Chapter 2
Chapter two
Two years later
“Can I get a Long Island please?” The young girl on the other side of the bar asks.
Giving her a nod, I grab everything I need off the back wall.
Gin, tequila, white rum, vodka and triple sec go into the glass before I top the beverage off with some cola from the fountain, and a lemon.
Offering her a smile, I slide the drink over and she drops a twenty on the bartop then saunters off toward her group of friends.
I started working at Doc’s two months after I arrived here in Oregon.
The bar is named in homage to the owner's grandfather, whose nickname was Doc. He was a very loved and respected man in this area, even after he passed away ten years ago. Out in the middle of nowhere, the building sits at the edge of the forest and if you don’t know where you’re going you might miss it.
The once dark brown siding now faded, and the roof is about ready to be replaced.
Neon signs fill up the large window that sits next to the front door advertising different types of alcohol we serve.
The open sign that lights up the smaller window to the left of the door flickers and the “O” no longer works.
It doesn’t look like much but to the regulars, this is their very own Cheers. Everyone knows your name.
Four nights a week I sit behind the bar and watch as seemingly nice people turn into the biggest douchebags over the dumbest things–I hate alcohol and what it does to people.
Last week we had to throw out a couple guys who got into a fight—over what, I have no idea.
They came in together laughing and the more they drank, the angrier one of them got.
One of them threw a punch and that was it.
Fists were flying, some of the other customers tried to help break it up and one of them got elbowed in the face.
What started with two, ended in four bloody noses, and even more black eyes.
All in all though, it’s not a bad place to work.
The owner takes care of us and the money makes the shit show worth it.
I let out a sigh and look up at the clock–only a couple more hours and I can go home and get some rest. I don’t mind working a double but I’ve picked up a couple of Ashlynn’s shifts this week and the lack of sleep is starting to wear me down. Tonight is one of those nights.
She owes me big time.
The last two hours pass in a blur and the bar is busier than usual.Thankfully, nothing too crazy happened and no one had to be kicked out. Most of the people here are regulars, but I do see a lot of new faces from time to time.
Just another night.
“Goodnight, Leroy, get home safe. See you next week.” I say to one of said regulars as he walks out to the parking lot and grumbles a short bye in response.
I lock the door and turn back towards the bar to clean up.
More than ready to crawl into my bed, I want to get these closing chores done quickly.
I grab my phone and hit shuffle through my rock playlist until I find the right song to fill the silence. Music fills the air as I begin to pick up the empty glasses and wipe down the bar top and tables. This has become a closing ritual of sorts for me, and it helps me unwind after a long night.
This is the only time I really feel like myself–my real self.
No one I work with knows who I really am.
Not my real name, not where I come from, and not the things I had to do to get here.
I’m grateful for that. However, lately I find myself wishing I didn’t have to hide.
I miss my home; I miss Uncle Nick. I haven’t spoken to him since the day he helped me leave, but I wish I could.
Stepping back behind the bar I begin washing the dishes as the song changes to Ashes of Eden by Breaking Benjamin. My hand slows and I get lost in the lyrics.
Five years old
“Uncle Nick!” I squeal as my favorite person, besides my mommy and daddy, comes walking inside with a bag of presents. Presents just for me!
“Hey Princess! Merry Christmas!” His big voice booms and he scoops me up and hugs me so tight.
“Merry Christmas! Mommy he’s here can we open presents now?” I ask.
Mommy giggles then shakes her head as daddy kisses her on the cheek.
“Not yet kiddo we have to have dinner first remember?” Daddy smiles at me and his blue eyes sparkle like the lights on our big Christmas tree when he looks at me.
Pouting as Uncle Nick puts me down, he bends his knees and looks right at me. “How about you open this one before we eat, Lizzy?” He pulls a present out from the bag and shows it to me.
I smile so big and bounce up and down. “Yes, please!” I take the small box from his hands and look at it. It has pretty snowflakes on it and a purple bow—my favorite color.
I carefully open the paper to see a little purple box. I peek up at Uncle Nick and see him smiling with Mommy and Daddy behind him, hugging each other as they watch me. I open the box and inside is a pretty necklace.
It’s a heart!
“Here, let me show you.” He says and opens the heart.
Inside is a picture of me, Mommy and Daddy on one side, then me and Uncle Nick on the other. They’re pictures from the beach trip we went on over the summer, before I started kindergarten this year.
“It’s so pretty, I love it so much! Thank you!” I say as I hug him and Mommy comes to put it on me, kissing the top of my head when she’s done.
I’m never taking this necklace off, it’s the best gift ever.
“Now how about that food Tanya. I’m starving.” Uncle Nick says as he picks me up and puts me on his shoulders. I giggle and we walk to the dining room to eat.
The song changes and I snap back to the present. I reach up and touch my chest and my heart aches, feeling the loss of that necklace–of my family. A sigh leaves my lips and I look around to see that I’ve finished cleaning and it’s time to go.
After gathering my purse and turning off the lights, I head to the exit.
With one last glance around the bar, I close and lock the door.
I’m parked just across the gravel parking lot, maybe one hundred feet from the door.
I always get nervous being out here alone at night.
The parking lot has one street light, and I make it a habit to park right under it, for obvious reasons.
There have been a few nights where some drunk asshole was standing outside long after the last call.
Sometimes they were just out there waiting for a ride.
I've come out a couple of times to someone sleeping on the bench that sits just outside the door and I'd call them an Uber. A couple of weeks ago one of the guys that had been hitting on me during my shift, waited for me to come out and tried to follow me to my car. He tried to grab my arm when I walked away from him, which earned him a right hook and a kick in the balls. Now that I’m thinking about it, he hasn't come back since that night.
I can defend myself. It isn't the people that make me uneasy, it’s the dark and the eerie silence that this time of night provides.
I’m almost to the car when I hear a branch snap in the woods that run along the side of the bar.
My head snaps up, eyes zeroing in on the direction of the noise.
It’s quiet again and I don’t see anything.
Quickening my pace I unlock my door and hurry inside, locking it as soon as I climb in.
I quickly start the car and turn on my high beams, shining them at the tree line.
Still not seeing anything I release a harsh breath, but it does little to calm my nerves.
Ever since escaping my hell, I’ve felt more free than ever. I am stronger, I stick up for myself, and don’t take shit from anyone. But I still find myself looking over my shoulder sometimes.
He’s dead. He’s not coming back. You made sure. Just breathe.
Chalking the sound up to an animal, or my brain playing tricks on me due to the exhaustion, I put the car in drive and head home. Tonight was long and I just want to take a shower and go to sleep. I have tomorrow off and I desperately need it.
Twenty minutes later I pull into my driveway and shut the car off. I let out a sigh and rest my head against the seat for a minute. I am so tired I could sleep right here. I think to myself before gathering my things and making my way to the front door.
Once inside, I lock the door. The stove light illuminates the kitchen, giving me just enough light to see.
I kept all the furniture Hazel had put in here the day I arrived and have added just a few little things to make it feel more like me.
Turning on the light switch in the living room, I drop my things and make my way through the house, past the half bath and the still empty second bedroom, into my room.
Flopping down on the queen sized bed I let out a huff.
I’m exhausted but I know I won’t be able to sleep right away.
I miss having a normal sleep schedule; the bar definitely makes that impossible, but the money I earn makes it hard for me to want to try to find a normal nine to five.
There was nothing normal about your sleep schedule. My subconscious taunts and I roll my eyes.
Pushing down the memory threatening to take over, I stand up and go over to the long dresser against the opposite wall and pull out something to sleep in, then place them on the dresser and pad my way over to the en-suite bathroom.
Turning on the shower I wait for it to get to the right temperature, scorching freakin’ hot.
I climb in and begin to wash myself, harder than needed, but scrubbing my skin to the point of being raw is the only thing that makes me feel like I’m truly clean.
Stepping under the shower head, the suds and filth slide off of me and down the drain.
Even after two years, I still feel his hands on me.
What’s the saying? It takes seven years to grow new skin cells?
Meaning, five more years before it’ll be like that piece of shit never even touched me.
Hopefully, I’ve sped up the process by my incessant need to scrub the hell out of myself.
This’s the only way I feel like none of it ever happened, even if only for a minute.
Stepping out onto the grey fluffy bath rug I wiggle my toes, feeling the soft fibers soak up the water on my feet.
I start drying my hair with the towel when the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
My hands stop working the towel and I freeze.
It feels like I’m being watched. This is the first time since that night this intense feeling of unease has come over me.
What the fuck?
My breaths become shallow as I glance around the bathroom and into the bedroom. I don’t see anything, so I take a cautious step out. Surely, I’m just tired. Standing firm in place for another minute, I strain my ears for anything out of place.
Tiptoeing across the threshold into the bedroom, I grab my phone off the nightstand and pull up the app for my security cameras.
The house is surrounded with them. Two were installed prior to me moving in, and I asked Hazel for the name of the company that installed them. I called and had six more put up.
Pulling up the feed for every single camera, the recordings show nothing. Confused, I plug the phone in and place it back on the nightstand. I’m only a little relieved there was nothing there, but that feeling of unease isn’t dissipating.
“I really need to go to bed, it's nothing.” I announce to no one as I drag my hands down my face. I go to the dresser and put on my sleep clothes then cautiously make my way out of the bedroom. My long wet hair hangs over my right shoulder, the water from the soaked strands seeping into my t-shirt.
Silently, I step out of the room and into the other empty bedroom, nothing.
I cross the hall, into the bathroom and hold my breath, stepping silently.
Reaching the shower curtain I slam my fist into it then tear it open.
When I see nothing, I go back out into the open kitchen and dining area and sweep my way through–one room at a time.
After I’ve gone through the house making sure all the windows and doors are locked and I’m all alone, I shuffle my way back to the bedroom.
This has become another nightly ritual since being on my own.
Check, check again, then check one more time.
I can’t seem to break the habit. A habit I seemed to develop after moving here.
A habit that helps my brain understand that I’m finally safe.
I climb into bed and pull the blanket up to my chin. Once I make myself comfortable, I let out a long sigh.
Calm down. Breathe. You just need sleep…until noon; this week has clearly kicked my ass.
My heavy lids shut and I quickly fade into a deep, dreamless sleep.