Page 23 of Between Dusk and Dawn

At least during the day. The daylight hours allowed me to focus on rebuilding, forging connections, and fostering a sense of peace, but when dusk settled in, so did the haunting thoughts, the persistent pain, and the vivid images of the degradation I had endured in front ofhishouse. The memories swirled through my head, threatening the progress I had made that day.

It was during these dark hours that I needed an escape. My cozy house, once a sanctuary in the daylight hours, felt inadequate. The walls closed in, suffocating me with the echoes of past torment. In those moments, I craved the numbing effects of alcohol. I sought attention from the outside world, desperately needing to break free from the clutches of the horrible memories of the revenge I thought I was getting years ago.

During the day, I never thought of him. I actively worked on bettering myself and putting my mask back on. At night, I couldn’t stop thinking of him. The way he played a game with me. The way he looked at me when he told me he would ruin my life.

Three agonizing years had crept by, marked by an interminable wait. If I wasn't drowning my sorrows in the dimly lit corners of some bar, I found myself huddled in my house, clasping a book to my chest, bracing for the impending storm he promised to unleash after the last time we had seen each other.

In those three years, I sought refuge in the beds of other men, a feeble attempt to erase his lingering presence. Yet, in order to orgasm, I'd have to close my eyes and conjure his face—a paradoxical ritual that both revolted and captivated me. Whathad he done to me in those distant years? We were practically strangers, our interactions reduced to fleeting glimpses, yet the fear he instilled in me endured. I dreaded the day he might materialize to claim what he believed was rightfully his—me.

Yet, amidst the shadows of my torment, I endeavored to become someone else. Someone capable of resurrecting the self-protective armor that had shielded me throughout the years.

"Fuck this," I whisper-shouted into the eerily quiet house, grabbing my bag and flinging it over my shoulders. After discarding my sweatshirt with a swift motion, I revealed a black crop top. Dressing up for the local bars had become an inconsequential ritual; my attire now served as a mere distraction. What I truly craved was an escape from the relentless grip of my own haunting thoughts.

I strutted down to the bar, the classic college establishment perched on the edge of Main Street. The scene was lackluster as the early evening still clung to a bit of gloom. You could practically feel the place yawning, bracing for the college crowd that would inevitably swarm in, turning it from dreary to a buzzing hive of activity.

The bar's exterior had that timeless worn charm, a survivor of countless wild nights and student escapades. The neon lights overhead flickered lazily, hinting at the lively chaos about to unfold.

Stepping through the somewhat squeaky door, I embraced the early emptiness. The bartender, casually wiping down the counter, gave me a nod. It was low-key, a moment before the place transformed into the lively hubbub of a full-on college bar. Taking my seat at the bar, I knew this subdued warm-up would soon morph into the energetic crescendo of a typical college night out.

I’d been in Isles for seven years. Originally, I’d come here on a cheerleading scholarship. After my parents’ accident, I went tolive with my grandmother in middle school. I was a kid, but was surprised to find out my mom had a living parent. My parents never cared about me, and because they were both addicts, my grandmother removed herself. I’d learned later it was only to conjure her own persona.

My grandmother had married some rich guy and they settled outside of Seattle. She was surprised my mother had a child, and while I came to her a broken person, she taught me the importance of acting right in front of others.

I didn’t want to come to Isles. I wanted to go to school in Seattle or even down in Dansport, but I got a scholarship out here, and my grandmother kept going on and on about coming to Isles. She had heard many of her friends in high society came out here and loved it and ended up marrying someone of status. My grandmother imparted that it was important I continue to not let my parents’ behavior affect how I would show myself off to the world. Therefore, I needed to go to college, not to get a degree, but to find someone worthy of marrying. I needed to find someone to take care of me, she would tell me constantly.

While she left me with an inheritance, it turned out to be significantly less than expected. Following her own advice of never revealing her true financial standing, the inheritance covered my school expenses and provided a few years of living without a job. However, it wasn't enough to sustain me for an extended period of time, likely the reason she emphasized finding a husband who could provide for me, knowing she wouldn't be around forever.

Over the years, I tried to ration the savings I had, which meant oftentimes during the summer when my apartment lease would run out, I didn’t have enough money and no family to go to, so I’d sleep in the car until I found something.

There was one thing for certain no one could take away from me: I hustled through life. No one could take away the pressureI put on myself to succeed and perform. If it wasn’t for my obsession with Walsh Solis and getting revenge for what he did to my roommate, I would never be in this position. I’d probably be married to some rich guy with my persona still intact. This was the dream, but unfortunately, I didn’t get to live in it. I was repeating the consequences of my need to be near Walsh while trying to get ahead.

"Same thing as always, Madison?" I smiled at the bartender, who pathetically knew me by name.

"As always, Hugo," I lamented. "Think it’s going to be crowded tonight?"

He was older than me and always here on the weekends. He had shaggy brown hair, wore a plain T-shirt and jeans, and always worked the bar. When the college kids came, usually around eleven-ish, there would be a female bartender, whose name I could never remember, who would join him.

I always tried to come around eight so by the time the bar got crowded, I was liquored up enough to have zero inhibitions. Hugo caught me many times in his back alley or the hallway by the owner’s closet fucking some frat boy. I preferred this bar because Hugo never said anything, never tried anything with me, and honestly, never judged me. He always greeted me with the same friendly hello, and for a moment, it felt safe on campus. The one place I could come judgment-free to drown my pathetic life away.

"I think it’ll be pretty mellow tonight because of the football game in Seattle." He shrugged, and I glanced over his shoulders where the game was on.

"Oh yeah, it's the finals or whatever football players call the big games, yeah?" I knew about football; I was a cheerleader for years, but I was trying to put my persona back in place.

He chuckled before pouring me a vodka soda and passing it across the bar. His hair was gelled back, and he had shaved and trimmed his beard.

"Are you expecting someone special?" I asked, bringing the glass to my lips. As the cool liquid entered my mouth, the warmth of the alcohol coursed through my veins, and I knew I was in for a good night tonight.

There was really no choice at this point because the demons that haunted me between dusk and dawn would be forced silent if I drank them away.

"Why do you ask?" Hugo blushed, then went around to wipe something off the counter.

"You just look different today."

"Oh…Thanks for noticing."

I took another sip as he fidgeted with his hands, but I shook it off and plastered my eyes on one of the many TVs that surrounded the bar area. It was a mindless football game.

I pounded the drink before motioning to Hugo for another. Part of me felt guilty for spending my grandmother’s last few inheritance dollars on booze, but it was the only thing that helped me. Maybe it would eventually help me put my defenses back up—so I kept telling myself that she’d want me to find a solution for the hole I dug myself into.

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