Page 35 of The Bones We Break
The sound of my Chevy roaring to life startles me out of my internal argument, and I lift my head to see Dean slowly driving it into the garage before parking it in the empty space where the cherry red Mustang sat, the back tire squelching under the weight of the car. He cuts the engine and climbs out before walking back over to me again. Tilting my chin, I crane my neck to look up at him as he begins to speak.
“If you’re okay sitting here, I know there’s not much to do but I’d rather have you here, I can get started on your flat tire and hopefully have you on your way?”
A sudden pang of sadness hits me square in the face at the thought of leaving now but I know it’s for the best, for the both of us so I simply nod and attempt to plan my next move while dodging all thoughts of Dean, Lyla and this small quaint town.
“Wake up, mama.” The smooth voice whooshes in and out of my ears, becoming clear and then fuzzy again. The tickling sensation of soft fur brushes up against my face, the strands tickling my nose, and a firm hand on my shoulder, gentlynudging me. The fog behind my eyelids begins to disperse and my eyes fire open, my chest heaving as I try to place where I am. My eyelids flutter as the bright white lights blind me, the smell of rubber and gasoline finding its way up my nose, instantly remembering where I am.
Shooting up from my position a wave of dizziness hits me like a brick and I have to steady myself, gripping onto the back of the leather couch.
“Hey, you’re alright. You fell asleep, that’s all. I didn’t wanna’ wake you, I figured you could use it.” Dean’s warm voice tethers me in place, his hand still placed on my shoulder as I bring my hand to my face and give myself a minute to gather my bearings. “How long was I asleep for?” I croak out. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed cotton balls. Dean must notice and hands me a bottle of water, and I turn it in my hands, scanning over the plastic seal around the top.
“It’s unopened. Straight from the fridge in the kitchen.” He tips his head towards a room at the back of the garage and I nod, believing him for some reason. The cold liquid instantly refreshes the dryness in my mouth.
“You were asleep for a couple of hours. I can’t imagine you got much in the backseat of your car.” He says, his eyes soft. “But, I got your tire sorted. Found a pretty sharp nail in there.” He digs into his pocket and places the sharp object into the palm of my hand, the length is easily around five inches.
Wow. I can’t say I’m surprised at the noise my tire made when that thing speared through it.
“Thanks, Dean. For everything you’ve done for me. I should probably get out of your hair. How much do I owe you for the tire?” I ask whilst shuffling along the couch to stand. My body aches from the healing bruises and the position I’ve been asleepin. I hiss a sharp breath in through my teeth at the pain in my ribs and bring my hand up to ease the ache.
“Are you hurt?” Dean asks, his voice full of concern. Shit, this is the last thing I need. I already know he’s clocked the bruises on my face and neck, every time he sees them his eyes darken to an almost black shade and his teeth grind together painfully. Inhaling deeply, I take a step back from his overwhelming presence, doing anything I can to escape his probing gaze, like he can see right through me and my lies.
“I’m fine. Just slept funny, that’s all.” I plaster on a fake smile as best as I can in the hopes that he buys my excuse. He looks over my face, down my whole body and back up again, probably searching for the deception I’m feeding him but he mustn’t find any, and hands the keys over to me.
“It’s free of charge. I couldn’t in good faith let a woman in trouble get stuck with a flat in the middle of nowhere.”
Woman. Not you.I think to myself.
What the fuck am I doing? This man probably has a wonderful wife at home and I’m wishing he just meant me. Not women as a whole. I’m so angry with myself at how desperate I’m coming across. Like I’m ready to just throw myself at him because I’m hurting and lonely. I need to put the distance between us before I wreck his family. He doesn’t deserve that.
Quickly clearing my throat, I grip the key in my palm tightly and walk over to my car, giving Dean a wide berth as I do. “That’s very kind of you, Mr Sinclair. I appreciate the gesture.” I say with fake confidence, pulling open the door that no longer creaks.
Hm. I think better of saying something, and slide into the car, finding everything exactly where I left it. I see Dean in my periphery as he leans down to meet my eyes.
“Do you have somewhere to stay for the night? It’s getting pretty dark out now.” I bristle at his concern. Does he treat every female customer like this? I know I’m being bitchy and sour but I need to protect myself.
“I’m sure I’ll find somewhere.” I say and start the engine, ending this conversation. The low rumble fills the garage and I give a small wave to Lyla who’s looking at me with beautiful, sad chocolate eyes. Swiftly, I stash away the hurt I’m feeling at leaving her but it’s for the best, and put the car into reverse then back out of the garage and into the car park. The open sky slowly turned from grey to a deep blue with a spray of orange in the distance from the setting sun. I spin the car around so I’m facing the exit and turn to face Dean who’s stood in the open doorway, Lyla sat at his feet.
“Goodbye Dean.”
“Goodbye Ana.”
And with that I fire it out of this decent man’s life.
I never did leave Rockford.
After driving away and leaving Dean at his garage I managed to find a little apartment on the outskirts of town after seeing it advertised on a flyer on the inside of a public toilet stall. I thought the universe was playing a prank on me, showing me something that was too good to be true knowing I was living in desperate times. I couldn’t sleep in my car any longer, I don’t think my aching bones could take it either.
Using the burner phone my father gave to me to call up about the advertisement, it turns out it was available so I jumped at the opportunity. It was an older couple who were renting the apartment, they never bothered to ask for my ID which was a bonus in my case considering I didn’t have any and they wanted payment in cash every month. I couldn’t say no to that, so after a couple of days I moved in and to my surprise a bed had already been left in the bedroom, it had a small under counter fridge and a well worn, but loved black couch sat in the middle of the open space living room and a box TV sitting on the light wooden floors. It was everything I needed to start again. To be able to land on my own feet but my husband’s face and voice plagues my every thought at night. The vision of him never leaves me, Isee him on the local news every time I turn the TV on. I imagine him being able to see me through the screen, stalking me, knowing my every move.
The darkness that I managed to escape from graces me with its presence again, its warm embrace taking me under whenever I think about putting an end to this torment. I haven’t taken my trusted razor blade to my skin in a while, I guess my adrenaline kept me from thinking about it but now that it’s worn off, the temptation is heavy and real. To feel in control of my body, to feel the pain I’m constantly experiencing seep out from skin in thick rivulets until I’m cleansed from the toxic poison. Yes, I could put an end to everything right this moment. There’s not a single soul that would stop or miss me. I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved, taken by the hands of one single man and now I’m left here wandering aimlessly in this black abyss, clawing on my hands and knees in the dirt to find a way out, but that light at the end of the tunnel never comes. I’ve never felt so hollow, so empty.
So I do what I do best. I hurt myself. I hurt and heal myself simultaneously. The sharp blade slices easily into the tender skin of my forearm, and the relief I feel is almost instant as a shallow buzz races through my bloodstream, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. The rich red liquid pumps up and out of the wound until it runs down my arm and pools into the lukewarm bath water, turning it a soft shade of pink. Dropping the blade onto the bathroom floor, it lands heavily, tipping a few times before it stops completely and I lean my head back onto the back of the bath, the tainted water sloshing gently over my body. My eyelids grow heavy, a quiet moment of peace washes over me like a gentle summer breeze.
In my hazy state, a face begins to form behind my eyes. Rich green orbs stare into my broken soul, swirling black inkenvelopes his large frame, like they’re one with him and I desperately want to push my fingers into the onyx shapes, to feel the heat radiate through me. My breath becomes heavy, a tingling sensation washes over me as a dark, forbidden feeling clouds my senses. But, it’s not the darkness. No, this is different. More potent and rich, velvet and soft. It has me trailing my fingertips over my pebbled skin, like I’m a puppet on a string, someone to be commanded and I don’t deny it.
I’m safe here, safe to explore and feel this way. I persevere with my travel over my body, learning my shape like I’m seeing it for the first time. The way my hips dip like a snowy slope in the Alps, my thighs brushing together, the skin soft and malleable. A strong, rich voice seeps its way into my ears, the gruffness making me shiver, ordering me to touch myself in a place I so desperately want him to touch. The thought alone frightens me but my need for release outweighs the terror as I imagine the voice telling me to squeeze and knead my breasts, the heaviness of them is almost too much to bear, but I bring both my hands to my chest, gripping the soft flesh together, causing a breathy moan to slip past my parted lips at the contact. The voice praises me and I thrive in it. I’ve never been praised before and it’s something I’m learning to love, to want, to need so I continue to please the voice.
My legs fall open of their own accord and I imagine the strong, veiny forearms pushing them open, baring me to him.
