3 Everleigh Glue Myself Shut—Noah Kahan #2
From behind the bar, Cassidy is waving desperately at me. The queue is several people deep. She appears to be swamped, darting from one end to the other, pouring drinks and taking payments.
She waves me over again, her expression pleading. It’s the same look she gave me this morning when she ordered me to go and rest, regardless of the cash I insisted on thrusting into her open hand.
Cringing, I point at my chest and mouth me?
She pauses midway through pouring a pint of beer. “You see me talking to anyone else?”
Shit.
“Get over here!”
If she hadn’t taken me in with little more than a fake name and some half-answered questions, I would turn and run. Gratitude for her kindness is the only reason I squeeze myself through patrons to slip behind the bar.
“I have to leave.” I avoid her gaze.
“Can you pull a half-decent pint? My head chef is too swamped in the kitchen to help.”
“Um, what?”
“Beer,” she repeats impatiently.
“Yes, I know what a pint is. It’s just . . . I’ve never done it before.”
“Right! You can learn on the job. Come here.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now!”
Ditching the full glass in front of an awaiting customer, she grabs hold of my wrist, then tugs. The backpack slips off my shoulder to land on the sticky bar floor.
Her fingers press into the throbbing prints hidden beneath my long sleeve, causing my eyes to water. I bite my tongue until the pain fades to a dull ache.
“We’ve got a few lagers and a local cider on draught,” she rushes to explain. “There’s some shit ale in the back but no one ever orders that crap so don’t worry about it.”
“Look, I can’t do this.”
“Here.” She quickly manoeuvres me into position and sticks a rag in my hands. “We pay hourly rate, and I’ll throw in an extra night upstairs if you can help until closing.”
“Cassi—”
“Please? I’m drowning here.”
Sealing my mouth shut, I take a ragged breath through my nostrils. Her emerald eyes silently plead, burgeoning with exaggerated panic. The woman knows how to pluck a heartstring.
“Okay,” I agree reluctantly.
“Perfect! Get pouring.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes!” she snaps with a short laugh.
It’s official.
She is insane.
Wringing out the wet rag, I wipe the sticky, beer-speckled bar down, then focus on the drinks Cassidy yells at me. Thankfully, I’ve seen pints being poured enough times to have a rough idea of how to do a half-decent job.
The ear-splitting noise fades into the background with each glass I fill. Liquor vanishes faster than I keep up, and the empty glasses return periodically only to be refilled with more liquid courage.
I manage to drop two pint glasses and spill a bottle of cordial, though Cassidy doesn’t say a single word. She certainly does clock the way I brace myself each time, expecting her to hurl insults and threats that never come.
By the time the queue thins out and every customer appears suitably inebriated, I’ve found a strange sort of rhythm. The constant shouts for drinks have drowned out the remaining shadows of the dream that woke me.
Cassidy stops at my side, touching my shoulder. “These drunkards swamped me for a moment there. Thanks for stepping in.”
Her fingertips grazing my arm feel like the shock of a cattle prod. I stiffen into a wooden board.
“You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
“But you handled it like a pro,” she compliments with a big smile. “Maybe I can convince you to stick around after all.”
“You know I’m just passing through.”
She seems to measure the way I deflate when her hand releases my arm, allowing me to pull in air.
“You never mentioned where you’re headed next.”
“No. I didn’t.”
Sighing, the exhale is palpably world weary. “Look, Eden. If you need to earn a few quid, I could use a hand around here. Lord knows we’re busy enough for it.”
“You don’t need me.”
“Did I look like I had that under control?” She chuckles. “Besides, help won’t arrive until summer and the kids come for the seasonal work. That’s a long way off.”
Temptation inflames my tired brain, worsened by the inviting memory of sleeping upstairs. Having a locked door. A bed. My own space, no matter how temporary. Warmth. It’s almost enough to lure me in.
“Well?” Cassidy prompts.
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need your charity.”
“A paying job isn’t charity last time I checked. I’m asking for your help.”
“You don’t even know me,” I cough out.
Her intelligent stare challenges me, taking a razor blade to my soul and slicing it clean open for inspection.
“I know you’re running from something.”
Mouth clicking open and closed, it takes effort not to flinch.
“What makes you think that?”
Cassidy stares off into the crowd. “I know a scared animal when I see one. I recognise it well enough from staring in the mirror until my divorce finalised.”
The fierceness I’ve quickly attributed to her seems to falter, offering a glimpse beneath her hardened skin.
“You don’t have to tell me anything, but let me thank you for your help tonight. Keep the room. You can work another shift or leave when it’s light outside. I won’t stop you.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“Consider it an alternative to sleeping in a bus shelter. No one should have to resort to that. Though it looked awful comfortable out there this morning.”
Contemplating her offer, I try to fathom why she’d help. No one has ever cared before, and I certainly don’t deserve her generosity. Christopher was right about one thing—I am worthless. A failure. I deserve to be alone in this fight.
His sickening whisper forms a noxious smoke that curls throughout my brain matter. There’s a reason I left. No matter the hundreds of miles between us, I can still feel him breathing down my neck.
You’re a waste of air, Everleigh.
Be grateful I married you at all.
“I-I don’t know . . . I can’t . . .”
Cassidy drops eye contact to straighten a half-full bottle of gin. “What you’re running from won’t find you here.”
Terror fills my veins with icy shards.
“No need to feed me whatever line you’ve got prepared, hun. I’m sure you’ve rehearsed it. But when I needed help, nobody cared enough to step up. I’ll be damned if I watch another woman go through hell alone.”
“This isn’t s-something you can fix.” I trip over the words.
“Perhaps not. But I can fix you sleeping rough and catching your death in this weather. Even if it’s just for a few days while you find your feet.”
The hot tears scalding my eyes threaten to escape their imprisonment. If only my mind didn’t flash back to the wedding band stashed in my wallet, spreading its poison across every mile I’ve traversed.
“No.” I forcibly shake my head. “I’m sorry.”
“Eden . . .”
“I have to go now.”
“Just wait. Let’s talk ab—”
“Thanks for everything.”
Stepping out of her path, I urgently flee the bar. The crowd has thinned enough for me to dart through. The steely grip fastened around my lungs demands that I escape this place before anyone can see.
By the time I break outside, my breathing has deteriorated into rapid pants. Blinding pain is building in my chest and head from the lack of air, and I have to lean against the wall to scratch at my throat.
No. I can’t trust her.
I can’t trust anyone.
No matter how desperate I am for an escape, it isn’t safe to accept her help. Those bought-and-paid-for eyes are all around. No amount of distance will ever truly buy my freedom from the demons I’ve fled.
I could handle Christopher’s hurtful words. The humiliation. The mental manipulation and cruel mind games that stuffed me into a tight box of his choosing. After a while, the numbness felt like home.
It’s what I discovered about the man I vowed to love forever that shattered my resilience. Something so hideously evil and so unbelievable that not even I could’ve imagined the monster I was living with.
Vision hazing, I brace my hands on my bent knees and hopelessly gulp down air that refuses to enter my lungs. Sharp talons pierce the undulating flesh, wringing the oxygen from every last cell.
Black spots streak across my vision. Hawkthorpe’s mist-soaked landscape grows hazy, causing fir trees to become terrifying green blurs. My knees knock together, shaking like spindly branches in a strong breeze.
“No!” a low voice booms. “Never speak her name again.”
The slamming of the exit door close by isn’t enough to free me. I should flee or at least hide from whoever is leaving the pub, but I can’t move my frozen limbs.
“Fucking idiot,” the voice adds in a rasp.
Footsteps crunch closer, heavy and aggressive. Each thunderclap betrays a solid weight, echoing in time with their rapid breathing and the odd muttered curse word.
I lift my head enough to see the looming shadow lit by moonlight. All I can make out is the swoop of broad shoulders, forming a vast plane built for endurance.
“Oh.” The outline seems to visibly startle. “Uh, you okay there?”
I couldn’t squeeze a word out even if I wanted to.
“Hey, can you hear me?”
His shadow crunches closer, filling my line of sight. He’s tall. Broad. Limbs stacked like powerful branches of an oak tree with a physique carved from unbreakable stone.
His loose jeans appear to be a dark blue, matching the forest green of his fleece-lined bomber jacket and dark, ribbed T-shirt underneath. There’s a gold wedding band glinting on his clenched fist.
I flinch when he gets close enough to see my short gasps, conscious of my own vulnerability. Two squinting eyes that resemble the verdant forest all around me become clearer in the light.
“Who are you?”
My fingers claw at my throat, an explanation imprisoned behind panic-strapped muscle. Those round orbs assess me, cataloguing the pulsing of my chest and haggard gasps.
“You’re having a panic attack.”
No shit, I want to scream back.
“Alright, I’m coming closer,” he cautions. “You’re gonna pass out if you don’t breathe soon. Want to give that a try for me?”