Toxic (Better Than You) (10 page)

             
A strange expression crosses his face before he smiles. Seagulls call out in the distance. Laughter bubbles through the air. This part of the beach is empty, away from the crazier bars and clubs just down the street. It’s cozier, too, with wood walls and straw skirts on every table. I need this job. I can’t afford to screw it up.

             
“Let’s head inside and get started.”

             
I follow Nathan through the empty bar, into an office at the back. The door shuts behind us and I lower myself into the only seat in front of a small desk. He sits in front of me, pulls out a file with what I’m assuming is my resume. His eyes skim over the highly exaggerated information, lips moving quietly with the words.

             
“So, it says here that you worked in a restaurant for a little while? What did you do?”

             
He knows what I did. It’s on my resume. But I smile and answer him anyways. “I started off as a hostess and then I moved to waitressing.”

             
Back to reading. “This says you were there for six months. Why did you leave?”

             
His blue eyes meet mine. I stare, watch as his hand runs through his light brown hair. It’s shaggy, could stand to use a trim, but it’s perfect. “We had a small disagreement.”

             
It wasn’t small; it was monumental. My douchebag manager tried to feel me up in the walk-in and I kneed him in his balls before he had the chance to do anything else. He threatened to fire me, I threatened to cut him off from Danny’s supply, and then I quit.

             
Nathan doesn’t ask what the disagreement was. He just nods and looks at the papers again. Sighs and leans back in his chair. “Honestly, Logan, you have no experience bartending and you don’t have good work history. You’re not a very safe bet.”

             
They’re just words, spoken from a stranger at that, but they sting. I want his approval, his faith. Just to prove that it doesn’t bother me that he’s turning me down, I stick out my chest, flip my hair behind my shoulder. As I stand, I smile at him, wide and calm. “Thanks for your time, Nathan.”

             
I’m surprised when he doesn’t look at my chest, not even as I bend over and grab my bag. His eyes stay on mine, absorbing me into him, making me swim in their depths. I’m even more surprised when he stops me just before I leave the office.

             
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t give you a chance.”

             
My back is to him, but I don’t turn. Not yet. I have to will the tears back before I face him. My legs feel like jelly and my arms feel like lead. It’s a strange contradiction, but nothing about this has been normal. The fact that I’m feeling anything at all is not normal. And I haven’t thought about taking more to numb it. Not yet. A chair scrapes across the floor and then I turn, again coming face to face with Nathan.

“When can you start?” he asks, hands in his pocket and a small smile on his face.

“When do you need me?” I fire back.

It’s not what he was expecting, I can tell, but he recovers quickly. “Tomorrow night.
Five o’clock. Wear jeans shorts, a black tank top and black sneakers. Be ready to work hard. It’s ladies night.”

“I’ll be here.”

Just as I turn to leave, he calls my name. When I turn my head to face him again, he grabs a piece of my hair and flips it ends up into the air. “This,” he says as he runs his fingers over it, “Has to be up. Don’t be late.”

It’s similar to the way Dave handled my hair, but it’s so different at the same time. Dave’s touch made me want to vomit, disappear, but Nathan’s makes me feel alive. I haven’t felt alive since I was twelve years old and Melissa forced me to dance around in my pajamas in the middle of her living room. Before I do something I’ll regret, like jump into Nathan’s arms and test just how alive he makes me feel, I walk away. This time I make it to the door without being stopped. I drive back to the shitty motel-apartment and I smile the whole way. I think I’m going to like my new job.

February 18
th
, 2009

             
Danny didn’t come home last night so I didn’t get the chance to tell him about the job. Until now. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning and he strolls in smelling like beer and smoke. The eggs I made an hour ago are cold and hard, the bacon grease looks like brown jello. It pisses me off that he answers to no one, not even me. If the roles were reversed, I’d be beaten within an inch of my life.

             
“Where were you?” I ask before I can think better of it. I haven’t taken anything this morning and I’m irritable.

             
Danny stops and looks at me, an expression on his face like he doesn’t even know who I am. “None of your fucking business,” he snaps.

             
My heart starts to race, my hands start to shake. But it’s not from panic. It’s from anger. I’m furious that he thinks he can treat me the way he does, that I’ve allowed him to think that, that I’ve been so spineless. Suddenly, I have a spine so I stand up as tall as I can, which is almost just as tall as Danny’s six foot, and look him straight in the eyes.

             
“It is my
fucking
business, Danny. I’m your-”

             
His fist slams into my face so quick that I don’t even have the time to prepare for it. A white hot pain shoots through me, brings me to the ground. I’m on my knees, my head hanging between my arms. Blood trickles out of my mouth. I think a tooth is loose. Carefully, I press my fingers to my left cheek, tears slipping out of my eyes with the gesture. But then I feel Danny’s arm around my waist, lifting me to my feet, and I forget about the pain. I start to panic. He pulls me into him, my back against his chest, pushes my hair away from my neck. Kisses my shoulder, my neck, my ear.

             
“Don’t question me, Lo. Don’t you fucking question me ever again,” he hisses.

             
I’m hoping that’s all I get, that he’ll let me go and I can disappear like I usually do. This is what I get for standing up for myself, for speaking, for being visible. But his grip tightens around my waist and he starts to walk. I know he’s not done with me and I’m too coherent for what he wants. Silent tears slide down my cheeks. Danny throws me onto the bed in the room, pulls my shirt over my head, rips away my pants. When I’m fully exposed underneath him, he rakes his eyes over my body, slowly works his way to my face. Grabs my jaw in his hand, his fingers digging into my cheeks, forces my eyes to meet his. I wince in pain. He sees it and smiles. It’s cold, evil, nothing a smile is supposed to be about.

             
“You are mine,” he speaks against my lips. His teeth clamp down on my lip. Even though I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, I let out a whimper. Watch as his eyes light up with pleasure.

             
You are mine.

As if I needed the reminder. How could I ever forget that he owns me, that I need him? It was a minor slip in judgment, a lapse in logical thinking. I am nothing without him. Even though I know this as surely as I know my own name, I can’t bring myself to love him back. To move with him. I just close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else until I feel his body shake and his weight disappear.
The bathroom door slams shut and I know it’s safe to sit up, redress myself, walk out to the kitchen and recook breakfast.

             
The eggs are ready just as he walks out of the room and plops into a chair. I make his plate and set it in front of him. Sit across the table from him.

             
He glances at me in between bites. “You’re not going to eat?”

             
Forcing my voice to be as steady as possible, I say, “I’m not very hungry.” I would say that I already ate, but he hates when I eat without him. It’ll just set him off.

             
“You’re too skinny. You need to eat.”

             
His word is the law, so I make myself a plate and force it down. It settles into my stomach like a boulder. When I feel like I’ve been sitting here for an appropriate amount of time, I excuse myself to the bathroom. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to sprint there. The door closes with a soft click. The medicine cabinet opens quietly. The blade cuts quickly. The powder moves easily. I lower myself to the counter, inhale hard and fast, close my eyes and savor the burn. It’s over before it even began.

             
The tub is cold against my back. As I slide to the ground, I start to count, only making it to seventeen before the rush takes over. It’s like someone dumps me into the ocean with a three hundred pound weight attached to my ankles. My body is consumed. The pressure is pushing in on all sides. My heart constricts and my lungs contract. For a second I can’t find the strength to breathe. But then I’m cut loose and I rise, rise, rise to the top. I break the surface and take a deep, gulping breath. I’m refreshed, transformed, improved. The world is brand new. Just in time for my first day of work.

             
Now that I’m better, I walk out of the bathroom and find Danny on the couch playing Call of Duty. “I start a new job tonight.”

             
The sounds of gunfire continue and I know he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said. I walk to the bedroom, get dressed and put on makeup. Stare at my strange brown eyes and golden skin, at the long brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Some part of me recognizes the fact that I have nice features, could be considered pretty, but underneath all of the superficial, I know that I’m ugly and undesirable. I know that there are no redeeming qualities about me.

             
Danny doesn’t look up as I gather my things, put on my shoes and leave the apartment. He’ll be angry when he realizes I’m gone and I’ll have to deal with that when I get home later tonight, but right now I’m just happy to be out of there, away from him. When I’m in my own car that I bought with my own money, some of the spine I lost in the apartment rebuilds itself. It makes me feel like I could be self-sufficient if I wanted to be. Like I’m not completely helpless. If there ever comes a day when I decide to leave, this car will take me where I need to go. My escape car.

             
The sign on the bar is flipped to
close
, but the door opens when I pull. I walk in and wait to let my eyes adjust to the dimness. A group of girls wearing black tank tops and jean shorts walks out from what I think is the kitchen and stop when they see me. Go silent. I’m staring at them and they’re staring at me and I suddenly remember why the only friend I have is Sam. Nathan walks up behind them, clipboard in hand, and smiles when he sees me. It puts me at ease, but only just a little.

             
“Logan, you made it,” Nathan says as he walks past the girls and towards me. I’m offended at his surprised tone. Did he think I wouldn’t come to my first day of work? He already doubts me and he doesn’t even know me. Since I don’t respond, Nathan continues to speak. “Let’s go ahead and show you where everything is.”

As he comes closer, his expression changes so fast that I wonder if there’s something wrong with my face. Then I realize that there probably is. His eyes search me quickly, from my head to my
neck and arms and legs and feet, resting on the scars on my arms and temple. I don’t know what he’s looking for but when he doesn’t find it, his gaze settles on my face again. I know my bottom lip is swollen; I can feel it. Maybe my cheek is too but I’m not sure if that’s because of the roxies or from Danny. Either way, I realize that maybe I should have tried a little harder to cover it up.

There are questions in his eyes. Questions I know that I won’t answer, but more importantly, I know that he won’t ask. It hasn’t been more than a minute but he remembers that the other girls are still standing in the room and sends them to open the bar. They set about, pulling chairs off of tables and turning on the TV’s. Dull conversations take over the stifling silence. I clear my throat, bringing Nathan’s attention back to me because I want more than anything to get started.

“Do you want to talk about how you got that?” he asks, pointing a finger at my cheek.

I shrug my shoulders. “Just clumsy.”

“I’m gunna call your bullshit and raise you another question. Do you
need
to talk about how you got that?”

Is he serious?
I’m momentarily stunned for two reasons. One, he called my bullshit, and two, he asked me again. Who does this guy think he is? “Look, I’m sorry I showed up with this,” I gesture at my face, “but it won’t happen again. And I won’t let it interfere with my work.”

Now he’s looking at me like I’m crazy. “I’m not worried about either of those things, Logan. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

I smile as wide a smile I can manage with my swollen lip. “Perfect.”

Shaking his head, he rubs a hand over his face and turns towards the bar. “Welcome to My Friend’s Place.”
             

March 13, 2009