Salvage Her Heart (4 page)

GRAYSON

Once smitten… well, let me just say that a certain blonde has been on my mind for weeks. I find it quite amusing to want a person so much, and yet, know so little about them. Weeks ago I would have been dreading turning up to work—not because I don’t love the people I work with, but because it’s not my passion. I’m pinning all my hopes on one day having my own art gallery. In the meantime, the rent doesn’t pay itself.

I’m lucky, though. If it weren’t for Jean, I’d probably be still living on the streets. When I was sixteen, I’d become quite the rebellious teen
, which all stemmed from what can go wrong in teen romances. I’ve never confided in anyone about what really happened between us, but alcohol, pot and tattoos were just the beginning. By the time high school was out, I was up to my eyeballs in coke and heroin, and had a booze problem that just wasn’t going away.

When my parents had finally had enough of me, they booted me out to fend for myself. They were hoping the tough-love approach would make me see sense. So, they piled me with a thousand dollars cash in my back pocket and all my worldly possessions on the sidewalk
, and watched and waited to see if I’d sink or swim.

At first, I was drowning miserably. Giving a drug addict enough money to kill themselves with is never a good idea. I mean, shit, with the need of drugs pulling me to the nearest dealer, it was more than obvious I was going to blow (pardon the pun) a thousand dollars pretty bloody quickly. My so-called ‘friends’ and I had a hell of a week, but when the blow and heroin has all been snorted and jabbed and the money has run dry, only you remain
—strung out and craving for more.

With all my chances with the folks dried up, I took to the streets in hopes that I could scrounge any addicts’ leftovers. It was a miserable sight. Here I was, the prodigal son, turned into a deplorable mess, wasting my life chasing my next hit. The private school education certainly wasn’t reaping its benefits.

It was only a chance meeting with Jean that turned my life around. Out the back of her store is a communal rest room. I snuck in early one morning, dehydrated, shaky and looking worse than a mangy cat crawling back from the dead. By this time I was so desperate for any kind of hit that would take my cravings away that I had resorted to stalking other users. Not far from Jean’s coffee shop is a rocky riverbank that is home to some of Brisbane’s desperados. The large bridge that flanks the banks is the perfect camouflage for their seedy partakings.

All I had to do was
sit and wait. Eventually one of them would inject with that liquid gold and they would pass out, needle still hanging limply from their veins. I would sneak in and remove the offending syringe with as much grace as a rhino doing
Swan Lake
. I was desperate. Fuck, you’d have to be to resort to those kinds of things. I was a frenzied addict, anxiously seeking a means to fly away from reality. So much so that I would even resort to injecting the remaining heroin from some junkie’s needle. Now that’s low.

All thoughts of disease and AIDS escaped my mind as I ran, suspecting that somebody, somehow had seen my emergence from under the bridge. Paranoia was a bitch. I took off to the only place I knew I could get some privacy and slammed the door shut. In my haste, I never locked the door. I didn’t know it at the time, but that would be my saving grace. My one opportunity to escape this troubled life I now found myself in. It would be freedom of a different kind. It would be my do-over.

No sooner had the pinch of the needle punctured my veins when I pressed the plunger, emptying the remaining heroin into my bloodstream. I wasn’t used to it, so it quickly engulfed my body, making me a target for whoever crossed my path.

At this point, someone could have taken my life and I would have been powerless to stop it. Lucky for me, Jean walked in on me. She saved me with tough love and kindness. I wouldn’t say she kept me prisoner in her flat above the delicatessen, I mean, it was certainly no
Misery,
but she certainly watched me like a hawk.

That woman herself has been through a lot, but she selflessly took me into her home and made me a better man. I healed, and learned to dream again. For months I never ventured outside. Instead, Jean had me getting well and focusing on making my body stronger. Before long I was challenging myself
—eager to see how many push-ups I could do each morning, or how many chin-ups I could pull off the door frame. My new addiction became exercise—I loved it.

When I was well enough, Jean had me baking goods for the shop. She was a great teacher and taught me everything she knew. After six months of living rent
-free in her place, I finally had my feet back on the ground. It was time to re-emerge and integrate into society. It was time I got my life back on track.

That was nine years ago. Now at twenty-eight, I’m looking forward to seeing some of my dreams come to fruition. I met nice mates, got a place where we can split the rent, and Jean kindly k
eeps me on the roster whenever I need it while I establish a portfolio of paintings. I’ve always been artsy but now it’s my passion. Late into the night I find myself at the easel, painting up a storm.

With Jean’s support, I even rekindled my relationship with my parents. Things were strained at first but nothing was going to stop me from fighting to win their respect back. I know throughout my addiction things were particularly hard on my mum. It burned her up inside to see she was so powerless to stop my decline into becoming a rotting degenerate.

With my life on track, a few weeks ago I would have said life was pretty sweet. That was until Evie walked into the store. Now I realise what’s been missing all this time—someone to love. I want someone who will love me, warts and all. I want someone who won’t judge me for my past, and yet love me for my future—our future. More than anything, I want that kind of connection with someone that overwhelms you, mind, body and soul. Do I think Evie is the one? You bet your arse I do.    

At the moment, I’m kind of like the kid who sits by the window, watching and waiting for the postman to bring the mail around birthdays. You just know there’s going to be that special envelope with money inside from your gran, and you’re so eager to get it you’ve already started spending the money, despite the fact that it’s not even in your hot little hand yet.

That’s the way I feel about Evie. I’m waiting for the day she strolls back into the shop—back into my life so that I can, in some way, impact her life enough that she’ll want to come back for more.

I’ve tried desperately to restrain myself from asking Jean about her. Normally when I come back to work I’m in the back of the store, out of view from the customers. Lately, I find any excuse to bump the barista off the coffee machine so that I might have another run-in with the beauty that had burned my eyes just from the sight of her. I have no idea why it’s so important to see her again
—it just is. It’s like why the grass is green or the sky is blue. It just is, simple as that.

Today I’ve already bumped Lisa from the coffee machine. She begrudgingly took my place in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the pastries while I keep an eye on the front window. Many people pass by on the sidewalk, although none of them are Evie.

I’m minding my own business, which actually means I’m ‘Evie spotting’ when I can suddenly feel the stare of the boss on me. I turn to catch Jean offering me a critical stare from across the counter.

‘What?’

‘You know, you’re gonna burn that milk if you keep staring off into space like that.’

‘Are you saying I’m preoccupied?’

‘Well, Son, if that’s what you’d like to call it, then sure.’

‘What would you call it
?’

‘Well, I’d damn say you were smitten, boy.’

‘Hmm, you’re a very perceptive woman, Jean.’

‘You don’t say. So, who is the lucky lady that she has so endeared your heart to keep daydreaming in such a fashion?’

‘Well…’

I honestly think I’m about to spill my guts to Jean when the little bell above the door trills. We both turn to see who has entered the store. It’s Evie. Seeing her again is even better in reality. My day
dreaming hasn’t done her justice at all. She’s lithe and graceful, and her beautiful green eyes dazzle me into producing a cheek-hurting grin.

‘Oh, I see,’ whispers Jean, shaking her head as she hurries off, pretending she’s suddenly forgotten something in the kitchen. Wicked woman; she’s left me completely alone and I’m suddenly tongue-tied as to what to say to her.

Evie’s hesitant, almost a little reluctant to approach the counter, as if perhaps she has interrupted Jean and me. My smile must be welcoming to some degree, because she closes the distance.

‘Good morning.’ Her tone is light and earthy. You can tell she is the kind of girl who comes from money. There are no wasted words, no clipped sentences or inappropriately shortened words. She articulates each and every syllable, which makes you really concentrate on her lips as she speaks.

‘It is now.’ I grin back at her. She may blush, but she dips her head before I can catch it and tucks a strand of hair that fell forward behind her ear. Her hair is beautiful and silky. I can’t help but watch as she pushes it from her face. Right now, I would give anything to run my fingers through it.

With her hair out of the way I can see her hollow cheeks. Amongst the slight spattering of freckles is a yellowish bruise across her cheekbone. I’m so shocked by the sight of it I can’t help but reach out and touch it, ever so slightly grazing her face with my rough fingers.

She flinches at my touch, completely unsuspecting that my paws would dare. Her eyes hold mine. They plead, they beg. I want to do everything she doesn’t say out loud, but is clearly written on her face. We stand here, suspended in time by the touch of each other.

In the corner of the deli, a tea cup smashes against the floor, dropped by a careless customer. The porcelain shatters on the slate tiles, forcing everyone’s attention to the broken china. Evie’s eyes go wild, perplexed by the breakage. Something deep within her eyes responds.
It’s fear. I’m disturbed that she suddenly feels this way. I reluctantly remove my hand from the softness of her skin.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ she hastily responds. ‘Can I just grab a quick coffee, please?’

‘You can,’ I
say with a grin, ‘but only if you have it with me.’

‘What?’

I wish I had a camera right now. The look on her face is stunning. She’s confused, entertained and anxious all at once. Her eyes dart away from mine, quickly scanning the footpath outside.

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I just
… I just can’t. I guess I’ll have to get my coffee from somewhere else.’ She turns to leave which springs me into action. She’s just about at the door when I bump against it, banging the bell in its place and forcing our bodies closer than I had intended. The sudden scent of jasmine emanates from her. The smell of sunscreen from her face completes the illusion it’s just the two of us in the middle of a field in summer. Fucking hell, how does she do this? Forget being an artist, this girl makes me want to be a poet.

‘Please?
One cup of coffee… with me. I won’t bite, I promise.’ Her contemplation convinces me she’s ready to say yes.

‘One cup?’

‘Just one.’

‘Okay.’

My grin returns, which earns me a shy one from her. While Jean cleans up the shattered china, the customers go back to drinking their coffee. I may have just got the prettiest girl on the east coast to agree to have coffee with me, but I’m by no means deluded into thinking that we’re going to have an immediate rapport. I may feel like I have a connection with her, but this girl is complex and she’s guarded. Even a friendly cup of coffee is going to seem like a bit of travail. But do you know what? I’m placing bets she’s totally worth it.

EVIE

His smile melts my frozen heart just a little. I want so desperately to ignore him, refuse him, but my heart betrays my mind. It’s stupid; so, so stupid to flirt with another man. And let’s not even mention that it’s dangerous. But like a moth to a flame I keep going, knowing that in the end I’ll get burned.

That’s the trouble with pretty men; they suck you in. They lure you into their world with hopes of bedding you. It’s the end game really, isn’t it?
Sex. Perhaps Freud was on to something. If there is only one outcome for entertaining men’s affections, then why on earth am I having coffee with this man?

I know the answer, even though there is no way I can admit it to myself without even knowing him properly. It’s because I think he’s dif
ferent. He seems kind. He seems… like he knows what pain is all about, and that just makes
me
want to get to know
him
—his story.

I’m hopeful to think that perhaps this man can actually be a friend to me and offer me some kind of escape for the execrable life I’m living now. I want all the warmth his brown eyes reflect; I want them to envelop me and hold me tight until life as I used to know it is restored.

These are all just wishes—fantasises. How could I dare to pin all my insecurities on a man I don’t even know and hope that he can turn them into gold?

Asking me to have coffee with him means I’m going to have to be guarded and careful. There is no use sharing anything personal because there isn’t a single thing on this earth he can do about it. So while he may seek someone to lay between the sheets with, I’m going to seize this opportunity to stave off the insatiable need I feel for companionship and friendship. Even as I think this though, I know that deep down I desire to be more than just friends with him.

For far too long I’ve been used as an object; trodden down and made to submit to one man’s sick power trip. The inner voice screams at me, ‘No more! No more!’ For once, I want to heed it.

‘Just hang on a second while I make our coffee.’

His voice is as warm as the milk he’s heating in the little steel jug. It makes my body tingle and respond unwittingly to his words. I almost feel like I should give myself a stern talking to and say, ‘Down girl.’ It makes me wonder what’s going on in his head. What does he see when he looks at me? The beaten down soul I feel; the timid mouse? Or does he see the gladiator woman I know still lurks somewhere deep inside? If ever I wanted to be a fictional character, now would be it. I’d certainly take dibs on
Edward Cullen
, just to see inside Grayson’s head for five minutes.

When he pours the coffee, it’s not into the fine china the deli usually uses. He’s made use of the take-away cups and heads around the counter top to meet me.

‘Come on, let’s go.’ There is wild mischief in his eyes. I like it, yet I don’t. It scares the hell out of me to contemplate the unknown.

‘We’re not sitting inside?’ I ask as he shifts both coffees to the one hand.

‘Have you seen the weather today? There’s a killer sun out and you look like you could do with some.’ He doesn’t mean to insult me, but it kills me that it is so obvious that I don’t get out much.

‘I really don’t think I sho
uld…’ When he takes my hand in his I can almost feel the electricity that flows between us. His hands are slightly calloused—big and masculine. His skin is warm against mine.

‘What have you got t
o lose?’ he laughs.
A damn lot
I think but I don’t say. Instead, I bite my lip, wondering for the millionth time why I seem so intent on pursuing actions when I have no intention of facing the consequences. Years of fight leave me. I surrender and allow him to lead the way out the back door. For this, I am thankful, because you never know when Alex’s controlling instincts take over. Several times I’ve noticed men following me around.

‘Just taking my break, Jean!’ he yells into the kitchen before we step out into the brilliant sunshine. ‘There, now isn’t this much better?’

‘You’re right, it is.’

‘Let’s go sit in the park while we drink our coffee.’ He tugs on my hand that he still holds in his.

‘Erm, you can let go of my hand now—I am coming.’

Grayson stops abruptly and looks at me seriously.

‘What if I don’t want to?’

‘Well
…’

‘I’m just kidding!’ he
says with a laugh before releasing my hand. He walks towards the park, leaving me to trail after him like a lost puppy.

Grayson’s shoulder-length, wavy brown hair blows in the slight breeze behind him. His narrow hips are a stark contrast to his wide shoulders. When this man walks, he swaggers. There isn’t a single part of me that isn’t sold on his self-confidence. There seems to be an abundance of it in his back pocket. He settles under a shady tree and pats the grass next to him. I make sure to sit a safe distance from him
—safe from the heat his body seems to radiate. I sip my coffee slowly, thankful for the beverage so that I can use it as a distraction.

‘So, Evie, tell me a bit about yourself.’ That, I might add, is the very last thing I want to do.

‘Ah, I’d rather not.’

‘Why not?
Isn’t that what friends do? Talk about themselves.’

‘Who says we’re friends?’ It’s a little rude, even for me. He pays me no mind. Instead, he shuffles forward on his backside so his sitting square in front of me. His eyes beg I look at him, even though his stare burns right through to my core.

‘I do. You can deny it to yourself all you like, Evie, but you and I both know that we’re going to be friends.’

‘Why do you say that?’ I whisper, almost afraid for a minute that perhaps he can actually read my mind.

‘Because your eyes don’t lie, Evie. If I’m being honest, which I am, I’m drawn to you. It sounds ridiculous because I hardly know you, but I think you feel exactly the same way.’ He kind of holds his breath while he waits for me to respond, staring intently at me.

‘Friends, huh?’

‘For now.’ I can see a glint of victory in his eyes. He casually sips his coffee, as though he doesn’t have a care in the world.

‘Well
, friends get to know each other slowly. They don’t just spill their life stories all at once.’

‘So that’s where I went wrong in the past!’ Grayson
laughs loudly.

‘Probably,’ I answer dryly.

‘Okay, I’ll stick with the basics for our first interrogation,
but
, for every question you pass on you have to give me a kiss.’

‘No way!’
I yell before he has chance to continue.

‘Alright, don’t get your panties in a twist. I can see that you feel uncomfortable with that. How about this? Every time
I
don’t answer a question, I have to give you a kiss.’ Grayson is one smug individual right now. I’m pretty sure his grin is ear to ear.

‘Absolutely not!’
I cry.

‘Why not?
Seems fair…’

‘Because you would purposely not answer any of my questions just so you can kiss me!’

‘Ah-ha! So you do want to ask me questions then?’

‘I get the feeling I’m being played here.’

‘Alright, I’ll answer every single one. Shoot.’ He looks so innocent and young that I can’t help but feel playful.

‘Okay,’ I giggle, ‘your first ever crush?’

‘Easy,’ he says, ‘Betty Fitzgibbons, grade one at Pembroke Primary School.’

‘Seriously, Grayson?
A grade one crush?’

‘Hey, don’t mock the answers. You asked, I told.’

‘Do they really still call girls Betty?’

‘They did at Pembroke,’ he laughs.

‘So what was so good about Betty anyway?’

‘Her pigtails; definitely her pigtails.’

We both burst out laughing at that one. When we finally compose ourselves, he takes a turn to ask me one. ‘Now no lies, but what was the most embarrassing item of clothing your parents ever made you wear?’

‘Oh god! I think it would have to be grandma’s jumpers. Every Christmas she would send a hand-knitted cardigan from England and it would always have some cutesy animal on the front of it. It wasn’t so bad when you were three, but by the time I was eleven it wasn’t cool to be walking around in winter with a jumper on that had a fluffy yellow duck on the front.’

‘I would have loved to have seen that.’

‘Not on your life.’

Just then, the back door of the delicatessen across the street flings open and bangs against the brick wall. Jean looks flustered and waves to Grayson. I look at my watch and realise it must be getting busy with their lunch time crowd.

‘I’ve got to go, but don’t think you’re off the hook.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘Walk back with me?’ He holds his hand out for me to take so he can pull me to my feet. I let him, and this time I don’t take it back once I’m on my feet. We walk slowly, neither of us wanting our little coffee date to end just yet. Grayson dumps our cups in the trash and turns to face me. His hand slips from mine to gently caress my cheekbone; his forehead touches mine lightly.

I’m instantly lulled into his security. I want to sway with a drunken love, but fight desperately to stay on my feet.

‘Evie?’

‘Hmm?’

‘What happened to your face? How’d you get that bruise?’ he whispers, his voice now serious and filled with concern. I sigh, hating that I can never hide from the tide of my life that just keeps sucking me back in.

‘Pass,’ I say, before gently standing on tiptoe to kiss his lips lightly. They are so soft and inviting that I really want the kiss to be so much more
—to say so much more. Instead, I break away from the spell he’s cast over me and leave him to a life where he doesn’t know who the real Evie is. As I walk away, he calls after me.

‘When will you come back?
Evie!’ I ignore the gentle call of his voice and keep on walking, because if I don’t, I think I would ruin our bond forever with the sickening details of my torment. Punishment and mistreatment don’t seem like anything Grayson would know a thing about, so why infect him with my dark, dirty soul?

I keep on walking; walking all the way to the City Cat ferry so that I can traverse back to my prison. As much as I’d like to think that Grayson could be my salvation from the darkness, the reality is, my monster’s grips will never tire of holding me captive.

I am Alex’s. He will make sure that I am his—forever.