Finding Alice (Alice Clark Series) (5 page)

The bar started off more packed than normal; then again, I didn’t usually work Tuesdays. I just assumed it would be dead, per usual stigma. I was pretty sure the flock of girls from town could smell Cole’s scent too. I was so busy, I barely got to hang out with him at all. He bought me a few shots just so he could talk to me for a minute. His eyes said one thing, but of course he only talked about plausible ideas for our final papers and laughed at me for being partnered with the church girl. For some reason, I relished talking to him about
anything
. Last week, we laughed about the gum stuck to my shoe for at least five minutes. I loved the sound of his laugh echoing inside of my head. The night wound down and the new and younger crowd headed home while the regulars held on for last call. “See you later, Alice,” Cole said.

Bye
. I smiled; he returned the same and left. Last call came and went and everyone else did as well. I went through the usual routine, which I honestly could do in my sleep. When I was done cleaning up after the animals, I loaded the garbage by the back door. I threw on my thin, black hoodie, pulled up the hood, and hauled the three giant bags out the doors. I spun the key in the lock, listening for the click. I threw the keys in my apron and lugged the bags to the dumpster, dropping them one by one while attempting to hold my breath from the stench leaking out of them. “Oh my God. That is disgusting!”

“Yes it is,” a dark voice whispered next to me.

Startled and nearly jumping out of my skin, I turned to the voice to find nothing there. “Stop acting like a lunatic,” I ordered myself, trying to calm down. I started walking to my car, pulling my keys out for a quick getaway. From what, I had no idea.

Halfway between my car and the dumpster, I felt a warm breath on the back of my neck. I told myself to run but felt as if my feet were in cement. I turned around just in time to see a fist and feel its impact as it hit me square in the nose. I hit the ground and skidded a few feet across the pavement. I yelped in pain, wiping blood from my nose, and tried to adjust my vision, now filled with tears. An oddly tall, slender man dressed in rugged, dark clothes stood in front of me with a hood hiding his face. I turned to pull myself up and run, but to no avail. He already had a hold of my arm and pulled me to my feet to deliver another hit to my face. I choked on my blood, spitting it onto the concrete. He continued holding onto me for a third blow, this time to the stomach. I uncontrollably started coughing, spitting up more blood and gasping for clean air. He hit me again and released his grasp, only to follow it with a kick. I felt as if my insides were going to crawl out of my body and spill out onto the ground. Then I felt it, I could feel his enjoyment in every hit I took. I breathed in and stood to my feet.

“Little girl wants to play, huh?” he asked.

I could taste his excitement in knowing I was going to try to fight back. I was hoping to do more than just try. He came at me with another punch to the face. This time, I was standing behind him when he followed through. When he turned to look at me, I spat my blood onto his shadowed face. He laughed, grabbing a hold of my throat. The pain of it closing shut on itself was overwhelming me. In a last effort, I threw my legs around his waist and with all the force inside of me, pulled my head backward toward the ground, causing him to fly face first into the concrete.

“Is that the best you got?” I said coldly after I darted up. He slowly stood and I knew he was smiling. He swung and I dodged, now relying on my other senses. Every time he made contact with my skin, I could feel his thrill and came back with a hit ten times harder than his. I heard him shriek in pain, which only pushed me to hit harder, repetitively.

“I can do this all night, darling. You will be mine,” he sneered. It echoed in my head, which was already aching.

“Fuck you.” With that, I turned and put all of my energy into a kick to his gut, throwing him across the parking lot like a bullet and into the side of my car. He lay there limp for several minutes. I stood in the center of our battleground, covered in our blood, attempting to center myself and search for my keys. I found them under the bumper of my car in a pile of bloody feathers. I walked over cautiously and picked them up.
He’s probably dead. Good.

I limped to the bar, feeling through my keys for the one that opened the door, my eyes barely capable of opening. I relied on my sense of memory of the way the key felt in my fingers to find it. I stumbled in, hanging on to the wall, and walked into Max’s office. I stared at the phone through tiny slits I could barely see through, knowing I should call the police and knowing I couldn’t stay there if I did. I looked around and after some debating, grabbed the first aid kid. I shut his office, went to the back, and took a few bottles of vodka. When I cautiously returned outside, locking the door behind me, I saw the man I had fought was gone. I willed myself to the car and climbed in.

I knew I was home when I walked up my driveway without a memory of the drive itself. I walked in, locking the door and shoving the table in front of it. I stumbled up the stairs, first aid kit under my arm, while juggling three bottles of vodka in my bashed up hands.

I turned the shower on and climbed in with the vodka. I slowly started peeling off my blood-soaked clothes, flinching, wishing I was numb. I poured a little vodka on my body wounds and down my face in between chugging some to deaden the pain. I opened the second bottle, doing more drinking than cleaning. I looked down at myself and found bruises starting to form on almost every inch of my body. Head to toe, my skin was covered with blacks and purples, reminding me of my box of feathers. Tears filled my eyes and for the first time in my entire life, they were my own. I sat curled up on the floor of my shower, wishing the salt I was tasting was from the scent of ocean that radiated from Cole. I drowned it out with more vodka.

I spent the next day in bed, coddling my last bottle of vodka. Camille called several times to see if I was working. Her last text message read,
Are you okay? Max called me and said some anonymous caller called the cops and said they saw two guys break into the bar and then kick the crap out of each other in the parking lot. Max is freaking out. Call me. I’m worried
. I ignored them all. Max called a few times as well. I texted him back with,
See you Thursday
. He replied with an
Okay
and left it at that.

Around four am, I dragged myself out of bed. I walked to my front door to find it still covered with furniture, as if an intruder couldn’t get past it. I clutched the most recent bottle of vodka I had become so attached to and finally set it down. I struggled to push the furniture to the side and opened the door.
I love the smell of four am
. I walked cautiously to my car to pull out my art supplies. I attempted to ignore the giant dent while painfully dragging my supplies in the house. Just to be safe, I returned the furniture to its spot in front of the door, snatching the vodka before taking off for the spare room.

I dumped everything onto the floor and dug through it for my iPod. I plugged it into my stereo system and cranked it up, loud enough to feel the vibrations rush through me. I reached down, almost collapsing in agony, to grab my charcoal. There were no canvases left in the house so I shoved my extra couch away from the wall and started rubbing the charcoal onto the wall. Music, vodka, and art were not a cure, but they soothed the soul.

Thursday morning used to be my favorite. I stood in front of my mirror assessing the damages, and I had definitely seen better days. I had two black eyes, one worse than the other. Luckily, the swelling went down amazingly in one day. My nose, which was broken, had set nicely after I had forced it back into place.
Really wish I owned cover-up
. My right cheek held most of the trauma. I tousled my hair and pulled it forward to cover as much of my face as possible. I should have stayed home but this wasn’t a class you could just skip; and regardless, I had to show up to work. I dug through my clothes and found a long-sleeved thermal. I threw it on over my beater and slid carefully into my jeans. I found a thin, dark scarf Camille had given me and wrapped it around my neck, pretending I cared about fashion. I took one more look in the mirror, sliding my giant, black sunglasses on. “Covers most of it,” I sighed and headed out the door.

I pulled into the parking lot early but still parked in the furthest spot, using the long walk to class as my own personal form of physical therapy. I walked through the halls in between all the other students and so far, no one had noticed my injuries, thankfully. I walked into class and luckily, Mr. Riley was already there. I was planning on staying but the more I thought about it, the more I knew Camille would flip and I couldn’t deal with it. This was not something she would just let slide.

“Mr. Riley, can I have this week’s assignment? I can’t stay for the entire class.”

“Why is that, Alice?” he asked, uninterested. I slid my sunglasses down my nose and he gasped. I hastily put them back on as Cole entered. Broken nose or not, the smell of ocean waves still came through strongly, calming and breathtaking. “Oh my God, Alice! Don’t worry about it all at. Just get better soon. You don’t have to stay at all,” Mr. Riley said.

“Thank you, Mr. Riley. Please don’t tell anyone. The police are already working on it,” I lied. “I’d like to stay for a little while, if that’s okay.” He stared at me, more concerned, but nodded in acceptance for the time being. I walked to my seat, passing Cole. I watched him sniff the air, almost like a dog. Somehow I knew he could smell the blood on me. He turned to me staring, jaw dropped, completely pale and speechless. He started to speak but was interrupted when Camille came barging into class, practically sprinting to her seat.

“Oh my God, girl. You scared me half to death. Where the hell have you been? I called you almost fifty times,” she said.

“Sorry. I know. My phone is messed up. Look, I’m actually sick so I’m taking off, but I’m sure Cole can drive you after class. I’ll see you at the bar, okay?” I said, looking to Cole for an answer.

“Yeah, that’s no problem,” he answered.

“Okay, girl. Feel better,” she said and leaned over to hug me. I bit my cut lip, trying to hold in the scream from the pain she was causing.

“Wait at your car,” Cole whispered in my ear without moving his lips. I walked out without another word, knowing I had heard his voice in my head.

I walked up to my car to finally get a good look at her new blemish, a large dent on her passenger side extending past the entirety of the door and wrapping around the back fender.
I guess it adds character, because I am not paying to have that fixed. It is way too hot for all of these clothes. How does Jasmine wear that damn coat all year?
I slid into the car, trying to push my jumbled thoughts from my mind. I opened the glove box and pulled out my “in case of emergency” cigarettes. I rolled all my windows down and put the seat all the way back. I knew I should have just left but Cole had never asked me to wait like that. I just felt compelled to in my weaken state I supposed. I lit up and closed my eyes.
Nice excuse, Alice
. I had to have dozed off because class had never gone by so fast. “Wake up,” he said. My eyes shot open and I looked at my side view mirror to see Cole and Camille walking up to my car. I slid the seat up, shoved my bad habit deep in my pocket and stepped out.

“Give me your keys,” he said. I started to argue but was too tired to really even try. I threw my keys to him and he handed them Camille. “Drive her car to the bar. I’ll drive Alice since she isn’t feeling good enough to have left yet.”
Very clever, Cole
, I thought.

I nodded and followed slowly behind Cole toward his shiny car. He turned and reached for my hand. Normally I would have reached miles to touch his hand; today, however I was too afraid he would see my bashed up knuckles, so I just kept my arms folded. He stopped walking and wrapped his arm through my own like a gentleman. I barely heard Camille’s squeak in excitement behind us as I felt the electricity pulse between us. It was almost as if a part of him was surging through me. He opened the door to his sleek car and I released myself from him and got in. The first few miles, he didn’t say a single word to me. Some music played at too soft a level to hear and he had his extremely tinted windows cracked just enough to hear the roar of the engine. The drive was going fine but then I felt him, his concern for me; it pained him. “What happened?” He demanded.