Page 3 of The Storms Between Us
two
The shrill toneof my alarm jolts me out of my latest nightmare. I've tried for years to rid myself of the images of everything I've seen and done over my time in the Corp, but it's no use. Those memories are burned into my soul, hardening my heart a little more each time I relive them. The faint sound of gunfire still rings in my ears as I sit up in bed. Rubbing my hands over my face to clear my head, I take a deep breath and brace my elbows on my knees. After my second trip overseas, I finally agreed to see a therapist. Funny thing about therapy is that they always want you to talk about the one thing you're trying to avoid most. I tried my best not to take my anger and impatience with the situation out on the therapist, but I don't think I succeeded. The handful of anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds I take daily are a testament to my success in the mental health department.
I throw my legs over the side of the bed and walk to the bathroom. I turn on the shower faucet as hot as it goes and watch as it quickly fills the bathroom with steam. The memories haunting me are the reason I'm happy living my life alone, one day at a time. I work, I ride, sometimes I blow off a little steam with a mindless fuck, but I never get attached. It's not worth it. I'm not worth it. It's not self-pity or any of that other bullshit. It just is what it is. I check my phone and see that it's just now noon. I've got about 4 hours before my first client shows up at the shop. That should give me enough time to swing by the plantation house and check on things before I have to go in.
I take a quick shower, doing my best to scrub away the memory of last night's dreams, and I'm ready to go in record time. I come downstairs and hear silence in the kitchen and living room. Everett must still be asleep. I'm pretty sure he mentioned something about having a client around 1:30 today, and that's in about twenty minutes. I pound on his door and wait quietly for a response. A miserable sounding groan filters through the door and I chuckle. He's obviously hungover.
"Dude, get up," I shout.
"Fuck off," he yells back, loud but muffled, so I'm sure he hasn't moved from his bed.
"You're gonna be late as hell if you don't leave right now," I grab my shit and walk towards the door. Cuss words fly and something hits the ground with a thud, which just makes me laugh even harder. He may be a dipshit, but he's my favorite one. I climb on my bike and point it towards the gas station. I guess I'll fuel up before heading over to the plantation to see how far along we've progressed on all my latest projects.
I bought the plantation house about a year after me and Ev moved to Grovewood. I needed a project to keep myself busy and I've always loved being able to work with my hands. Since then, I've been able to bring my visions to life in a way I never knew I wanted to. I take pride in that house like nothing else I ever have before. I've literally built it with my bare hands and that feels damn good.
As I make my way through the streets of our sleepy town, I take a minute to appreciate the life I've built here. It may not look like much, but to me it's everything. When I was younger, I always assumed I'd end up just like my piece of shit father. By now he's probably in jail or dead, but I wouldn't know. I've tried my best over the past decade to make sure I don't become him. I don't run from my problems the way he did.
I pull my bike to a stop at the gas station on the edge of town. I wish our town would invest in some newer pumps, so I didn't have to go inside to pay, but I can't avoid Candace forever. She's a sweet girl, killer body, and always down for anything, anytime. Lately though, I've been hearing that hint of wanting more every time we talk. I'm always transparent anytime I hook up with a chick. I'm not interested in being anybody's boyfriend, just looking for a good time.
I walk straight to the counter and lay down a twenty and a bottle of water. "Can I get $20 on pump 3, please?" I watch as she leans over the counter, pushing her tits together like it isn't obvious.
"Hey Eli, been a few weeks since I've seen you. How've you been?" She runs her fingers through her bleach blonde hair, attempting to be sexy. Sometimes I wonder what my dick is thinking every time I dial her number.
"Yeah, I'm good, Candy. Can I get the gas? I've got shit to do." I'm really not trying to be a dick. I just don't have time for this. Last time we hooked up, she begged me to stay the night with her. I got out of that place like my ass was on fire. I don't sleep next to anyone. Not anymore. And even if I did, it definitely wouldn't be her. The whiny tone of her voice is especially irritating me today, and I'm doing my best to hold on to the little patience I have left. She brushes her fingers across my hand as she reaches for the cash. I can tell she's trying as hard as she can to be seductive. It's just not working for her.
"Of course," she says with a wink, "you can have anything you want, baby."
Baby. Absolutely fucking not. I've never been a fan of pet names and I'm sure as fuck not gonna become one now. "Thanks." I try to be as cold as possible, not wanting to lead her further into her delusion that there's something more between us than a quick fuck.
"I get off at 8 tonight if you want to come by," she bats her fake eyelashes hard enough to kick up a stiff wind and I can't take this shit anymore.
"I'll pass, thanks. Bye, Candace," I turn and walk out without another word. I know she's giving me a go to hell look behind the counter, but I don't give a shit. Hopefully, she gets the hint and doesn't call me anymore at all. I'm really not an asshole, but I've made it crystal clear to her I'm not interested in a relationship. Still, she pushes me every time.
I drop my ass onto the seat of my bike and start the engine. The deep rumble of the pipes is enough to give me a hard on every time. I'm not one of those guys who are obsessed with their cars, but I can appreciate a sexy machine. I pull out onto the main road and make my way towards the plantation.
