“Find your own fuckin’ way home. Next time you ignore me or look at another man, I’ll beat the shit outta you!” He’d stomped away, leaving a sobbing, confused woman to fend for herself.
From that day on, he lived with anger in his heart. Of course, she’d been too ashamed to ask Cara or Cherri for help, so she waited in the bushes until they’d all left, then walked the four miles to her home. By the time she’d arrived at the house, the rage had been replaced by professions of love in his quiet moments of regret. She’d forgiven him, believing his words that it would never happen again. And now, three years later, he still professed love and his regret, but the abuse had become more frequent.
I’ve become my mother. The irony touched her deeply as she remembered how she’d sworn to herself that she’d never let a man place an angry hand on her like her mother had.
Sofia swung her legs up and leaned back, her head on the couch arm, her legs stretched out. The bruises would slowly vanish and the broken bones would heal, but what about her battered emotions? She was torn inside and those tears remained open wounds, never healing or scarring. The man she loved did that to her, and how could he? He left her a ghost of a person, living but not alive. She stifled a sob with the scuffed palm of her hand and turned her face into the pillow, her salty tears clinging to the cracks on her lips.
The chime of the doorbell made her heart race. What time is it? I haven’t made dinner or anything. Don’t let it be him. Not yet. She pushed herself up and shuffled over to the door while smoothing her hair down. He’s going to be mad that I don’t have any makeup on. I didn’t know it was so late! With trembling fingers, she undid the locks and opened the door, her stomach in knots and her heart in her throat.
“Hiya, Sofia. I was in the neighborhood.” Wheelie’s gray eyes smiled.
“Uh… what time is it?” she whispered.
“Two o’clock.”
Relief washed over her and she giggled from giddiness. She had time to clean up, put herself together, and get dinner on the table before he came home. If he’s coming home. The thought of him with one of the club girls made her eyes water, but she wouldn’t call or text him to see if he’d be home. That would only make him angry, and she couldn’t withstand another of his rages in the same day.
“Can I come in?”
She darted her eyes around the street, making sure no one was watching. She was positive Tigger had people informing him of everything she did.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Just for a minute? Tigger’s at the club. He’ll be there for a while. The club’s got some shit going on that we have to figure out.”
Wanting the company, but afraid Tigger would find out she had a man in the house, she started to close the door. “I don’t think Tigger would want you in here without him being home.”
“We’re brothers. It’s cool. Besides, he didn’t mind when I’d take you to the pen to see him when your car broke down.”
She smiled, then winced from the pain. Wheelie had been a good friend to Tigger and to her while he was locked up. He’d been at the biker bar the night Tigger had gone ballistic and been arrested. A bond had formed between the three of them that night, only to grow stronger when Wheelie had helped her out so many times during Tigger’s incarceration.
Moving aside, she opened the door wider, trying to hide her face behind her hair as he slid past her. “Have a seat. Do you want a beer?”
Wheelie sank down on the couch. “Sure. Do you think you can open some of these drapes? It’s dark as hell in here.”
“I like it dark. The light gives me a headache, and I feel one coming on.” She took out a can of Coors for Wheelie and a Pepsi for her. “Here you go.” She handed it to him.
He popped open the top and took a long drink, tilting his head back. His dark brown hair fell just below his collar and the silver earring he wore in his right ear dangled. Placing the beer down on the table, he smiled at her and she turned away.
When she’d first met Wheelie, she’d thought he was a heartbreaker in leather. He was good-looking and he knew it, but he wasn’t stuck-up about it; he just knew he was handsome the way a person knew he had two ears, a nose, and a mouth. His square jaw, full lips, and perfectly shaped brows over gray eyes the same color of the ocean during a storm made her give him a once-over. Tigger was nice-looking, but Wheelie was ruggedly gorgeous in a way that drove women wild. He was buff, though not like Tigger’s body builder’s physique; Wheelie’s body was toned, taut, and perfection. And the perpetual scruff he wore made her want to touch his face. When Tigger had scruff, he’d always shave it when she told him she liked it. That was his way of showing her that her opinions, likes, and dislikes didn’t mean shit to him. It was his way of controlling her. One of many.
“The women missed you at the meeting today.”
She crossed and uncrossed her legs. “I wasn’t feeling well.” He must see the shape my face is in. She pulled her hair over the right side, trying to cover what she could. “How’ve you been?”
“Good. You don’t have to hide your face. I’ve already seen what that sonofabitch did to you. I saw it when you opened the door. Is that the real reason you didn’t come?”
Looking down, her insides quivered and her eyelid twitched. “You know it is. I don’t want to hear anything about it. I already know how you feel about it. You’ve made all that perfectly clear before. I’m just not in the mood, okay?”
Wheelie stared at her, his eyes soft and kind, and then he nodded and picked up his beer. “You wanna go out for dinner when Tigger goes on the poker run over the weekend?”
Fear that they’d be spotted assaulted her. “No. I can’t. Please don’t ask again.”
He ran his eyes over her. “Okay. What about me bringing dinner to you? We can eat here, talk, and watch a movie.”
Excitement coursed through her as she pictured them having a pleasant night without any fear, incriminations, or insults. She missed companionship with other people. Tigger had made sure that her friends and family didn’t call or come over anymore, and the contact she had with the old ladies was only for club purposes. After she kept telling them no for happy hour get-togethers, dinners, and movies, they’d stopped asking. She missed having a friend. But what if Tigger finds out? He’d kill me for sure.
“It wouldn’t be a big deal. We’re friends, right?”
We are friends and it shouldn’t be a big deal. She rubbed her cheek and winced, forgetting it was sore from her earlier beating. If Tigger had hurt her just for not washing his favorite pair of jeans, she could only imagine what he’d do if she had Wheelie over for dinner when he was out of town. Back and forth she wrestled with what she should do, her mind a scramble of fear, excitement, disgust, and defiance. I’m so fucking tired of being afraid. I’m even more tired of being isolated. She couldn’t remember when she’d spent time with someone other than Tigger. She was desperate for a pleasant interaction with someone.