Chapter One - Hers Hers from Mine Mine

Title (Hers Hers from Mine Mine) is meaningless to the story - it's a file-folder name system I have.

((edit 6/22/2013) If you want to give feedback just take note that I wrote this maybe a year ago or so - I have improved my grammar, use of fragmented sentences, and abuse of dialogue tags (etc). I have significantly improved my writing style since posting this here and I even believe I've rewritten this first chapter considerably. I have put this book on hold, though - and last week when I tried to add to the story I found that I was too irritated with my rusty old writing style and pushed it aside again.)

Overall premise:
Vee is haunted by her past with her ex husband who had become abusive (mirrored after my own life a little), and has to contend with that emotional baggage while dealing with a budding relationship with someone who also has serious emotional baggage (Chad - Stephanie's boss - has a 'psychological issue').

She begins to think that there's something seriously wrong with her - as how she only seems to attract men who have serious issues.

Things become complicated when she learns of his issue and why he can't/won't have a relationship with her -- and then her ex husband works his way back into the picture when she has to return to Bellefonte (her hometown) to take care of her old house that she left behind.

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Chapter One:

         He trapped me in his little world with romantic poems about my eyes—how green they were and they made him think of emeralds. Or my lovely locks of lengthy blond hair and how it made him think of corn silk. My creamy white thighs and plentiful breast…on and on. I yummed it all up, too—back in the days of being a teen in college. Being smart has its curse—I graduated from high school early, rushed into college—and then just wasn't ready for a guy like him. I was so smart I was stupid.

         I tried to build a new life for myself but Bellefonte, Pennsylvania was a small town. In a small town it’s hard to chase away the reputation that was built over time. I didn't have many good friends; in my pathetic desperation to make my husk of a marriage and my our failing business work I had slowly pushed them away. In the end—no one except my next door neighbor even knew I was gone.

         She only noticed because my lawn overgrew. She filed a complaint.

         I moved to Lawton, Oklahoma out of sheer desperation; seeking escape. ‘Move on, find someone new’ they told me and that’s what I intended to do.

         Easier said than done—much easier said than done. Oklahoma is a beautiful state but you have to accept that there’s just not much in Lawton. It’s a tease—tasty military men all around. Sometimes they’d stand in groups outside of restaurants and hotels like massive stuffed teddy bears on display. None are available or interested in someone like me. Ever since I moved here none of the decent guys took notice of me at all.

         Then there’s some sky, a few scraggly trees, and nothing more. Lawton’s old and worn down—except for the few bits that were new. Old old new old old new. Driving down the gridded streets is like a game of a decade-decade-goose.

***

         With how the last year of my life had played out I should have just seen it coming. I didn't, though. I guess I wasn't paying that much attention. Well. I was playing plenty of attention—it was the other driver who wasn't paying any attention.

         As I walked into the ER for the second time in two years I could barely find the strength to open the door—I had to lean into it, and the pain of my arms was like a slap in the face. A reminder of my desperation and where it led me. I almost tripped over my own feet—so wrapped up in my own self I didn't even look up to see the person who opened the door for me right away, I just thanked their slacks as I walked by. I did turn though—I don’t know why. He didn't say anything but some sort of deep curiosity made me turn just enough to see who it was.

         I’ll be damned if I didn't nearly run into some poor old lady because I wasn't paying attention. He was maybe six-foot tall or more, and built. He had a jacket on but I could see it in his posture and how he walked that he wasn't just a little fit—he was a powerhouse. A tall, fit powerhouse that was so well built he could be a shelter during a tornado. He seemed so out of place it was quite a surprise. I watched him through the glass for a moment as I apologized half-aware to the lady I nearly ran over. His face was rugged, rough—almost like it was chiseled. Not some smooth stone like granite. But something rough and rugged like gravel. That’s what he made me think of; grit, gravel, sand and something else. Like he was crafted from the dessert just outside the city limits.

         When he was out of sight I realized I had spent way too much time searching for some sort of idyllic metaphor for him. That’s exactly how my horrid marriage came and went—I saw Henry and then boom; my life was shit. I brushed off thoughts of the door-guy and signed in at triage.

***

         Sitting there, stitched and freshly bandaged, wrapped up in the pressing discomfort of a busy hospital ER, I heard the girl next to me. She was crying on the phone—telling her mother that she was afraid she was going to get fired after getting hurt on the job because this wasn't the first time he had to drive her to the ER after an injury. She was embarrassed and frustrated over her injury prone nature. I understood where she was coming from, people look down on you when you can’t seem to stay out of harm’s way as if you’re broken.

         Maybe I was just happy to have something else to do other than mull over my own miserable situation—all the many miserable situations that set me up for this ultimate problem. Maybe I felt bad for her or wanted to just moan with someone who could understand, I don’t know. Maybe I just needed to talk to someone while I waited for my discharge orders.

         “He can’t fire you, you know.” I offered up through the closed curtain that separated us after she said bye to her mother. She sounded young, like me. Just working to move on in her life and pay the bills. She stopped crying, sniffled a little.

         “What?” She asked with a broken, half-sob breath.

         “Your boss, he can’t fire you for getting injured. So it’s ok, don’t worry about it.”

         A few more jerky breaths as she recovered from her emotional spill.

         “Hah.” She finally said, all without real humor, “Well, we’ll see. He’s outside right now probably plotting his revenge.”

         I laughed out loud, “Oh, he’s not that bad, is he? You just said you've been hurt at work before, and here you are—still employed.”

         She sighed and laughed with a broken jut, “Yeah, that’s true—still working. I've even had a few pay-raises and I always get good marks on my employee reviews.”

         “See, it’s not that bad.” I smiled, though she couldn't see.

         She sat silently for a while, “So, what brought you in the door?”

         “It was my night for a car accident. Someone’s gotta do it.”

         We talked away the rest of our time on our little gurneys—and I joined her in her ER cubicle until she received her discharged papers. We talked about work—the troubles of family and school. We laughed and joked. Instead of finding a new guy to be wrapped up in I could just have regular friends like a normal person. It honestly sounded like a lot of fun. I spent so many years of my life wrapped up in my now ex-husband that I needed to just let all of that go—at least for a while.

         I don’t need another relationship, I don’t need someone else.

         Once we stepped into the waiting room reality sort of came back to me. I had to get a taxi to come here, so I’d have to get a taxi to go back. Back to my house and all its miserable confines. I hadn't lived here long and still hadn't come accustomed to the strangeness of it all. I was living in a construction zone; drywall remnants piled up in the hallway. I had finished the living room and the kitchen in the first part of the year and now I was trudging more slowly through the rest of it. I stopped by the front desk to use the phone.

         “Well I’m at the bookstore all the time so how about I come by your work and we can grab lunch—hang out?” She offered up.

         “Yeah, that sounds great. I mostly work evenings.”

         Making a new friend was never so easy for me before; usually work or some other issues was in the way making it awkward or slow going. I use to be so outgoing. Henry’s mother once told me that she loved my ‘ effervescence.’

***

         I waited—and waited, watching out the window. No taxi. I thought to call the company and see if one was on its way—or if I was in the wrong place, maybe I had to be outside, maybe the taxi’s couldn't pull up to the front. No-of course they could, I just had to wait longer.

         “You don’t have a way home?” I turned to see Stephanie standing next to the glass alcove by the door, talking to me over a row of people. The look of concern on her face was touching. “Here—my boss drove me here and he’ll drive us both home. I mean, he won’t be thrilled but he won’t say no.”

         “Oh, no, I can’t do that—I can’t impose like that. I called for a ride but it hasn't shown yet.” I really couldn't—I felt so embarrassed, I just didn't want to have to socialize with any men right now. Especially not her boss—he did sound like a bit of a pill.

         “No—it’s nothing, please. Come on. Better than a smelly old dingy taxi.”

         The pleading look in her eyes won me over—against my better judgment. “Sure, why not?”

         We left the building together. It was dark and cold, I rubbed my arms to keep from shivering, the friction tugged at my wounds sending prickles of pain through me. The oncoming winter in the open south was harsher than the cocoon I lived in further north. Pennsylvania got cold—and snowy. But there was a lot to be said for the shelter of trees. Here in Lawton there just weren't very many of those. Wind ravaged my skin until it felt raw.

         She told me several stories about her boss. One time she walked into the men’s room and could have sworn he was in there masturbating moments earlier—he was leaning against the wall, covered in sweat and breathing hard, and didn't even see her come in. Another time she caught him checking out this one woman’s ass so intently that he walked into a doorframe and spilled coffee all over his clothes. Her stories about him had me laughing my ass off and by the time we got to his car. I didn't feel bad about imposing on him. He reminded me of my brother.

         My heart almost stopped beating the moment I saw him.

         It was him, the guy I nearly drooled for when I walked into the ER. My breath faded away and went shallow, and when my heart started beating again I felt like it was going to break in two. This was like some plot to a cheesy romance movie, that’s what this was.

         Suddenly, I was extremely embarrassed. He didn't know what I knew about him but knowing what Stephanie just told me about him, I paled. I actually felt the color drain from my face. I wanted to just dive under his car and hide away—hoping he’d never see me. The fact that I thought he was an ass after spending a little too much time checking out his fine, round, hard ass was just too much.

         The moment I had that panicked thought I realized how much of a waste it was. I steadied my breath—I was being stupid. He had no clue who I was and there was no way in hell that he knew we were just laughing about him.

         Once his eyes met mine it was all too obvious that he didn't know—not in the slightest. How could he? Of course he didn't. I was just being self-conscientious, stupid and silly. He sat there in his seat with a look of uncomfortable annoyance on his face, well hidden behind a blank mask of aloof, but it was there—in the corners of his eyes, tightness of his lower lip.

         She was right. He obviously didn't want to give me a ride home but felt compelled to agree, anyway. He tried to be polite and he even introduced himself properly. All I could say was ‘Thanks’ and ‘Vee with two ee’s.’ I was so flustered I couldn't even speak in full sentences. Would it really have been so hard to say, ‘Thank you, Chad and Stephanie, for giving me a ride home,’ or something?

         He didn't remind me of my brother, not once. Now that I was looking at him. I didn't know him like Stephanie did—based on what she told me he was just an asshole in a—well not quite a suit but almost a suit. An asshole in dress slacks and a leather blazer. For a moment I wondered when those went out of style; was it the 80’s or the 90’s? Right after white sneakers with business suits, I imagined.

         God, I hated myself. I was being an idiot.

         I still hated myself as I sat in the back of his car. He was so incredibly sexy. He slipped off his jacket and tossed it over the center console. My heart did a stupid little pitter-pat when it almost brushed my leg. He had tattoos that he thought were hidden but in the right light—at the right angle—they were visible through the thin shoulder and sleeve fabric of his dress shirt. The hidden art looked like tribal tattoos, thick and black. Muscled and defined—not too much but enough to just be powerful, maybe even mean looking. Heavens help me if I all of a sudden wanted to be under him, with him driving into me—a steady, pulsing rhythm.

         I was getting wet just thinking about it even though I was praying for an invisibility cloak at the same time. I struggled not to look at his hands as they gripped the wheel, the slight flex of his bicep as he turned.

         Things only got worse—much, much worse—when he had to ask me how to get to my house. Oh holy shit, how much worse could it get than that? His voice—so deep and sensual like liquid sex. Like hot burning embers of liquid sex that dripped down my body from my ears. He could say anything and make it sound sexy.

         Witness at this moment the undoing of a woman—all it takes is an asshole in an almost suit.

         One moment I was wondering how he managed to be so rugged and yet so attractive and now here I was sitting in the back of his car and all I wanted to do was die. I wanted to curl up and die and just blow away. I was thankful that he couldn't read my thoughts.

         What if he could hear me? I tried to sit quiet as a mouse and hoped that maybe he’d forget I was here. I had to talk to him, though—I had to. I had to tell him how to get to my house so I could flee from his car like my ass was on fire, because it felt like it. I felt like I was smoldering in the back seat of his car like a forgotten ember that was spit out of a fireplace. My heart wasn't just beating in my chest—it was pounding out S.O.S.

         I felt like I was trapped in the back seat of his car under his scrutinizing gaze for hours—it was just 15 minutes but it lasted an eternity. Then my heart stopped again and was brought back to life when he looked at me. Our eyes met in his rear-view mirror, God, those eyes—I could have spent so much time getting lost in his eyes—and even more time trying to forget them. Like little tide pools of a swirling green. His eyes just sucked me right back into him.

         See how stupid I was over someone all of a sudden?

         As if it couldn't get any worse; when he asked me if I was going to be ok my heart sped and skipped a beat. Not only did he ask me if I was ok, but he turned and looked at me.

         I wish I looked better—I wished I had on a sexy little dress and maybe had my self-confidence because after today, after tonight, there was absolutely no way in hell he was ever going to want to talk to me ever again. Even though I felt like dying and blowing away I knew he’d remember me forever.

         Of all the things that came into my mind I picked the least revealing and the least desperate thing, “No, I just didn't plan on being gone all night so I left the lights off.” So stupid! Of course I didn't plan on being gone—I was in a freaking car accident for Christ’s Sake!

         Oh, yes, I was leaving his car.

         With my heart in my throat and my body flashing hot and cold like I was going into menopause or coming in from playing in the snow and then dashing my frozen fingers into warm water.

         Opened the door.

         Got out of the car. I was blasted with icy cold air as the sweat on my forehead was tickled by the wind.

         “Thanks Chad, bye Stephanie.” I trudged off to my house—exactly where I didn't want to be. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what was suddenly wrong with my damned house only that I’d be alone, again. With the smell of Mr. Liquid Sex Voice's car clinging to my clothes.

         What a horridly nice odd day—and it wasn't even over yet.

***

         I was so tired. My arms and legs felt heavy and it took even more energy just to move them up and down and forward and side to side.

         It felt so strange being here in the quiet dark at night. Leaving things off during the day didn't seem odd—but the night made it just creepy. I turned on the TV and the radio in my bedroom to stir up sound, I flicked on lights as I went to chase away the silent shadows. Eventually I plopped down on my couch, put my aching feet up, and within minutes I was off to sleep.

***

         When I woke up my head was throbbing and my body ached all over—sleeping on the couch sucked. I made my way into the kitchen—zombified through and through—fixed a pot of coffee and took some Tylenol, too tired to bother with a glass I just drank from the faucet.

         I dozed back off to sleep at the counter and woke to my alarm sounding in my bedroom. The pot of coffee had run and shut itself off already but my headache was gone. I drug myself to my bedroom and slapped the button to shut it off. I eyed my bed but decided that the last thing I wanted to risk was laying down, falling asleep, and missing my shift at the bookstore.

         It was already afternoon, I had well over ten hours of sleep but my body really didn't give a damn—It hurt anyway. I felt like I had my ass kicked. Oh wait, I laughed out loud, I did have my ass kicked by someone else’s stupidity.

         “What an asshole.” I groaned out loud to myself as I rubbed the thick of my shoulders.

         I sat in a stupor at my breakfast counter, staring out the window, and drank two cups of coffee. I thought about how odd this all was—just how very strange everything was turning out. I moved away, came here only because my brother lived here.

         Why had so much crap happened in such a short amount of time? Why couldn't I just get my feet under me and move ahead? I should have taken the time to call and report the accident to my insurance company but I didn't have the energy. I didn't have a brain enough in my head to think anything through. I decided to let it go—just let it go. Too many things.

         I showered and dressed for work, roping my long hair around and around into a bun, skewering it with bobby pins. Hissing as the bandages tugged at my skin and disturbed my healing wounds. I looked at myself in the mirror—cringed at the bruises and the bandages. My once bright green eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion and stress. Underneath all that butchered mess was nothing but a short, gaunt, dumpy little thing. I looked like trash. I had gone through hell and looked it—maybe it was time for a change.