Hurt Like HELL (new adult contemporary romance) (8 page)

I smiled and thought about the dynamics of a relationship.  I didn’t need to think hard because I understood them.  I may not have had a boyfriend, or a sex life, but I knew the frustrations and hope of love.  Been there, a long time ago.

Ten years.

Perhaps sensing my discomfort, I felt Bridget touch my hair.  She ran her fingers up and pulled the hair that fell towards my face.  Her fingers were cold as they moved past my ear.  Bridget really was like a motherly figure in my life, even though she had her own moments that made her more of a teenager than a successful grown woman. 

My body started to drift, reaching that far away land of sleep.

My hair moved again, this time I shrugged my shoulders. 

“I’m okay,” I whispered.  “I promise.”

“What?” Bridget asked, her voice groggy.

“I’m okay.  You can stop touching my hair.”

“Tessa, I’m not touching your hair.”

Life gives you that sometimes.

~1~

I didn’t bring it up to Bridget and she did the same for me.
  I wasn’t sure if she even remembered what happened or not.  That was a good thing.  She didn’t need to get pulled into whatever was happening to me right now. 

I surprisingly slept well, without dreams or worry.  I woke in a good mood, didn’t feel watched, and nobody touched my hair.  Bridget got up well before me and had coffee, breakfast, and a shower all before I could stumble my way to the kitchen to find a mug and enjoy the last small cup of horrible tasting coffee.  If there was one bad thing about my job it was that it forever changed my taste in coffee.  Having the perfect cup of coffee at my disposable each time I worked made making coffee at home almost impossible.  Even if I took coffee home from work to make, it didn’t taste the same. 

The two brothers that owned Thorns roasted their own beans and had a meticulous process to create their coffee.  It worked and people loved it, including me.

Bridget came from her bedroom dressed as a woman ready to take charge.  She had a bag on her shoulder, a travel mug in her hand, and a look of defiance on her face.  We hugged and she left.  That’s when I looked at the clock on the wall and realized I was running late.  I dumped the bad coffee down the drain, rinsed the mug, and headed for the door.

On the days I opened, I had to be at Thorns early to get set up.  I arrived around sunrise, knowing I had about twenty minutes or so before I’d have to open for the first customers.  There had been talks about opening earlier but everyone that worked there was generally against it.  That included me, but I’d go along with whatever the boss wanted.

I prepped the coffeemakers and started to fill the bakery cases. I looked at the small stage wondering what kind of life had been up there the night before.  As I imagined the performances, I heard a loud thud against the front window.  I winced and waited to hear the glass crack, but it didn’t happen.

I turned my head and saw Brett standing at the door, his face almost pressed against the glass.  He knocked again and then started to play a drumbeat with both hands.  I knew I should have walked away or chased him away, but it was Brett.  His long hair looked messy and sexy, in that rocker kind of way.

“Tessa!  My girl.  Open up, babe.”

He shouted with the growl in his throat that made his singing voice so good.  His pack a day cigarette habit helped that cause, but I’m sure in the future it would take a few years off his life.  But that was art.  Create while you can and leave something behind hoping people will remember you.

I walked to the door, against my judgment, actually stopping a few times because my chest felt really heavy.  I chalked it up to nerves and that my heart bounced in my chest because Brett scared me when he hit the glass and because Brett was here.

I turned the lock and Brett came storming in.  It took me a second to see his movements and smell the booze to know he was completely drunk.

Shit.

He collided into a table, but caught himself.  He stood up and threw his hair back, turning to face me.

“What’s up, babe?”

“Since when do you call me babe?” I asked.

I tried to keep cool, figuring I’d play into him and sneak him some coffee.  Get him sober enough to realize it was before seven in the morning and then send him home.

“I always call you that,” Brett said.  “In my mind.”  He touched his chest.  “In my heart.”  The moment of romantic gestures was ruined when he grabbed behind his legs.  He smiled and said, “In my…”

“How about a coffee?” I asked.  “You’re the first customer, it’s free.”

“So you’re alone?”

His tone made me shiver.  I never thought of Brett being dangerous before.

I made my way back to the counter but not behind it.  Brett suddenly had speed and balance, pacing with me.  His hand shot out and came around to my hip.  He squeezed and moaned, making me uncomfortable.

“Hey, relax now,” I said.  “I’m punched in.  Working.”

“Fuck work,” he said.  “Nobody’s here.  Come on, Tessa, tell me what you want.”

Whoa, he was getting serious.

I turned and my butt hit the counter.  I thought that would move his hand from my hip, which it did, but it then allowed him to place his other hand on my hip.  He touched my face, drawing lines with his finger.  His face looked crazy, drunk, and yes, horny.

“Okay, Brett, just cool it,” I said.  “I’ve got to get to work.  You should get home, get some sleep.  Stop by later and I’ll give you that free coffee.”

“I don’t want coffee,” he said.  “I want something else.”

His body came forward and touched mine.  I gasped, which sent the wrong signal to Brett, so he pressed himself harder at me.  I felt him, like,
felt him
, against me.  He meant business, and when his lips came down and touched my neck, I could almost taste the alcohol coming off him.

My hands went to his hips and pushed at him.  I didn’t want to feel him.

“I’m not done,” he said and thrusted.

He was bigger and stronger.

I was in trouble.

I looked right and saw the coffee pots.  If it came to it, maybe I’d hit him with one.  Yeah, then spill searing hot coffee on him and myself.

Shit.

“Brett, come on, stop it.”

“Yeah, babe, tell me how you want it.  On the table, the counter.  The stage.  Whatever you want.  You name it, babe, and it's yours.  I'm not here to play games..."

I was in shock for a few seconds.  They were the longest seconds possible.  Brett's tongue flicked at my ear then my neck.  My mind instantly tried to figure out the last time a man touched me and kissed me.  I hated myself for thinking that way.  Yes, a small sliver of my body thought about Brett, the sexy leader singer and guitar player, but this wasn't Brett, or maybe it was.  Funny how booze can bring the dark side out of a person.  (Or their real side, depending on how you look at it.)

"Brett, I'm not okay with this."

It was probably something dumb to say but it's what came to mind.  Maybe some gentle pushing, getting mean with a smile would chase him away.

"I'm okay with it, baby," Brett said. 

His lips touched my neck and I pushed him.  He stepped back a few times but came back, more turned on that I tried to reject him.  Something told me not many women rejected him and he enjoyed a good fight.

"You don't understand,” I said.

"What?  You don't have a boyfriend.  I know you like me.  So give me it.  I'm taking it whether you like it or not."

Flashes of my violent childhood came to me.   I could suddenly hear and see my father as though he was there and I was back in our old house.

I shook my head.

Brett touched my hair and face.  "Oh, baby, it'll be like nothing you ever felt."

"I'm a virgin!" I cried out and swung at Brett.

I slapped his face but he didn't notice.  Even with the appearing red handprint on his face he couldn't have cared less.  He stared at me...
the virgin
.  I figured out in that moment that for some guys the virgin thing was a turn on.

Brett came at me again, quickly forcing me to turn around.

"No," I cried.

Nobody would hear or see a thing.

I swung my feet the best I could but this wasn't the movies.  I didn't kick him in the balls and I couldn't get my bearings to make a decision.  My feet connected with his legs and maybe I did hit him in the balls, but it wasn’t the dramatic final shot that I needed.  Plus, he was drunk, so even if I did get him he wouldn’t have really felt it or even cared.  His hands were tight on my hips, sliding up to my sides.  I thought about him touching my breasts - and other parts - and I yelled again.  There was no help though, none at all.  I was smack dab in the middle between two businesses that didn’t open until nine in the morning.  On the left was a used bookstore.  And even if that place was open, the owner was an eighty-four year old man that had terrible hearing.  He’d probably hear the screaming and think it was some kind of new music. 

Shit.

On the right was a used clothing store, one ran by a hippy couple who sort of opened and closed when they felt like it.  The place always had, wild incense burning, which made the clothes stink.

In other words, as the dawn turned into morning, I was alone.

If I could manage to hold myself in a position of resistance until customers showed up, I’d be in good shape.  Brett was just too strong.  And his hands were so fast.

When his fingertips touched just below my breasts, still over my shirt (thankfully), I wiggled, shaking my shoulder.  My shoulder bounced against his face and chest and he enjoyed it.  He laughed and called at me, teasing me.

Baby... baby... baby...

I never heard him use that word before.  The word baby would never mean the same again.

He pressed hard against me, my body pressing to the counter.  I could feel him again, his body reacting to what his mind told him to believe, what he thought he was going to get from me, the allure of my innocence.  But my innocence had been taken a long time ago.

So ha!

Or not.

His left hand left my body, for a second, and he grabbed my shoulder.

“Don’t worry, babe, it doesn’t hurt forever.”  He laughed and exhaled, a whoosh of nasty smelling booze hit me.  The smell told me that Brett had already thrown up and was still drunk.  “You and me...”  Then he sang in that rough voice that used to be so sweet and sexy.  “... together, forever...”

He laughed again and I took my chance.  I reached with my left hand for a coffee pot.  I knew the implications of scalding hot coffee but I reminded myself that I liked to take hot baths, so it’d be the same.  A coffee bath... wow, what a concept.  I needed to hurt Brett.  There was no rationalization with this man right now.  I touched the brown handle of the coffee pot but couldn’t grip it.  My fingertips touched the glass and the heat made me pull away.  I’d have to fight my natural instinct in order to do this.  Brett started to press harder at me, wanting more and more of this situation.  I remained quiet, hoping that if I made no sound, it wouldn’t turn him on.

I touched the glass again and it felt hotter.

I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, preparing for some serious pain. 

As I started to grip the glass and turn the coffee pot, needing the handle to be closer, I had a single thought.  A thought that came to me with a voice... my voice... my voice from ten years earlier.  That thirteen year old voice.  The high pitched voice, laced with a touch of innocence and youth, a voice that had the world to dream about.

The thought came again.

Help me.

I grabbed the glass and screamed, then felt a cold blast of air, and just like that, Brett was gone.

I let the coffee pot go and turned around to find Brett on his ass, his face bewildered, his lip bleeding.  I spun around once, scanning the entire café, wondering what the hell happened.

“Brett...”

“You don’t push me,” he growled.

He fought back to his feet and came at me.  He made it two steps before he hunched over and let out a deep bellow.  His mouth was open and he cried out in pain.  He took those two steps back, plus two more, and fell again. 

I stared in amazement. 

I hadn’t pushed Brett.

I hadn’t hit him to make his lip bleed.

Brett pointed at me, his lip in a snarl.  He pointed at me.  “You’re a tease.  A fucking tease, Tessa.  All this time, looking and telling people you want me...”

“I never said a thing,” I openly lied.

Sure, I thought Brett was cute - okay, sexy - but did that mean I wanted him to come into Thorns Café and force himself upon me?  No.

“Get out of here,” I said.

I made my hands into fists. 

Brett stumbled to his feet again.  He didn’t come near me this time.  Instead, he stared beyond me.  I watched him hesitate, unsure what to do next.  I could tell he wanted to come at me again, try one last time, but he didn’t.  Rather, he charged to the unlocked door.  At that door, he looked back at me, shaking his head. The blood on his lip had started to dry.