelve and a half years ago
August invited me to a party tonight.
Everyone is celebrating summer, and I should have said yes.
A big part of me wanted to say yes, mostly because he asked.
But also because I’m desperate to feel normal, just once.
I said no, though.
Alcohol is the worst drug in the world, and I refuse to take part in it.
Never thought I’d say this, but I wish I was home. Actually, scratch that. I’d rather be anywhere but here right now.
The Bar, our usual staple of a hangout when our group goes out, is closed because Rodney, the owner, is replacing the floors before Thanksgiving Eve. So Gus and I decided to hop two towns over to a place I’m not totally familiar with.
It has some honky tonk embarrassing small town kind of name like the Flying Boot Buckle or some shit.
I’ve never liked the smell of alcohol, even before things got bad with my parents.
And right now I’m holding back the need to projectile vomit all over the seemingly harmless guy next to me because all I can focus on is the smell of his stale beer breath as he goes on about…
Jesus Christ, I don’t even know what he’s rambling about.
He’s not bad looking, I guess. But it’s in a stuffy financial bro sort of way.
The pants he has on are a little too short with his ankles poking out, and his shirt just looks crunchy.
From what I can see of his loafers, he’s not wearing any socks, and that’s giving me an ick no one on the planet could come back from.
His personality so far has matched his appearance.
All that to say, I’m crawling out of my fucking skin.
Gus left for the bathroom realistically about four minutes ago, but to me, it feels like forty.
For not the first time in my life, but definitely something I actively try to avoid, I’m scanning the room for Gus. I desperately need an out, and he’s the only person in this bar I trust to help me.
Not even bothering to wait for the dude to finish his latest thought, I cut him off.
“I’m just gonna…go.” Not my smoothest delivery, but my senses feel kind of warped right now. I’m on edge, but I don’t know why. It’s bothering me. I hate not being in control. I’m always in control.
His hand falls to the top of my thigh, and I lock up.
“I thought we were having a good time,” he says, leaning in and wiggling his eyebrow in a very unattractive way.
I try to laugh him off. “It’s definitely been a time, and thank you for the drink. But I’m ready to call it a night.” I motion towards the untouched glass of whatever he ordered me without my asking, and fake a yawn.
Instead of the man’s hand releasing me, his grip tightens. When he leans in, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. His words send a chill down my spine. “I don’t feel like I’ve been properly thanked. How about a little kiss, pretty girl?”
There’s no hiding the look of pure mortification on my face. “Ew. Get the hell off me.” I move to shove him so I can hop off this barstool with no luck. His fingers dig into my skin, so much that I know each print will leave a bruise. I only like the bruises August leaves.
“Don’t be a bitch,” he hisses.
I should yell. Cause a scene so someone—fucking anyone—interjects. There are a lot of things I should be doing to help myself, and yet I’m paralyzed in fear. Because I know this feeling. I know what happens when someone’s touch feels like that. I remember what comes next—
The ringing in my ears starts first.
The black spots in my vision come next.
I taste metal on my tongue, and I don’t have the wits to realize it’s my own blood because I’m biting down on the inside of my cheek.
I close my eyes and breathe in through my nose.
I can get out of this. An eerie sort of calm takes over, the boxes in my brain opening up to stow away bad feelings and memories.
My survival skills are finally kicking into gear.
I slowly open my eyes back up to see this piece of shit loser hasn’t budged an inch.
He’s so dangerously close until I kick my leg out, and he stumbles.
“Well, unfortunately for you, I am a bitch. Get. Off.”
I grab hold of the bartop and look around to see that while this whole situation has rocked me, it really hasn’t disturbed the rest of the patrons. Seemingly no one noticed a man trying to take advantage of a woman. Which, I guess, shouldn’t be too surprising.
But in the next second, all I see is the blur of a mass of a man roughly dragging the asshole out the back door of the bar.
My senses catch up to the scene, and I realize, the mass of a man is August.
Oh, no.
I rush out the back door to see Gus crashing the two of them into the alley. Since I didn’t get the guy’s name, let’s go ahead and call him Douche Canoe for right now. Douche Canoe stumbles, trying to right his footing before Gus has the chance to cause more damage.
No luck for Douche Canoe though.
Gus gets in his face, so close their noses are almost touching.
The asshole tries to back up, not realizing Gus has him up against a wall with no out.
Idiot. He turns his head to the side, desperate to find an escape.
But there is none. Not when all six foot, five inches of August Burton is towering in front of him with the guy’s shirt in a vice grip in his fist.
“Who taught you it was okay to lay a single unwanted finger on a woman?” Gus is seething.
Douche Canoe doesn’t answer. He inhales with a shake. I’m sure if I checked, I’d see he pissed himself.
Honestly? It’d be deserved.
I continue to stand back, not really having a clue about what I should be doing.
Am I supposed to be putting a stop to this?
Intervening sounds like not the brightest idea.
Gus is unhinged, and I’m really only used to his anger being directed at me.
But never like this. But also never in my defense.
“Let’s play a little game, okay? Every time you don’t answer me, I rock your head against this brick.” Gus proceeds to make good on his word, hauling the guy against the wall. I watch his head bounce once.
“I’m asking again. Who told you it was okay to touch someone without their goddamn permission?”
“I’m sorry!” Asshole chokes out.
Gus whips him forward so he’s under the light, and I can fully see him. And yep, he definitely peed his pants.
“Say it to her fucking face.”
“I’m…sorry,” the pathetic man pants.
“Daze?” Gus looks at me. For what? Not a clue.
My brain finally catches up with the scene in front of me. I think, and again, I’m not entirely sure, but I think Gus wants to know if that’s a good enough apology for me. I don’t want to know what would happen if I said it wasn’t.
“Uh, yeah. Get fucked, dude. Gus, let him go, please. Come on.”
Gus tosses the creep into a pile of cardboard the bar has piled in the back alley.
He crouches low and whispers something my ears can’t pick up.
When he walks over to me, his hand finds the small of my back, urging me forward without another word.
I hate that the feeling of him on my back is comforting.
“You can’t handle things like that,” I say in a low voice.
“Daisy, shut your mouth before I turn around and knock every fucking tooth out of his skull. I’m barely keeping it together right now.” I’m inclined to believe him, due to the fact that I can feel his hand shaking over my jacket.
“That’s insane. You’re insane. You know that, right?”
Gus stops in his tracks, taking me with him by wrapping his hand around my biceps so I halt too. “Yeah, I do. I need you to remember that the next time you ever think it’s okay for a man to put his hands on you like that with zero repercussions, got it? You find me, and I handle it.”
“I could have taken care of myself,” I argue.
“Never said you couldn’t. Now, let’s go.” Gus continues to usher me forward and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I continue to let him lead.
He leads me right out of the bar and down the street til we stop in front of his truck.
Gus spins me around and walks us until my back hits metal.
“What do you need right now, Daze?” he huffs with barely contained restraint.
I close my eyes and inhale, willing every bone in my body to let go of the feelings seeping into my pores. This isn’t like before. It’s different. I’m safe.
I focus on Gus’s thumb kneading into the skin on my hip, holding me in place.
I’m safe.
I know I’m safe, and now all I want—
“I want to forget,” I admit barely above a whisper. I clear my throat to find my voice. “I want you to make me forget what just happened. I want to remember what it’s supposed to feel like,” I say more clearly, reaching out to run my fingers down his chest.
When I open my eyes, Gus is staring at me so intensely, I almost jump. It’s like he’s trying to read my mind or get lost in the sight of me. It’s overwhelming.
“You trust me?” he breathes.
I nod.
“Gentle?”
I shake my head slowly.
“Words, Daze,” he commands, and it sends the good kind of shivers through my core.
“I want you,” I tell him with painful honesty.
He pulls me aside and whips the passenger door open. “Get in the truck.”
I don’t move quickly enough for Gus apparently because all of a sudden, he’s scooping me up and placing me on the bench seat himself. He reaches for the seatbelt and pulls it across my chest until it locks into place.
Another part of my not-so-impenetrable shell cracks, and I unbuckle and scoot over to the middle before Gus enters the driver’s side.
He looks at me like he’s about to ask what I’m doing, so I tell him before he even opens his mouth. “I just want to be close to you. Is that okay?”
August puts the key in the ignition and starts his old truck up. I lean into him and the old memories of my time in this cab. He wraps one arm around my shoulders, tucking me into his side.
“Always, Daze.”