EPILOGUE
"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."— Rose Kennedy
He gives a waitress a bill and a note and says something to her. I wish I could read lips. I wait till he walks away before standing and stretching. The waitress runs across the street flailing her arms at me.
“Hey!” she chirps, slightly out of breath. “This guy wanted me to give this you.” She thrusts the note to me. I stare at it like it might contain the secret to life or maybe to death. “Take it, I have to get back,” she urges, wiggling the note at me again. I reach out and take the note from her and shove it into my hoodie pocket without reading it, turn and head back to the gym.
*****
Christiansburg, Virginia. It’s where I’ve been ‘placed’. It’s not Blacksburg but it’s only fifteen minutes or so away. It’s the kind of place where the air is sweet and clean and I find the view to be beautiful most days. Kids run from yard to yard, neighbors pop in for a cup of coffee and they all help out with one another’s children. Everyone here is slow. Slow to talk, slow to move, just slow. The pace of life is relaxed. I’m still adjusting to it.
There was one particular day where my impatience nearly got the best of me, waiting in line to buy gas and watching the clerk having conversations with not one, but two customers in front of me. I stood impatiently - fuming as they discussed Billy-Bob’s (slap me for being stereotypical) latest operation. The same thing happens at the hardware store, grocery store, and even the dump. Errands are meant to be enjoyed here, not merely rushed through. People want to know your name. They want to like you. But I’m not really all that likeable these days. It’s been hard for me to assimilate, to say the least. I still sleep with a pistol under my pillow, some habits die hard. I stay silent unless forced to speak.
Outside of clothing mostly, the only other thing I demanded I take with me was Cane’s motorcycle. I was provided an old beat up car for the snowy winter months, but the rest of the year, whenever possible, I ride the bike everywhere. It gives me a sense of peace now. A way to feel a connection to him still. His engagement rings hangs on a chain buried under my shirt. It rests just over my heart. I take it off only for one reason - one night stands.
I was placed at Adventure World skating rink for work. It has a variety of themed skate nights with okay music, team skating, skate lessons, laser tag, arcade games and a snack bar. It's not fancy, the DJs are decent and there are usually enough people to keep my mind from wandering most nights. It’s not my dream job but it’s a good cover. When a U.S. Marshall dropped me here I was surprised to find they’d placed me in a small cottage style house, furnished in a warm shabby chic style. I’d smiled because it had to be a Bentley/Aster request. When the Marshall had given me a manila envelope with my new identity in it, I’d laughed, thinking it was a joke. Pepper Philips. What kind of name is Pepper? But then, what kind of name is Cypress or Magnolia? Still - it’s hard for me to respond to anything outside of Mags.
The trial had gone well and Ezra was charged with numerous crimes including the murder of his nephew. He got two life sentences which he is serving back home at a medium security prison in Maryland and I never had to testify in court. My rage towards him still consumes me some days. Most days I just miss Cane. Differently from before, but still painfully. So painfully. Regret is a nasty thing. It breeds and feeds on your soul, breaking you down like compost until you’re nothing but dirt.
I have an assigned U.S. Marshall. He appears once every three months on my doorstep to check in and make sure I’m not breaking terms of my arrangement. I’m not a high value target or a runner, so our visits eventually will lessen to just once every six months. I can’t wait. The guy is a real pompous dick with no personality.
It was months before I first saw him, but when I did, I almost leapt with joy, after I almost broke his nose. Bentley broke all the rules and comes to visit me once every few months. He sneaks in my bedroom window in the dead of the night and crawls into bed with me. He always just holds me. Sometimes I feel as if he needs to hold me more than I need him to hold me. I get to ask him three questions and he always answers. Mostly I ask about Brock and Aster. I miss them so much and I like to hear the little updates he has for me. I learned that Brock has made a full recovery and is back at work full time. Aster chose to stay in my shabby little trailer. Apparently is makes her feel closer to me. Penny even let her take over my position at the bar. And, she got a cat to give to the lady across from the trailer. Bentley had an urn with someone’s ashes sent to my father and stepmother. They’d been relieved to at least have closure. Apparently they’d held a memorial for me and a whole bunch of people from town had shown up. He is always gone by morning light and somehow it’s just enough for me. His visits, although rare, provide so much comfort to me. Human contact with someone I trust. Bentley’s role in my life grows little by little. He cares so much, putting his job in jeopardy for me. Some visits it crosses my mind that I could take it farther, I know he wants it, but I hold back. It’s always me holding back. Everything in my life has changed. Being alone, silence and forgetting to respond to my new name are commonplace in my life. I don’t reach out to people. I avoid being friendly. If I find myself in need of a release, I remove Cane’s engagement ring and drive to Blacksburg to hit a bar.
Seduction is easy and a means to an end. I still have needs but I know I won't be able to give my heart out again, so I sit at bars whenever the need strikes and I submit to one night stands. Being soft and womanly doesn't come naturally to me anymore. Relationships don’t come naturally to me anymore. Too much damage has been done. Too many betrayals have scarred me. I want to find my happily ever after and everyone has bruises, I know. But I don't, I have gaping festering wounds that never heal. It’s easier to take what I want when I need it and toss the rest of the bullshit and hardship aside. I like the feeling of taking only what I need and not caring about the rest. It’s easy and convenient. I like feeling powerful still and sometimes, training physically just doesn’t cut it. I crave more. I crave the feeling of knowing, of conquering another person. Of controlling someone, even for just a brief period of time. It’s warped, I know, yet I think it’s a product of living with rage, of craving vengeance for so long.
I sit at the stool at the bar and scan the room. There is really no one of interest here this evening, but it’s still early. I order myself a second bourbon and slip out of my hoodie, hanging it on the hook near my knees. The warm liquid burns on its descent down my throat but I like the feeling of it.
“This seat taken?” a deep gravelly voice rumbles. I turn my head just slightly so I can make out the face of the delicious voice. His sandy blond hair is shaggy, in a good way. His blue eyes are bright but wary, and he towers above me. His cut muscles are evident in his plain tight black tee shirt. He’s a head turner for sure. He is one of the most Adonis-like men I have ever seen. He has this laid back badass vibe. Like he would be surfing one moment but riding off on a Harley the next. Vaguely my mind wonders if I know him. There is something familiar about his face. My gaze flits to his left hand hanging limply at his side.
No ring.
“Nope,” I answer and turn back to my drink. I watch him from the corner of my eye as he slides onto the stool next to me and flags down the bartender to order. His arms are sleeved with tattoos. Intricate tattoos that make me wonder about him and what he’s into. He stares into his beer mug and looks forlorn and tired. Against my better judgment, and my better judgment is always spot on, I engage.
“Play a game with me,” I prompt, turning to him. I don’t bother slapping a smile on my face. He looks like he could care less about pretenses. He looks up from his drink and slowly drags his eyes up and down my body. I know he likes what he sees. They all do. I preen at the salacious eye fuck.
“Fine. I’ll bite.” He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Normally, I could care less, but something about him triggers something deep in my core. I want his eyes to shine with real warmth. The need to cause a real smile stirs in my belly. Who is this man?
“Truth or Lie?” I ask. He stares quizzically at me as if he is unsure he wants to do this. I don’t blame him. He should steer clear of me.
“I don’t know?” he returns, perplexed. Laughter bubbles up from deep within me. His confusion is adorable. Truly adorable.
Innocent.
Refreshing.
I throw my head back and laugh. A deep guttural laugh. One that hasn’t happened in a long time. At twenty-five I never thought my life would be as it is. I would sell my soul to see Cane’s face again, but as he always said ‘adapt or die’, no three words have ever been truer.
The End