Chapter 3
JENNA
After Wiley leaves, I struggle to get my anxiety under control again.
Wiley has always given me serial killer vibes, and I hate when he comes to the gas station. He always tries to flirt with me, which leads me to being triggered.
God, I hate men.
Well, except for the men in K-dramas. It’s the only kind of romance I can watch because they keep things PG-rated and sweet.
Once I’m done cleaning the store and unpacking all the boxes, I get lost in the show I’m currently binging. Luckily, there are only three more customers who all stop for gas and don’t come into the store.
When it’s almost time to go home, I check the cash in the register and make a note for Mr. Cahoon.
I hear footsteps, and assuming it’s my boss, I unplug my charger, placing it in my backpack along with my phone.
Mr. Cahoon comes in and mumbles, “Morning.”
Nodding, I walk around the counter and give him a wave while leaving the store.
“Jenna,” he calls. When I stop and glance at him through the window, he says, “I need you to come in at six tonight.”
I nod again, then grab my bicycle. Climbing on, I begin to pedal away from my place of work. It’s still dark out, but the sun will start rising soon.
Even though it’s August, the mornings are cool, but I quickly warm up from the exercise as I pedal to where my house is on the outskirts of town.
It takes me forty-five minutes to get home, and half the roads are uphill, so by the time I come to a stop, I’m sweaty and out of breath. Getting to work is a much smoother ride.
I glance at the house that’s practically falling apart, and when I unlock the front door, the lock sticks, and I have to jerk at the handle until the key finally turns.
Pushing the creaking door open, I pull my bicycle inside and lean it against the wall before locking the door and securing the two deadbolts.
I shrug off my backpack and take out my phone as I walk to the kitchen, and while I fix myself a grilled cheese sandwich, I continue watching my show.
My life is so dull, I eat grilled cheese every Tuesday, ramen and a fried egg on Wednesdays, tuna and rice on Thursdays, sloppy Joes on toast on Fridays, mac n cheese on Saturdays, and spaghetti and meatballs on Sundays. Mondays, I keep for whatever is about to expire, so no food goes to waste.
I get lost in the Korean food and culture, wishing I could try to prepare some of the yummy dishes they always show on the TV series.
When it gets close to the moment the hero finally kisses the girl, my heartbeat speeds up. It’s almost always closed-mouth, and their lips hardly move, but still, I swoon every time.
I wish I lived in a K-drama and not in this hellhole.
Done eating, I quickly clean up before I go to my bedroom so I can soak in the tub. I walk through the two-bedroom house with my eyes locked on the screen of my phone and blindly grab my pajamas.
In the bathroom, I switch on the faucets and sit down on the closed toilet lid. A grin spreads over my face when the leading actors finally kiss, and I let out a soft sigh.
I’ve only been kissed once. I was fifteen, and just as I thought I got my first boyfriend, Jeremy moved away with his parents.
We texted for a few months, but then he stopped all contact with me. He probably got a new girlfriend who didn’t like him talking to me.
When the tub is half full, I shut the faucets and take off my clothes. I climb into the warm water and watch the show for ten minutes before I quickly wash myself.
Once I’m done, I quickly climb out and put on my pajamas before I throw my dirty clothes in the lukewarm water. I have to cut down my expenses wherever I can, so I always wash my clothes in my bathwater. It sucks, and I miss the smell of the dryer sheets Mom always used.
I grab some laundry detergent and wash the few items, then rinse them quickly under the cold faucet. I twist the fabric to get all the excess water out, and after I hang my T-shirt, jeans, and the pair of panties over the small drying rack that stands in the shower, I let out a tired sigh.
I quickly brush my teeth, then head to my bedroom and crawl under the covers. I continue to watch my show until my eyes grow tired. Setting my phone down beside me on the mattress, I snuggle into my pillow.
Just as I’m about to drift to sleep, the man in the suit who came into the store last night pops into my mind, chasing the sleepy feeling away.
I wonder who he is. He looked important.
What is his life like? Maybe he travels a lot and gets to see other countries.
I’m not good at guessing people's ages, but I think he’s in his mid-thirties. I can’t remember whether he wore a wedding ring, but he’s probably married.
The image of the handsome man going home to his wife and children, where they live in a pretty house, flits through my mind, and it makes the loneliness I feel grow more.
Before the attack, I wanted a future like that with all my heart. A loving husband and children. I used to dream about living in a white-picket fence house in the suburbs with my family, while my husband and I worked in the city, earning enough to take family vacations in Europe.
We’d visit places like Greece, Italy, Spain, and Portugal.
God, I used to spend so much time dreaming about those countries.
And now I’ll never leave Aurora. I’ll work at the gas station until I’m forced to retire, and then only God knows what will happen to me.
For the millionth time, the dark thoughts creep into my mind like a slithering snake, hissing for me to put an end to it all.
What’s the use of living?
As tears threaten to fall, I squeeze my eyes shut and press my face into the pillow.
You can’t do that to Mom and Aunt Sherrie.
I might not see them, but we talk once a week, and I love hearing how happy they are down in Florida.
I love my K-dramas.
Life isn’t all bad.
A sob bursts from me, because no matter how I try to be positive, the bad far outweighs the good.
It’s been eight years since those men destroyed my life. I still see three of them, every now and then, when the bikers drive through town.
I still have nightmares.
I can still feel their hands groping me.
I still feel them inside me.
The disgust and shame haven’t lessened at all.
Just like every other day, I think about what I could’ve done differently that night.
I could’ve stayed home instead of going to the bonfire where all the seniors were getting together.
I could’ve accepted a ride from Stevie, who I was friends with, instead of staying while she left because she had to get up early for church the next morning. I should’ve done that, then I wouldn’t have ended up walking home so late at night.
I should’ve run faster when they chased me down with their bikes.
I should’ve fought harder and turned into some kind of ninja, kneeing them all so I could get away.
I should’ve.
I should’ve.
I should’ve.
But I didn’t.
When my alarm goes off, I let out a groan and pat over the mattress until I find my phone. I silence the damn thing, and wishing I could stay in bed, I drag myself out from under the covers.
Another day in paradise.
Not.
Still half asleep, I get ready for work, and when I push my bicycle out onto the porch, the sun is too bright, making me squint.
I lock the door behind me and steer my bicycle to the driveway, where I climb on and reluctantly pedal to work.
I get to the gas station in the nick of time and quickly rest my bicycle against the wall.
As I rush into the store, Mr. Cahoon passes by me and says, “See you tomorrow.”
Glancing around, I notice there aren’t any boxes for me to unpack, and taking a seat behind the counter, I check how much cash is in the register.
It’s always under a hundred dollars, as most people pay with cards.
Going into the app where I watch all my shows, I press play on the second-to-last episode of the series I’m currently addicted to.
The app is the only thing I splurge on. Seriously, I’d rather starve than give up my K-dramas because they’re the only joy in my pathetic life.
Every time I hear a car, I glance up, and when the vehicle passes the gas station, I go back to watching the sweet love story unfolding on the small screen of my phone.
When the credits roll on the final episode, I get up to make myself a cup of coffee. Even though it’s the cheap stuff, it’s better than nothing.
I glance over the oily burritos and corndogs that have been lying on display since this morning, and not wanting food poisoning, I grab a packet of mixed nuts and a packet of dried fruit.
I’m allowed one thing to eat during my shift, but I know Mr. Cahoon doesn’t always keep count of stock, and because he pays me so little, I don’t feel bad about taking something extra. I only risk it once a week, so I don’t draw attention to snacks disappearing.
I drink the coffee while eating one nut at a time, relishing each bite as I search for the next show to watch.
Hearing an engine, I glance up, and when I see the same man from yesterday getting out of an SUV, I choke on a half-chewed almond.
Coughing my butt off while my eyes water, I duck down behind the counter as the man comes toward the entrance.
When the scratchy feeling in my throat finally goes away, I slowly stand up, only to find the man standing right by the counter, a concerned expression on his handsome features.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone still as deep and dangerous-sounding as I remember from yesterday.
I nod quickly and clear my throat again while my face goes up in flames.
Ducking my head, I peek at him from under my bangs, admiring how well the dark blue suit fits his muscled body as he walks away from the counter.
He must work out.
Maybe he goes jogging every morning.
I wonder what he’s doing in Aurora.
Why is he getting coffee again? Surely, he tasted how bad it was yesterday.
He doesn’t add any cream or sugar, and when he comes back to the counter, I’m filled with the kind of nervousness you feel around someone you’re crushing on.
The last time I felt a similar emotion was when Jeremy kissed me.
I’m completely overwhelmed by how good-looking this man is, and when he sets the cup down on the counter, my eyes zoom in on his hands. Veins snake beneath his tanned skin, and I get a glimpse of ink under the cuffs of his jacket and shirt. I also notice the wristwatch he’s wearing is a Rolex.
I wonder what kind of tattoo he has.
“Jenna,” he murmurs.
Hearing my name, my gaze snaps up to his face, and an unexpected wave of tingles rushes over every inch of my body.
He tilts his head slightly, his brown eyes boring into mine with so much intensity, it makes my mouth go dry.
“Do you work here every night?”
I hate interacting with people, but with him it’s different. I’m fascinated by his accent and wish I had the guts to ask him where he’s from.
Jerkily, I nod, my tongue darting out to wet my dry lips.
His eyes flick down to my mouth. When it looks like tiny golden flames ignite in his brown irises, my breathing speeds up.
Wow.
Slowly, my attention moves to the scruff on his jaw before my gaze settles on his full lips.
The image of him leaning down to give me a soft, sweet kiss flits through my mind, and it feels like I’m a second away from spontaneously combusting as I blush my butt off.
The sound of another car pulling into the gas station rips me out of my thoughts, and out of habit, I glance through the windows to see Muriel climbing out of her sedan.
Shoot.
I quickly ring up the coffee and gesture at the screen by the register before keying the amount into the card machine. The man taps the same black credit card, and just like yesterday, he takes the receipt when I offer it to him.
Muriel rushes into the store, then her eyes land on the man. Her right eyebrow pops up, and her lips part as she blatantly checks him out from head to toe.
“Have a good night, Jenna,” the man says.
Shyly, I dare a quick glance at his face while I nod, a slight smile wavering around my mouth.
When he walks out of the store, I grab Muriel’s pack of cigarettes and place it down on the counter.
As she takes it and sets down the correct amount of cash, she asks, “Who’s the hot man?”
I shrug and shake my head.
“You don’t know?” she shoots another question my way.
I shake my head and focus on opening the register so I can place the cash inside the drawer.
“I’d give my left tit for a one-night stand with him,” she mumbles as she leaves the store, her eyes fixed on the man as he’s climbing into his SUV.
Just like yesterday, he doesn’t drive off immediately, but I can’t see what he’s doing because the windows are tinted black.
Even after Muriel is gone, the SUV still doesn’t move, and I wonder if he’s drinking the coffee.
Curious, I Google the brand of his wristwatch, and my eyebrows fly up when I see how much one costs.
Holy crap, that’s expensive.
I glance at the SUV again, wondering why a man who’s dressed like him and clearly has money would stop at this little gas station for our crappy coffee?