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He’s casually resting back against the bar with his hands in his pockets, watching me. As I suspected earlier, he’s wearing a pair of jeans that hang low on his trim hips. The knees are so worn that there are holes starting to form. He has a chain that runs from a belt loop to the back of his pants, where I’m assuming it attaches to his wallet. His brows are puckered, like he’s trying to figure something out, but just can’t quite grasp it. We both just stand there and stare at each other.
I’m frozen solid when I realize we’re alone, except for the two patrons, who happen to be men. I don’t do well being alone with men. Can you blame me? Every man in my life who was supposed to cherish and protect me has done nothing but scream, hit, kick, or do numerous other hideous things to me. Men scare me. I never know what they’re thinking or what they’ll do next. They’re unpredictable, and I don’t trust them.
Jaxon suddenly stands straight and starts walking toward me. I become unglued from my spot and begin moving backward. If there’s one thing I like less than being alone with a man, it’s being in close proximity to a man. I shiver and start to shake at the thought of Jaxon getting closer. My heart is racing a mile a minute, like it’s trying to beat out of my chest. My palms become sweaty and my vision watery. Jaxon continues to stalk toward me.
I bump into something behind me and glass rattles. It startles me, and I gasp. As Jaxon gets closer, I realize that he’s not stopping. I break out into a sweat and my breathing becomes ragged. What is he going to do to me once he reaches me? The look on his face has switched from confusion to a look that scares me. His odd-colored eyes look hard, and his jaw is clenched. His hands are balled into fists.
Why does he look so mad? Is it something I did to make him so angry? What if he fires me? Oh, God, what if he hits me? I know it’s irrational to think this way. I know I’ve done nothing to warrant his anger. But I can’t stop the thoughts from forming in my head. Years of abuse does that to a woman. Many of the times I was abused as a child, and then as an adult, I never knew what brought on the anger.
My breathing becomes more erratic the closer Jaxon gets. I’m backed up against the counter, so I have nowhere else to go to get away. He’s getting closer. In my mind, Jaxon is replaced by Steven. He’s furious, and I know the blows are about to come. Tears form in my eyes. He’s only a few steps away from me now.
In an attempt to ward off the blows, I duck my head and throw my arms up to either side of it, dropping the papers in the process. I clasp my hands behind my head and tuck my elbows in front of my face.
“No, please. I swear I didn’t do anything,” I whimper.
“Sweet Jesus,” I hear muttered in return. Hands lightly grab my arms, and I huddle even tighter into myself.
“Please, don’t hurt me. I swear I’ll be good, just please, don’t hurt me,” I manage to whisper past the lump of emotions stuck in my throat.
“Fuck!” a voice hisses as I feel arms wrap around me. I stiffen. What is Steven doing? He’s never, not once, comforted me, especially during one of his rants.
Begging usually spurs him on more. I’ve learned to not give in to begging. It just makes it worse. It’s what he wants. I normally just lie there and take the beating. This time though, I give in to the impulse to beg. I thought I’d managed to get away, but he found me.
I slowly start to realize that it’s not Steven’s arms that I’m wrapped in. These arms are much stronger and firmer. They’re gentle and warm. They wrap around me like a cocoon. They’re not hurting me. They have a firm hold around me, but it’s not suffocating. They feel protective, like their purpose is to keep me safe, not harm me.
The smell is different from Steven’s as well. Steven always smelled of expensive cologne and the foul stench of his cigars. What I smell now is nice. It reminds me of nature: pine, fresh cut grass, and how it smells just before it rains. It’s soothing and calming.
Although I know I’m in another man’s arms, I start to relax. It feels incredibly good to be sheltered in another person’s embrace, even if it is a man’s. I’m surprised at my acceptance of willingly staying there.
As I stand there crying, wrapped in my own personal cocoon, reality begins creeping back in. I know that it’s Jaxon’s arms that are wrapped around me. My hands are no longer wrapped around the back of my head; they’re resting on the firm, hard chest that’s in front of me. My face is planted smack dab in the middle of his chest as well. I take a deep breath and curl my fingers a little. I feel so safe at the moment that I want to grab on to anything and everything and never let go. I know that the feeling is a false hope. I’ll never be safe.
I slowly pull away from his welcoming warmth. Reluctantly, drop my hands from his chest and take a step back. He doesn’t let me get too far. He grabs my arms gently and takes a deep breath. His eyes are intense again, but this time they don’t scare me.
I peek up at him through my eyelashes and mutter a “sorry.”
He bends down so we are eye to eye, but before he can speak, Mia asks, “What in the hell is going on?”
I glance over and find her standing at the other end of the counter watching us. The expression in her eyes is worry. I quickly look at the two patrons that are still in their seats. They have their eyes trained on us as well. Embarrassed and ashamed that they witnessed my mental breakdown, I look away from them and back at Jaxon.
He ignores Mia’s question and continues to stare at me with his stunning eyes, eyes that hold secrets. They’re sad, but I can tell the sadness is not directed solely at me. I don’t know how I can tell, but I know that Jaxon has his own personal hell that he lives in.
“What the fuck was that?” he asks me quietly.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and let out a shaky breath. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? You call that nothing, Bailey? You just freaked the fuck out when all I did was walk toward you. That was not just ‘nothing.’ Tell me what the fuck that was.” His voice is sharp.
“Please, Jaxon, just leave it alone. I have panic attacks sometimes, okay? I’m fine now. Mia’s here, and I’m done with my paperwork. I would really like for her to show me the ropes around here so I can start doing my job.” I swear this man makes me run hot and cold. Sometimes I feel safe enough to quietly take a stand, while other times he intimidates the hell out of me, and all I want to do is crawl into a corner and hide. I recall being cradled in his arms and how safe I felt being there. Besides Chris, I don’t think anyone has ever held me before.
He continues to stare into my eyes like he’s trying to see into my soul. I may have panic attacks, but for the most part, I’m pretty good at hiding my feelings.
Steven is the prosecuting attorney in our town. As such, we either attended many social functions, or had to host them ourselves. As his wife, I was expected to act with social grace and decorum. Little did people know, I was quietly dying inside and scared of the repercussions that I would face if I didn’t act to the best of my ability.
Jaxon finally releases my arms, straightens, and takes a step back from me. His eyes stay on mine for another minute before he turns on his heel and walks away, silently muttering to himself. Again, he disappears down the hallway. Another moment passes before I hear a door slam.
I glance in Mia’s direction and she’s eyeing me with a ‘what the fuck’ expression. I look away from her and notice that the patron who was in the corner is gone. The men who were at the bar are still there and is watching me like I might fall apart at any moment. The funny thing is, I’ve been so emotionally damaged that I feel like there’s an internal bomb in my psyche that is just waiting to explode.
I quickly bend down to pick up the papers I dropped during my freak-out and walk over to hand them to Mia. “They’re finished.”
