Getting up, I head back to my table, and Candice brings me another drink. “Don't mind him. He has his routine and he sticks to it.”
“Yeah, he made that clear.” She gives me a tender smile, then moves back behind the bar. My head goes down as I try to focus again on drawing, and still all I'm coming up with is blankness.
“Hey, I haven't seen you here before.” A man's voice chimes in my ear as he pulls out the seat at my side and sits down.
“Um, yeah, I'm new around here.” My heart skips a beat as a sliver excitement scales down my spine. Finally!
Looking up with a flirty smile, my heart sinks and I'm instantly turned off. My smile quickly folds into a half frown.
He smirks, his teeth yellow and his skin extremely pale. He's got greasy brown hair that's slicked back, and he's wearing a tie-dye shirt with a howling wolf on the front. His breath reeks of alcohol and tobacco, and his voice is scratchy.
“A pretty lady like you. . .” His voice trails off as he leans in, and gently reaches up to try and touch my hair.
Jerking my head away, I clear my throat. “You're from here I take it?” I'm trying to be nice. I don't want to create any enemies, but he isn't going to be the man I take home.
“You know it.” He licks his lips and scoots his chair closer. “So, I'm curious. You have black hair. . .”
“Yeah,” I say, my body curling into itself as I sit my hands in my lap, and I try to push further away. I don't like this man. He's creepy and making me uncomfortable. Red flags are waving everywhere.
“Well, does the carpet match the drapes?” His hand moves under the table, and he gently brushes his fingertips against my thigh.
Slapping his hand away, I jump up from my seat, sending it clattering backwards, and slug the guy in his face. My heart is pounding and suddenly I’m sober as a judge. My mouth is taut, hands balled at my sides, ready to hit him again if he tries anything else.
No one in the bar rushes to his side, everyone just goes silent and stares.
The punch knocked him right out of his chair, and he sits on the floor clenching at his eye. “You fucking hit me, you bitch!”
“I did fucking hit you, because you're a fucking asshole! Try and touch me again and I'll cut off your fucking fingers.” Glaring down at him, I grab my stuff and storm out of the bar.
I'm standing in snow over my ankles as I bust through the door. The air hits me like a ton of bricks, making it hard to breathe. It feels like my lungs are freezing every time I inhale. Wrapping my arms around my body, my teeth start to chatter and I'm shaking.
Fuck, it's cold out.
A gust of wind blows, shoving me forward and almost blowing me off my feet. I feel the chill go through my clothes and my whole body goes taut. Another gust of wind blows, this one stronger, and I’m momentarily blinded by my hair whipping in front of my face as I stumble forward, unable to brace myself from its power on the icy ground. My arms go out, ready to break my fall, when I'm quickly steadied and standing upright.
Firm hands hold me for a moment before letting go. Looking back over my shoulder, a man is wrapping my coat around my body.
“You forgot this,” he says, making sure I slip my arms in the sleeves.
“Thank you.” No wonder why I was so cold. How dumb to grab my sketch pad and leave my coat behind. Once my arms are in my coat, I find my bearings again, and brush my hair out of my face and steady myself. Turning around, I finally realize it's the grumpy man from the corner table.
He's much larger than I realized when I sat across from him inside. He towers over me. Six foot three, at least, with big, bold blue eyes and soft lips hidden in a light brown almost ginger mane around his face.
Wow. I'm struck by how handsome he is under the dark snowy sky.
“You okay to drive?” he asks.
“Oh, I didn't drive, I took a taxi here.” I teeter slightly in place as the alcohol rages through my system. “Didn't know it was going to snow like this, though.”
“I can give you a ride home if you want. There’s only one taxi service around here and they probably won't come out in this weather.”
You don't know him. . .
My brain tries to remind me of the good old fashioned stranger danger lessons I learned as a kid. And then the wind whips again, sending snow and ice into my face.
Screw it. It's fucking cold out.
“Sure.”
He doesn't say another word, just crooks his head for me to follow him. For every step he takes, I take two, and walk quickly to try to keep up with him, fighting against the wind and the blowing snow. We walk about a block like this before he stops at a dirty, rusty old truck, with holes over the fenders and mud covering the doors.
Opening the driver's side door, he leans over and pushes my door open. “The handle is broke, sorry.”
I hesitate, questioning myself now about getting in.
He grins lightly and rolls his eyes. “I'm not a serial killer if that's what you're wondering.”
Biting my lower lip, I sway back and forth as things start to blur.
“It's freezing out, just get in and I'll take you home.”
Climbing up, I sit on the bench seat as he starts the engine and lets it warm up for a minute. Warm air slowly trickles from the vents as he turns on the headlights and pulls away from the curb.
“Brrr,” I say rubbing the outside of my arms. I can feel the heat coming off the man, so I scoot a little closer to him. Holding out my hands to the vents in the center of the dashboard, I roll them back and forth. “Tell me this will get warmer.”
“That's about it, I’m afraid. She's old, but she gets me from A to B.” He glances at me from the corner of his eyes and asks, “So, where do you live?”
“Oh, um. . . I live right up on. . . uh. . .”
I can't remember. Where do I live?
Why is this night going so terribly wrong?
Tears start to well up in my eyes and I can't stop them. “I don't remember,” I say as I begin to cry. Covering my face, I sob. Man, I shouldn’t have had so much to drink. Not in my emotional state. What was I thinking? The whole dam is bursting open in this stranger’s truck.
Where the hell am I going to live when I get back to Silver Lake?
Am I even going to have a home?
Everything is up in the air. My entire life has been turned upside down, and I feel helpless. And on top of it all, now I'm crying like a fool in this guy's truck, my nose running, my chest heaving hard and fast as I ugly cry. These aren't pretty, tender tears, they're rabid, angry, hurting tears.
I'm sure my mascara is running down my cheeks, my lipstick is probably smeared, and I look like a hot mess.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” I say as I try to dry my eyes and catch my breath. “I don't—” I can hardly speak as I try to breathe between my words. “I don't mean to cry like this. I don't know what's going on with me right now.”
“It's all right,” he says, taking a cautious look over at me. “You can stay at my place tonight if you want, and tomorrow once you're a little more levelheaded, I'll take you home.” He lays his hand on mine, giving it a tender squeeze. “Don't worry about it, you’ll get it straightened out tomorrow.”