Dirty Lace Page #2

• Fiction

								

 
I looked at her in resignation. “You’ve done nothing but waste my time.”
She didn’t seem to mind my remark. Without another thought, I got up and patted my dress down. With the sun and the girl behind me, I started on my way once again.
 
“Thanks for nothing, stranger.” I shouted back and jabbed for a response.
My ankle wobbled and I cursed as the petite heel slid off. I kicked off the heels, slipping my fingers under the straps and letting them find home over my fingers instead.
With the skirt bunched in one hand, and the heels in the other, I walked back onto the graveled path to nowhere. I hesitated, waiting for her to call me back. To apologize for her empty words and how she treated me, but to my dismay her silenced stretched on.
 
“I hope you-” I turned back and my eyes caught the empty green bottle on its belly, still and alone.
I stared ahead and the emptiness stared back. No signs of the brunette remained, almost like she never existed. The road behind now felt more unnerving than comforting.
But I didn’t have time to dwell on that which had disappeared, not when I had bigger problems still looming ahead. And if I failed to find the answers to them now, I might never find them.
 
With a worry as heavy as that, my feet moved along the path, letting my mind wander. Everyone would be looking for me, panic sinking in as it got closer to the time of the ceremony. They would try to phone me, only to be met with utter dismay when they heard Grimes playing from underneath the bathroom sink.
Every step forward was a step further from a loving future I was guaranteed. I enjoyed the warmth of their love but I craved my solace more.

But maybe my luck hadn’t completely run out, as I squinted at the silhouette of a house --- or a cabin --- or a pub; an ironic godsend? I rushed to the place regardless, leaving all worries and hesitation to the evening wind.
 
Empty chairs sat outside and the doors to the place remained shut. My heart pounded in my chest as I pushed the door open. It creaked in profound anticipation, like it had been waiting for me. My eyes scanned the dimly lit haven inside.
Wooden barstools with a garish jade cushioning lined the thick slab of dark oak. The interior sent me a century back, with its brown floors, and shelves with carvings and patterns of sorts. Dust danced in the beams of light that seeped through the barred up windows, accentuating its emptiness. It was like nothing I had come across in this town.
 
The gruff sound of someone clearing their throat snapped me back to reality. I looked up at the doors that swung out and an older man stepped out from behind. He had greasy, grey hair that reached for his plaid covered shoulders. A missing front tooth didn’t stop him from giving a hearty grin, his face wrinkling at the sides as he offered a welcome laugh and an amused hello.
“You don’t look like you belong here.” His grin remained, his stubble adding to the unpleasantness of it all. But everything good came with a risk. And with a small smile, I pulled out the ugly barstool and plopped down on it.
“Well then, what can I get the lady?” Sweat stained his shirt, the pungent smell burning my senses. I tucked a strand of my hair and flashed him a smile--- soft and naïve, the kind that often had them yell ‘it’s on the house.’
“Just a vodka martini will do.” The skirt sat on my lap, flowing down my crossed legs and past my sand-covered feet.
His pathetic gaze lingered over the lacy bustier of the dress, before meeting my eyes again.
He smiled and gave a low hum. “Wet?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Sorry?”
“Wet or dry? How’d you like your drink?” He smirked. My nails dug into the stool and I exhaled sharply.
“Dry please. I can pay.”
“No, no, it’s on the house, pumpkin.” He winked and gave an ugly chuckle as I held myself back from retching onto the clean counter.
 
My eyes darted around the place, avoiding as much talk as I could.
“Here ya go. A classy martini for an even classier beauty.” He smirked, satisfied at himself.
A nervous laugh escaped my lips, too high and too loud. I avoided his gaze, as I felt him wait for my response to his incredibly smooth line.
Just as I had hoped, the saloon doors creaked making me sigh in relief. Layers of musty grey and brown lay on the customer’s body, his scuffed boots thudding across the old creaky floorboards.
He quickly glanced my way, before looking back at the pervert of an owner.
“Whiskey neat Gus, the usual.” He grunted and pulled out the stool beside me. His fingers drummed on the table and his eyes glanced at me expectantly.
“Would I know you by any chance?” His voice was rough. He cocked his head, continuing to study me.
And I studied him too, from the chin-length hair that framed his face, to the greying beard.
“Why? D’you usually come across runaway brides?” I teased and he bit down a grin, eyes raking my face. I pushed out my lips ever so slightly and leaned against the wooden counter with my chin in my hand. His eyes fell to my glass and he smiled, pleased.
“Next drink on me, then?”
I gave him my practiced laugh. “Wanna get me drunk already?”
“You can handle it, doll.” His lips curled up he and called out to Gunther, or, whatever his name was.
“For the girl? You sure?” The owner asked, looking at the man beside me.
I watched as he chuckled lowly and nodded, glancing back.
“Something to ease the lady’s mind, no?” His hungry eyes bore into me, and I offered him a small smile.
I let him pull his seat in closer as I passively observed his hands and their movements.
Friendly flirting was always friendly flirting and nothing more. It came with no promises but left with some if I felt like it.
My leg jerked away as I felt his rough palm on my knee. He quickly caught on and scoffed.
“Why? All bark and no bite?” His hand slid up higher.
I shifted in my seat and gave him an embarrassed smile.

“You caught me,” I laughed softly, trying to lace the uneasiness in my voice, “I was just joking.”
“But I wasn’t.” He mumbled low, his hand clearing knowing no bounds. They stopped at no plea, and it was clear to me that my words fell on deaf ears.
I swallowed and let out a shaky breath. “Alright, okay. That’s enough.” I chuckled, pushing his hand away.
“Why? Scared your husband will find out?” His lips stretched into a hypnotic smile.
My husband?
My throat closed, and I swallowed hard. The surroundings merged into a blur of confusion, the grin on his face burning my eyes.
“Who are you?” My lips quivered as the words barely made it above a whisper.
Tears stung my eyes as his calloused fingers made it under the skirt; his hand cold against my flesh.
“I know you want it too.” He offered a lop-sided grin, his eyes casually undressing me.
I abruptly stood up, the stool falling to the ground with a screech and a thud.
“What the f*ck do you know!” The heat rose in my cheeks. My hands shook at my sides.

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