Chapter 2
Chapter Two
MORGAN
D inner is uneventful. I met Beau and Davis.
They seem like a couple of idiots, but they’re alright.
Then the owner Brent, and his daughter Molly.
It’s sad really, Brent took over the station for his dad, married his high school sweetheart, Shelly.
They had Molly, and when Molly was two, Shelly passed away.
I didn’t ask how, just listened to him explain how it’s been just him and Molly for the last three years.
Single dad, while running a half million-acre cattle station and managing these morons. Which would be a full-time job on its own. He said they get a lot of backpackers who need work to maintain their visa, so that helps with the work load. He seems really nice, but I’ve been wrong before.
Every time someone moved too quickly around me, I flinched, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Shane almost hit Beau, who tried to poke fun at the situation. Rhys actually did smack him up the side of the head when he pointed out the bruising .
Davis didn’t say much. He did look at me, a lot. He seemed pained every time he did.
I met the couple that help run the caravan park; Dani and Miles; and a couple of the backpackers, but Rhys said they constantly change.
There’s a few other people. Cook who does, well, the cooking, and Shirly, who does all the cleaning. And if you ask me there’s a little something something going on between those two.
Rhys mentioned they’re getting a tour bus tomorrow.
There will be a mix of backpackers and as they call them city slickers.
Something I am now I guess, or used to be?
Beau and Davis light up about that. Rhys told Shane he’d get him laid, and because the last thing I want to think about is my brother and his dick, I called it a night.
So here I am laying in my bed, looking up at the roof. Unlike the day, the night is bloody cold. Desert things, I guess.
I don’t have phone reception, which is fine because I don’t really have anyone to be in contact with. Ethan did a good fucking job isolating me from everyone.
How did I not see any of this? Even now, I’m still noticing the things he did. Controlling prick.
I can’t sleep, and even if I wanted to, it would all be plagued by Ethan’s harsh hands and words. They were just words and words mean nothing. I laugh to myself. If they were just words, why are they constantly in a loop taunting me?
Getting up to sit at the desk, I open to a random page and decide to write all the things Ethan once said to me. As the pencil glides over the paper, it quickly fills.
You’re not good enough.
Useless .
Just a warm hole for my cock.
You’re so ugly.
You can’t do anything right.
You don’t deserve to be happy.
You’re so predictable.
And my favourite, I love when you think you can fight back, whore.
I continue to write. Maybe this will bring some peace and be cathartic or whatever.
I don’t know when, but I must have fallen asleep because when I wake to the sound of alarms and stomping boots, I’m in my bed.
I roll over and pull my blanket up over my head. Don’t come in here, let me sleep. Please let me sleep.
No such luck.
The bedroom door flings open, and Rhys is bellowing at me to get up. I throw my pillow at him. “Fuck off.”
“We have coffee.”
I guess I can get up for coffee. Rhys is annoyingly still standing in the doorway with a stupid smirk on his face.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I stutter? Fuck off!” I yell at him.
With a laugh, he turns around and walks away, closing the door behind him. I look down to find that in my sleep, one of my breasts had slipped from my cami. Fuck.
Once I’m decent, putting away my rogue boob, I go to the kitchen. There I’m met with what seems to be all of the guys. I eye Rhys as he hands me a coffee, and he thankfully says nothing about the boob slip.
“Good morning, Morgana.”
“Call me that again and see what happens,” I say through clenched teeth .
He gives me his back, but that doesn’t stop him from looking over his shoulder with a smirk playing on his lip, “Morgana.”
He deliberately says it slowly, breaking down every syllable.
I react without thinking and throw my coffee at him. He just laughs, and that’s when I notice the coffee isn’t actually coffee. Just water.
“Can’t believe you were going to waste coffee like that. Good thing you’re so predictable.”
Predictable. The word ricochets around my head, and Rhys no longer sounds like himself.
His words growing more harsh and laced with venom.
Predictable. His strong stubbled jaw line rounds out and his full lips narrow, as his face distorts in disgust. Instead of Rhys's forest green eyes, they are now Ethan's mean dull blue ones. Predictable.
I stumble backwards and there’s the sound of a chair clattering next to me. I hit a wall, sliding down along it. My breathing coming in short quick bursts. Shane enters my vision, kneeling in front of me. I look at him pleading for him to help me.
He says something, but I’m convinced all of my body’s blood is rushing through my ears. My mouth and nose start to tingle; I can’t get enough oxygen.
Suddenly Shane is out of my line of sight and panic grips me further. I’m then scooped up and carried somewhere. There’s a sudden change in temperature that has me sucking in the first decent lung full of air.
“Breathe Morgan.” I suck in another breath and let it out. “That’s it. Slow breaths. In and out.”
His hand trails along my back. Stroking up and down.
“In and out. ”
I follow the directions and my breathing slows down to a normal rate. The tingling sensation dissipates and the fog lifts from my brain. I cuddle into whoever is holding me. Relaxing into their hold. Once I feel myself, I let out a sigh.
“Better?”
Fuck. This is Rhys. I jump out of his hold.
“Fuck, sorry.” I brush my hands on my top, looking down, too embarrassed to look at him.
“Why are you apologising?”
“For all…that,” I wave my hand. “You must think I’m pathetic.”
He steps closer until I see his boot enter my field of vision. He places a finger under my chin and lifts my head so I’m looking at him. “You are not pathetic, I never want to hear you say that about yourself again.”
I want to agree, I should agree. But I don’t. I can’t. I turn my head to the side. “Whatever. Let’s pretend it never happened.”
“Whatever you say.” He drops his hand, turns on his heel, and walks back inside.
I hug myself and turn away from the house. The sun is just breaking the horizon, and the sky is slowly changing to a soft yellow glow.
Shane approaches me, “Mo, I have coffee.” I look at him over my shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Actual coffee.”
“Thank you.” I take the mug from him, and I feel the warmth. How did I not notice that when Rhys passed me the mug earlier? I’m blaming the shock of Rhys doing something nice for me. But still if I paid attention, it could have saved me all that.
“I know you’re not happy about this, but I need you safe. And here is safe. ”
“I don’t know. I might kill him.” I deadpan; the thought is cathartic.
He throws his arm around my shoulders. “Good thing I’m a cop; I can help you cover that up.”
“You’d cover up your best friend’s murder?” I question, leaning into the embrace.
“If you committed it? Absolutely. I’ll protect you always.”
Tears prick my eyes; I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod. A throat clears from behind us.
“You’d cover up my murder? Some mate.”
They laugh and I take the opportunity to duck away.
Beau and Davis, or as I now call them, Tweedle dee and Tweedle dumb, are at the table putting their boots on. They look me up and down. Their mischievous eyes are now etched with pity.
I didn’t know how much I hated that look until it kept getting shot in my direction.
I might have trouble trusting men, flinch from fast movements, have visible bruises and am sporting a busted lip, but that does not mean I want anyone's pity.
Placing my now empty mug in the sink, with the anger I am feeling feeding my confidence to say the next words, I turn to look at them.
“You don’t know me well, but if you look at me with pity again, I’ll tell every woman on these tour buses that you have gonorrhoea.”
Davis looks away but I catch the smirk on his lips. But Beau places his hand over his heart and looks shocked, “You wound us so.”
“Dare me.” I narrow my eyes.
Holding their hands up, “Yep, you got it. No pity.”
“What are you two doing here anyway? ”
“Rhys has the better coffee.” Davis shrugs, picking up his mug and the pack of smokes I didn’t notice sitting on the table. “Go get your boots, Barbie, we have a station to check on.”
Barbie? I don’t ask why. I’m sure it’s the blonde hair. Again, a control tactic by Ethan. And with that thought, I decide I’m going to go back to my original hair colour. Another way to reclaim myself and a fuck you to Ethan.
I don’t have boots, though. That is until I walk into my room and find a new pair on the foot of my bed, with a flanno lying next to them.
The tag of the boots reads Ringers Western. The name doesn’t sound familiar, everyone back at Barrenridge just used R.M Williams and Wrangler.
I go about getting dressed in a simple pair of denim shorts and a t-shirt. Sitting on the edge of the bed I slip on the boots. The morning might have a chill, but I don’t mind it. So I tie the flanno around my waist.
The shoes fit perfectly. I catch my reflection in the mirror of the bathroom.
Who even am I? This time a little over a week ago, I was wearing high heels, blazers and lived in the city.
Now I’m wearing leather boots and a flanno living in the middle of nowhere.
Unfortunately, the bruises aren’t much different, just not hidden by layers of makeup.