TW: abuse, strong themes.

— Chapter 12 —

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"Come on," Smash grumbled, pulling me by the wrist to get me to walk faster.

The annoyance was bubbling in my chest, but I didn't answer, dragging my feet through the thin layers of snow on the ground. Joe's was only a little further down the street, and the sooner I got there, the sooner I could be free from Marcus and his friends.

"How long has it been?" Marcus chuckled. "What, like four or five years, now? You haven't changed a damn bit—you're still running around with this shitty haircut?"

He ruffled my hair and snickered to himself. I tried to move away from the contact, pissed off and annoyed. I didn't like him touching me. I especially didn't want him touching my hair.

"Are you still running around bullying little kids?" I answered back, feeling slightly more daring than usual.

The words left a bitter taste on my tongue. Scolding myself, I thought, why the hell did I say that?

Marcus threw me a glare. "Don't start getting cocky, Taylor. It's really not like you."

It's not, I happened to agree, hanging my head as we continued down the cracked sidewalk. Smash and his friend were busy conversing aside from our conversation, chuckling amongst themselves. I bit the side of my cheek.

The way Marcus's critical gaze analyzed me head-to-toe made me feel like I was back in high school again. It reminded me of all the times I had gum spat in my hair and slurs scratched into my desk. It reminded me that no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that I was better, I was still weak—a shell of a person, with a fractured sense of self-esteem and a feeling of isolation that followed me around like a shadow.

Marcus added after a brief chuckle, "I'm not the one who used to graffiti buildings and run from cops. How many times did your dad have to bail your ass out of holding cells, again? Must've been embarrassing for an officer like him."

I let out a shaky breath through gritted teeth. He made it all sound so trivial—he had no idea what I'd been through.

Pulling against Smash's persistent grip on my wrist, I quietly forced out, "you don't know anything about me."

Marcus shrugged.

"I know enough," he smiled. "From what I hear, James isn't around to save your ass anymore, either. So I suggest you dial down the attitude, yeah? You're not who I came to deal with tonight, anyway."

James.

God. Nobody had mentioned him to me in a long while. Hearing his name out loud made my heart lurch in my chest.

"What do you want with Edge?" I asked, in an effort to draw my attention to something else. At least I remembered to use his silly nickname this time.

The wide, disingenuous grin he gave me betrayed nothing. "That's not really any of your business now, is it?"

Great, I thought bitterly to myself, flinching at the harshness of the hand grasping my wrist.

As we came upon the parking lot of a Joe's crawling with loud bikers, I quickly spotted a tall Noah standing in a small group by a set of parked motorcycles. There was a cigarette balancing in his mouth as he muttered something short to Chains and Chief.

They must have gone outside for a smoke. I stared at the lights coming from inside the bar, reminding myself of how late I was. Eve would definitely give me a mouthful when I walked in there.

People slowly turned to look in our direction as Marcus and his friends walked into the lot—pulling me behind them. Chains was the first to spot us in Noah's group, nudging Noah to divert his attention to us.

I groaned. Here we go.

Noah's eyes flashed with confusion for a brief moment as they landed on me—though, with one look at Marcus, the confusion was replaced with a deep glare.

Marcus came to a stop before the three bikers, with Smash and his friend standing beside him like some kind of amateur bodyguards. Smash still refused to let me out of his grasp.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Noah asked with a low tone.

Marcus raised his hands in fake surrender.

"Jeez, don't get so testy. I just came to hand you back what I owe. You know, with interest," he said. Flicking his hand in Smash's direction, he added, "You can let him go now."

Smash passed me an amused scoff as I snatched my wrist out of his loosened grip. Ignoring Noah and the other four men, a flat frown fell on my face.

Rubbing my sore wrist, I spoke bitterly, "Suck a dick, Marcus."

He chuckled in response as I turned to leave.

"Nice to see you too, Elliot."

Trudging across the snow-covered cement, I thought to myself as I walked away, I just want to catch a break for once.

Though, just before I left earshot, I caught the sound of Noah's voice. "You two know each other?" He asked Marcus, but I wasn't interested in listening for the answer.

Spotting the frown on Eve's face as I walked through the bar's double doors, a sharp exhale left my lips.

It's going to be a long night.

"Don't forget to mop the back," Eve had told me as she walked out of the backroom to head home for the night, "And please remember to lock up. God knows I really don't want to deal with another chicken situation."

Oh, God, not the chicken situation.

"You got it," I answered.

Just as she was about to walk out from behind the bar, she stopped in her tracks, remembering what had been on the tip of her tongue.

"Oh, right. Pete's coming in tomorrow to check up on things. You know how he is," she rolled her eyes. Gesturing loosely to the bar, she joked, "Just... try to make the shithole look less like a shithole."

"I'll handle it," I smiled, waving her off. "Promise. It's the least I can do for holding you up."

She took a deep breath, giving the place a last glance over.

"Alright, then," she said. "Night, kiddo."

"Night, Eve."

She walked out after waving goodbye to one of her favorite regulars, leaving me on my own at Joe's for the rest of the night.

It was going slower than usual for a Friday. A lot of the older bikers weren't present like they usually were, aside from the regulars and Beatrice, who spent most nights drinking bottled beer and staring at the game broadcasting on the old TV behind the counter. Unless it was for another drink, she didn't enjoy being bothered.

There were quite a few college kids around, though, probably to enjoy the last night before the working weekend. It didn't stop me from checking ID's though—especially not when a duo of new girls stumbled up to the bar with no idea what they wanted.

I couldn't seem to shake them, either. With cheap cocktails in hand, they passed me friendly smirks and giggled unsubtly to each other.

"Okay, so, like," one of them, Trish, began with a hiccup, "Where did you get those earrings? I've been wanting new ones and those look so good on you. I'm so jealous."

I gave them a half-smile. It wasn't rare to get a few people to try their luck at flirting with me. I would usually turn them down right off the bat, of course, but the bar wasn't too busy tonight and they happened to leave me a nice tip.

I knew neither of them would really remember the conversation in the morning, but the attention still made me a little self-conscious. "I got them so long ago, um... most of them I got from different stalls, but the chains were from a friend."

The second one, Sophie, grinned boldly, "Is your friend as attractive as you are?"

"Oh my god," Trish cringed, nearly spilling her drink.

A new voice spoke up as the two of them chortled to each other. "Alright, ladies. Why don't we give him a break, hm?"

My gaze rested on a pretty brunette in unlaced high-tops and a black bomber jacket. Passing me a small smile, she pulled her hands out of the pockets of her jeans and gestured for the other ladies to sit somewhere else.

Angela?

"Boo," Sophie frowned dramatically, stumbling her words. "You're no fun. Come on, Trish."

Turning her nose up in the air, Trish followed after her friend, leaving Angela and me alone at the bar. Resting the glass I'd just polished down on the counter, I gave her a relieved look.

"Hey, Elliot," she smiled. "I'll get two Heinekens. Bottled is fine."

I nodded in response.

As she pulled her wallet out of the back pockets of her jeans, I went to go get her beer, the same kind she usually ordered.

"Sore wrist, Elliot?" She suddenly asked, tilting her head.

I looked up at her and furrowed my brows. "What?"

"Your wrist. You've been rubbing at it all night," she chuckled, making me turn my gaze down to the redness I'd caused on myself.

"Oh, yeah," I exhaled lightly, surprised. Resting her beers on the marble counter, I asked, "How'd you even catch that?"

"Maybe the nursing textbooks are starting to rub off on me," she joked. "No, I'm just kidding. I saw you get dragged here by one of Marcus's friends. Looked like it must've hurt."

"It's not that bad," I assured her. Changing the topic, I said, "I didn't know you studied nursing."

"Yep. It sucks. But I'm passing, at least," said Angela with a half-smile. "How about you? Are you doing anything outside of work? I'm starting to think you never leave this place."

I shrugged as she rested the money on the counter, leaving a good tip. "Not really. I usually pass out all day, to be honest."

"Fair enough," she nodded. Though, just before Angela turned to leave, she adjusted her balance and faced me once more. "Hey, before I forget—I'm actually throwing a reunion party at our old high school and wanted to ask if you could come. Some of my high school friends are coming back to Boston in a few days and I figured it would be nice to have a get-together, you know? Quite a few people are going."

Reunion party?

"You're inviting me?" I asked.

"Yeah. It's a little more than a week from now," she replied with a pleading beam. "I hope you'll come."

This is a terrible idea, Elliot, I thought to myself. God, I won't know anyone there.

"Sure," I blurted. "Uh, I'll come."

She broke out into a gummy smile, pulling her phone out of her jacket pocket. "Really? Great! Well, uh—do you want to give me your number? I'll send you the details."

As she pulled out her phone and I recited my digits to her, I couldn't help but fiddle with my fingers behind the counter.

Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to it so quickly. After all, I wasn't exactly the social butterfly in high school—I didn't even know who was going to be there.

"Awesome," she said, putting her phone away and picking up her bottled beer. "Well, thanks for the drinks."

Passing her a lighthearted look, I watched as she made her way to the exit, probably to go give one of the beers to Noah.

Was Marcus still outside with him? They hadn't come back inside at all over the last hour or two. They weren't planning on having a fistfight, apparently, but perhaps it was a bad idea to let them stay out there unsupervised, regardless.

Why should I care? I thought to myself, shaking my head. It's none of my business.

The bikers had slowly started going home not long before I'd made the last call announcements. After the last cab had disappeared in the distance, I'd locked up Joe's, staying back for some extra time to wipe down tables, clean glasses, and tidy up the place like I'd promised Eve I would.

My feet had been killing me all night, and I was certain I'd blistered a toe or two on the walk home. Kicking them off by the door as I walked into the house, I was met with the loud sounds of the TV and two people laughing with each other on the couch.

The heater was cranked up in the corner of the room, loudly fanning air into the open space. I rested my attention on my father and the cold drink in his hands. Reclined with his feet propped up on the coffee table, he paid considerable attention to the football playing on the TV before him.

But the part that ticked me off was the half-naked, middle-aged woman sitting on the couch beside him. With a matching beer in her hands, she mumbled something to my father, apparently amusing enough to prompt a brief chuckle from him. Dressed in nothing but a black bra and shorts, her amusement quickly disappeared when she noticed my presence.

"Oh, great," she muttered, with a raspy tone of voice.

My father's gaze followed hers, quickly landing on me with a bitter expression on his face. "What the hell are you doing home?"

"It's three in the morning," I pointed out flatly, doing little to hide the annoyance I had for his female acquaintance. I was tired, and I was bitter, and I apparently wasn't having it.

I recognized the woman, actually. Donna Hanks. She was a high school teacher with two grown kids and an obvious drinking problem. She—and her husband—were regulars at Joe's. As a matter of fact, too, she hadn't even tried to hide the gold band on her ring finger.

For fuck's sake.

With my fists clenched tightly at my sides, I glared at my father, "Are you serious with this right now?"

"Who the hell do you think you're—" he began, only to cut himself off. "I'm not in the mood to deal with your tantrums right now. Grow up and get out of my sight."

I scoffed in disbelief, shaking with fury. "Grow up? We're supposed to be visiting Mom's grave in a few days, and you're sitting here with another woman watching football and drinking yourself to death. You're telling me to grow up?"

"Don't you dare bring your mother into this, you fucking—"

"The anniversary of her death is hardly more than a week away! What, did you forget? Did you forget, Dad?" I yelled, feeling the heat rising to my cheeks. Gripping my hair with trembling fingers, I said to myself, "I can't believe this."

Turning away before I could unleash any more of my fury into the room, I slowly started to walk away—but a sudden tremble beneath my feet and an angry yell cut me short.

"Where do you get off treating me like shit?" My father spat at me, getting to his feet and slamming his empty beer bottle on the coffee table.

My heart dropped into my stomach. Oh, shit.

Moving quickly to get some distance between us, I headed into the hallway. My father stormed after me. The fear that struck my chest made my breathing heavy. Yelling with bawled fists, my father thundered, "you've hardly been home five minutes! Oh, but you couldn't fucking resist causing a fight, huh? Get the fuck back here, Elliot!"

One night. We couldn't go one night without yelling at each other. Donna was unfazed, too—she sat calmly on the couch through the yelling, briefly shrugging to herself at one point as she took a sip of her beer. Though, there I was, shaking with anger and once again terrified of my own father.

"I'm sick and tired of you! I don't want you in my house!" He yelled.

I wasn't stupid enough to go to my room, where there were no locks to keep him at bay. Instead, I turned the corner into the bathroom, slamming the door shut with a violent thud and locking it tightly. Almost immediately, I could feel his fists barreling against the surface from outside.

"You have ten seconds to open the door or I'm breaking it down!" My father roared. As he beat the door with a dangerous force, I listened emptily to the banging as it came to sync with my own pounding heartbeat. "Open the door, Elliot! Open it, or I swear to god, I'll fucking kill you!"

I gripped the ceramic basin to stop my weak legs from giving out beneath me.

"Open it!" He shrieked, at which point I'd already slumped to the ground. With my knees tugged to my chest, I shook my head, taking deep breaths through my nose.

My hands trembled and my eyes stung with hot moisture, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me so weak. Instead, I found myself staring blankly into the distance as whatever overwhelming emotions swarming in my chest slowly faded, leaving me purely numb.

The banging on the door eventually stopped, heavy footsteps receding down the hallway. I wasn't sure how much time I spent trying to compose myself in the claustrophobic space, but with a shaky breath and heavy eyelids, I quickly learned I wasn't against sleeping on a bathroom floor.

I never left the room that night.

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