Chapter 3 #2
Finally, I pull back, all too aware of the eyes on us.
I drag him over to the nook beside the entrance and make a show of checking him over.
I continue to manhandle him now that we have a bit of privacy, knowing it will make him laugh.
I start with his tousled auburn hair, and copper-kissed skin, running my hands all over as if to check for bumps or bruises, even going so far as to pretend to look up his nose.
"Ok, no head injuries. Good, good, even if it’s empty... it's still necessary for survival," I tease.
He laughs as I circle around his large form, grunting with fake effort, and lift his arms up and down pretending to check mobility. Finally, I go back to his face and allow myself a moment to really feel relief at seeing him whole.
"I’m so glad you're back," I say a bit shyly, my cheeks heating at my sudden vulnerability. He doesn’t hesitate and pulls me in for another embrace.
"I’m so glad to be home. Never let me leave again. It’s horrible on the road. And dusty. And my family is exhausting." He flicks my braid over my shoulder playfully as he pulls back. I bat him away.
"Yes, you poor baby. Being with your large family traveling, drinking, and being adored everywhere you go must be exhausting," I chide.
Deacon’s family is one of the last well-off families south of The Centre.
The Centre, that hosts the remaining wealth of our country, is our last stronghold.
Where soldiers train, scientists and engineers attempt to create new ways to salvage our situation, and from where the infamous Council leads us.
Deacon's family isn't as comfortable as Council members perhaps, but they have the contract for trades and goods and have exclusive rights to run the junkyard for this region. The one I was haphazardly trying to steal from not twelve hours ago. I wait for the twinge of guilt to hit me, but it doesn’t. Maybe I’ve been bending my morals too long to worry about stealing something they would never miss.
Or maybe it's because Deacon’s family being well-off puts them in another category. They never have to worry about where their next meal is coming from, not rent or clothes or Gods forbid, medicine.
Regardless of our staggering differences, Deacon’s been my constant over the years.
Other than my siblings, he’s been the one person who’s been around for it all.
I feel a lot more at ease knowing he’s home.
The road is dangerous no matter how connected or well-loved you are.
The more mandates the Council puts on food and production, the more crime rises.
Every year, people steadily grow more desperate, and the areas between remaining towns become lawless.
"You know what I mean," he counters a bit sheepishly.
The pinched look on his face makes me shrink. He is painfully aware of my situation, and how hard I’ve been working to make ends meet for Willow and Linden. I’m uncomfortable with a lot of things, and pity is high up on that list.
"Welcome back," a meek voice from behind me says. Deacon turns up his charm, his pearly white teeth flashing as he gives Hollis a cheeky grin, leaning in for a hug.
"Why hello there, care to feed a hungry, smelly traveler?" he asks.
"Of course!" She beams up at him like they’re the closest friends. "We’re so glad you’re home safe."
I bristle.
I assume, at some point, Hollis and Deacon have been together. Our town isn’t big, and they are both beautiful and charming; it makes sense. There are only so many options. I know I have no right to feel any kind of jealousy over my best friend and his many conquests, so I stamp it down.
"Well, I better get back to all my fans. I’ll leave you two to catch up. We’ll hang later!" I add cheerfully, even though it stings seeing him walk off with her.
"Yeah, we’ll meet when you're off? I want to hear about everything I’ve missed. And see Willow and Linden, of course," he asks warmly.
"Absolutely," I nod, giving him a small smile.
Maybe I’m imagining it, but when I see Hollis flirtatiously put her arm around him, guiding him to a table in her section, he almost flinches. Pulling away from her touch ever so slightly. Like he didn’t want it to be her.
A familiar ache enters me at the thought.
It’s wishful and entirely unwelcome. I learned a long time ago I can't read into everything Deacon does. The only reason we’ve sustained our friendship over our lifetime, is by keeping it platonic.
And although I often feel we might be meant for more, I’ve never allowed myself to admit those feelings beyond daydreams. More importantly, Deacon’s never attempted anything more either.
So I stuff it back down, lock it away, along with all my other unhelpful feelings.
My shift ends without too much chaos. Everyone trickles out and we clean and prep for the next day. I’m eager to get going so I have time to catch up with Deacon before I have to sneak out to the Games again tonight.
The owner, Giles, waltzes in right before I’m about to leave. Here to make sure no one is running off with his money.
He’s an older man, late forties, white-streaked hair slicked back with grease. His clothes always look fresh, clean even. A simple thing, but something that ensures everyone knows his status around town.
All of this is made worse by his inability to understand how he makes everyone around him want to peel their skin off.
He walks about observing, his smile slimy and eyes that linger too long on the young girls.
His own special form of torment. His clean leather boots clip on the old wooden floors as he makes his way over to me.
"How’s business tonight, my dear?" he drawls.
His bony finger slides along the countertop like he’s checking for dust.
I almost cringe as he steps closer to me than he needs to.
"It was busy. I think you’ll be pleased with today's profit," I reply, making sure my response is neither friendly nor clipped. Needing him to feel in control without encouraging more interaction is always key.
He nods appreciatively. His pale thin finger coming up, grazing my upper arm lightly.
"And how’s that poor sister of yours?" he purrs, feigning sincerity with raised eyebrows.
I suppress a snarl at the hidden implication.
Giles is an opportunist, with a hungry appetite for young women in bad situations. On more than one occasion, he's tried to use my circumstance to lure me home with him, with grand promises of more for me and my family.
"She's well. Thanks for asking," I say, squaring my shoulders.
There are seemingly endless acts I would do for my family. A multitude of things I would willingly sacrifice. But I'm determined not to sell that piece of my soul. Not yet.
And not to him.
I turn, hoping he'll get the hint, but he blocks my path. He leans into me, letting his rancid breath sweep over my face as he whispers in my ear.
"My offer still stands. If you change your mind... You're only going to look like this for a little while longer. You might as well put it to good use." He sneers.
My body screams at me to move away. A violent shiver rips through me. There is nothing I'd love more than to unleash my rage on this man... to allow myself a moment to crack open the well of feelings I keep locked up. But I can't, I need this job.
After a few moments of us standing frozen, locked in a silent battle of wills, he just up and walks away. Like I'm not even worth the dismissal.
As he saunters over to his next victim, I flee. Embarrassment scraping down my throat. I have the sudden and overwhelming urge to claw the scent of his breath off my skin.