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SweetieAfter the shock of the fistfight wears off, I can't shake the feeling that everything has been ruined.
After leaving Grim Reaper in Porter's car that night, I shower, hating the idea of washing the sailor's scent from my body. If I close my eyes, I can imagine his ocean bright eyes under his dark brown brows. I can almost feel his strong hands holding my hips tightly.
I can almost hear the sound of his heart beating against mine.
In the kitchen the next morning, my brothers won't even look at me. It's not fair, they get to sleep with whomever they want, whenever they want, and I don't judge them. Well, at least I don't mention it out loud. It's a double standard and I hate it.
I feel so trapped, so stuck, and I'm done living this way. Being under their thumb like this. And I'm an adult, I'm twenty-one years old for God's sake. I don't owe them anything.
Especially not after today.
"You get coffee made?" Nixon asks.
I look at the clock on the microwave; it's after eleven in the morning. The hours at a tattoo parlor are different than most gigs, we open at one in the afternoon, and usually stay open until twelve at night, or later.
"I'm not making your coffee," I tell him.
He snorts. "Oh what, now that you've been fucked you decide to have a spine?"
"Don't talk to me like that."
"Or what?"
"Or..." I shake my head, refusing to cry. "You know what? Never mind. It doesn't matter how you talk to me. I'm leaving no matter what."
"Oh yeah? You think your little Navy ass boyfriend is gonna take care of you?"
I clench my jaw, not giving in to the worry in the back of my mind. I told Sailor I wanted to be tied down, but not to this. To them. I want to be anchored to someone who will look out for me, protect me, keep me safe in any storm.
"Well, he won’t," Smith grunts, pushing away from the kitchen table and headed to the coffee pot.
"How do you know?" I ask.
"I heard on the news that the ship has left town."
I cover my face and stifle a sob. This is why I wasn't going to date a man in the Navy. How can I rely on someone who isn't here?
I don't even know his name.
Porter gives me a pouty face, fake and mocking, and I hate it. Hate him.
"I'm moving out," I tell them.
Nixon laughs. "Okay, Sweetie. We get it. You got screwed and dumped all in a day. It's a tough break for a weak girl like you."
I spin around on my toes. "You know nothing about me. I'm stronger than I look."
"Sure," Smith says, holding up the coffee pot in confusion. "As strong as the coffee you're about to make."
I push away from him, knocking the coffee carafe from his hands, it falls to the floor, shattering in a hundred pieces.
Just like my heart.
"I quit, too," I say, and then I leave, ready to start the first day of the rest of my life.The studio apartment I find the next morning is tiny. But it's big enough for me. I sell my mother's wedding ring and get enough cash to cover first and last month’s rent. Then I go on Craigslist, asking for help to haul my belongings to my new place.
I'm scared to hire a stranger, knowing they will know where I live, but it's an older man name Bernie who answers the ad and agrees to help me move. He's in his seventies, wears a straw hat and big grin, like every day is a miracle.
And it is.
My brothers are at the parlor, and Bernie and I set to work.
He helps me with my twin-sized bed, my boxes of clothes, my small dresser, and nightstand. I never had much. My book collection is on my Kindle and I've never been into fashion. It doesn't take long for the two of us to move my meager belongings into his pickup truck.
"You been living here alone?" he asks, looking at the rundown house I've shared with my brothers since we were kids.
"No, lived here with my brothers. They own the Grim Reapers Tattoo Shop." I drop the information for a reason. I want him to know I have backup in case he does anything sketchy, not that my brothers will be helping me out. To say they're pissed, would be the understatement of the century.
"Tough boys, from what I hear."
I pull in my bottom lip. "Yeah," I say softly. "I'm looking for a fresh start."
"It'll be okay, don't worry, Sweetie," he says as we get in his truck and start driving across town.
I nod, wanting to believe him. "What did you do before..."
"Before I got old?"
I smile. "Yeah, before you got old."
"I was in the Navy. A sailor, through and through."
