Chapter 1 Part 1

Charlie

Nothing appealing catches my attention to keep me alert. I’ve been here since seven this morning and the slow ticking clock finally says it’s after eleven at night. The more I glance at those stupid numbers, the slower the hands tick by.

Knowing that I’m forty-five minutes late and counting for my night out, no doubt my good friend Juliet will have a lecture waiting for me when I finally do arrive. Juliet may be happy-go-lucky at times but an enforcer nonetheless. Keen attributes every junior high teacher has on their résumé, I imagine. My head thumps against the desktop in defeat as I contemplate staying in this dank office or facing a disappointed Juliet. A groan of protest rumbles in my chest, which loudly sounds throughout the room. An echo almost taunts me.

A voice sounds from down the hall. “Charlie?” The footsteps get louder and louder until they stop outside the open doorway. “Are you ready?” Morgan, my faithful assistant asks, trying to hide a yawn with her purse slung over her shoulder and keys in hand. The jingle of the metal expresses her anxiousness better than any words can.

"I was ready hours ago, but unfortunately there’s work that has to be done. So much work that has to be done.” I don’t make eye contact with her for the very reason of knowing what I’ll see: an exhausted and irritable Morgan.

Wanting more than anything to stay and finish every last detail, I decide against it. After placing all the scattered papers into organized piles, I follow Morgan to the front of the building. A quick glance at the front reception area is the last thing in view before a flip of the light switch makes the room go black.

Morgan takes a deep breath of the fresh night air. “It’s Friday, it’s Friday,” she chants as she shimmies her way to her car, her once tired mood revived. Stopping dead in her tracks a few inches away from her driver’s side door, she turns toward me with a mischievous look plastered on her face. “You’ve gotta go to your precious dance club tonight, don’t you? Have you met Mr. Right yet?” A joking laughter seeps out at her own words.

I contain a smirk as I place my hand gently on Morgan’s shoulder. Pity fills my gaze as I stare the younger girl down. "Do you think before you speak, Morgan?”

The laughter that was threatening before comes pouring out immediately after the words are spoken. Walking to my driver’s side door, I shine more light on the conversation. “You’re asking if I met the man of my dreams at a dance club? In case you’ve never been to a club before, they’re filled with perverted wannabe cool guys that aren’t Mr. Right material. Recommendation number one: stay away from them.”

“Then why do you go?” The parking lot is barely lit, but you can still see Morgan quirk an eyebrow at my hypocritical words. Anyone would be the same way if someone told them not to do something when that very person was doing what they just said not to do.

“For a friend.” Truth be told, I do many things that I’m not fond of for friends. Another truth be told, I do many things that I’m very fond of for friends.

“I see,” Morgan mumbles as she unlocks her car door. Her slouched shoulders from the long day of work block half of her face from being seen.

Morgan’s the best assistant I could ask for. It took months after opening up my party planning business for somebody like her to apply. She fit every attribute I needed in a partner. She’s punctual, polite, and can be ordered around without question. She knows her place at work, but she doesn’t always know her place in my personal life.

When she puts her two cents in about my love life, I tend to get a little snobby, but I try to mask it by being motherly. Morgan’s idea of Mr. Right is a pastor’s son with good morals and strong beliefs in a higher being. I, on the other hand, go to a dance club on a Friday night. That should be enough to say how interested I am in finding a future husband.

“See you Monday morning, Morgan.” With a sincere wave out of my open car window, I drive away without a second thought, forcing the discussion to pick up a different day.

The drive home is long and dreadful when the radio station always plays the same ten songs over and over again. With a tightening hold on the steering wheel, my annoyance boils over after having to listen to pop princesses and boy bands repeatedly. Gags of revulsion sound quietly in my head.

There’s no time to sit and relax my overworked brain when I finally enter my house. Digging through the fridge and cupboards for a quick bite to eat leaves barely any time to change into different clothes.

The plush comforter that lies atop my queen-sized bed calls my name when I finally make it into the bedroom. I glance at the bed, then tug my body back toward the closet before settling on a pair of short black shorts and a tight teal top.

A puff of displeasure escapes through my mouth as I turn out the lights, leaving a few on for my return later this evening. The snap of the deadbolt locking into place causes the tiredness that already makes me groggy to thicken. “For Juliet,” I whisper to myself, entering the car yet again.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve been to the club. Unexpectedly, excitement runs through my veins at the same time that my limbs ache.

Four blocks away from the entrance is the closest parking spot. By the time I reach the block that the club resides on, my feet are already hurting, which causes my strut to become more of a shuffle. Hoping that music lightens my mood is farfetched, but it’s worth a shot.

The smug air suffocates any newcomer to the building, so many sweaty bodies in such close confines isn’t appealing or any bit comfy. Dodging elbows along with the occasional protruding ass, which are all obstacles that I try to bypass, but not always successful at.

Instantly, familiar faces from afar make my frown of displeasure turn around for the better. Although one puts disdain into the emotional mixture. Juliet stands stiff as a board with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, throwing daggers with her eyes in my direction. Waiting it out is all I can do. That's all I can do. She’ll get over it in…one, two, three.

With a large step taken forward, Juliet leans closer to me. “About time,” she hollers, making my eardrums rattle. Her blonde hair flies in several faces as she violently shakes her head in frustration. Some stray strands stick to my lip gloss.

Bursts of air rush out of my tight lips, all while trying to hold back any spit in attempts of getting her hair out of my mouth. All that happens is Juliet jumping backward from me when she regrettably gets spit on. When she does step away, relief from her hair goes away as well.

“Very funny,” Juliet gripes. Her brashness puts a smile on my face.

“Sorry, I had your hair in my mouth, which was quite unpleasant, by the way.” My hands swat at my face as the residual feeling of hair stuck on me remains. Flapping hands aside, I continue, “However, a girl’s gotta work, so lateness is expected.”

“I get it, I get it. Let’s just try to have fun tonight,” Juliet yells in my direction before dancing away.

The rush of the music gradually washes over me. Life becomes easy as the beat pulsates through every cell of my body. Any stress from work melts away as the loud melody mutes all senses. I didn’t even realize that I started dancing until warmth from an unexpected visitor that’s too close for comfort encompasses me.

Why guys find a cluster of dancing girls so intriguing is beyond me, but by some of their attitudes it seems as if they find it as a challenge and the challenge has now started. Two large, very warm hands place themselves on my hips.

Putting a pretty smile on my face without missing a beat, I spin around to look over the tall, scrawny man. His shaggy blond hair and unshaven face tell a story all of their own. Who knows how many girls have run their dirty fingers through those strands tonight alone? I wait for him to speak first.

“Did you have lucky charms for breakfast? Because you look magically delicious,” he says loudly into my ear, so his deep voice can be heard over the music.

The things that come out of these guys’ mouths every time are ridiculous and I don’t have time to waste on them. I’m here for my friend and nothing else. Clenching his shirt collar between my fingers, I yank him down to eye level. Leaning in really close, my lips brush his ear. Anxiousness along with nervousness from my bold move rattles the man, causing him to stutter out useless words.

A sly smile spreads across my once highly glossed lips at the babbling idiot. “Why don’t you run along and find me that pot of gold.” With a push or more of a shove, I thrust him away. Except he doesn’t move as far as I would've liked him to.

His large, overbearing hands find my body once more. This time they’re laid upon my shoulders for a few seconds before moving down my back and not stopping until my ass is cupped flawlessly in his palms. His mouth moves in reply, but anger causes me to go temporarily deaf and I don’t hear every word he says, but I’m sure it's something pompous.

When I don’t answer his unheard question, drunk anger washes over him and he aggressively grabs my ass as he thrusts his groin into me. Like a normal everyday action my hand lifts in the air and swings, no second thought behind the act whatsoever. The only thing to stop it is that scruffy cheek of his.

His hands immediately drop away from me. “Bitch,” he grumbles, rubbing his face. Not wanting to cause more of a scene, he swallows what little pride he has left and strolls away rejected.

After an additional two complete strangers approach me and four individuals approach Juliet trying their luck to impress us, the only thing I’m left with is a sore ass from their grabby hands. Why do I come here, I ponder.

Nothing can be easy when it comes to other occupants of the club and the same goes for friends too. “Thirsty,” Juliet barks toward me from between two men, who nearly block her from view.

Somehow, I’m always the one who’s designated to get drinks. Maybe it’s because I’m dancing solo, or maybe it has something to do with the fact that Juliet’s sister, Janessa, had a one-night stand with the bartender. An abrupt nod of my head along with a salute in Juliet’s direction tells her that I comprehend her orders, but also lets her know I’m not pleased about it.

The bar seems miles away when one has to duck and bob around rude unmoving people. A sigh of relief escapes out of my mouth as I finally lean up against the bar.

“That's tough, huh?” the bartender says, acknowledging my restless mood. A half cocked smile finds his face. However, it’s his button-down shirt that’s unbuttoned to reveal his smooth chest along with his well-defined muscles that demand all girls’ attention. No wonder Janessa went for a joyride with that, I joke to myself. Although, looks can be deceiving.

“Tough is an understatement. Can I get a Cosmopolitan and a 7Up?” I only look him in the eye for a few seconds at a time, because I know he’ll recognize me. The last thing I want is to get involved in Janessa’s business.

He agrees with what he believes to be an enticing voice, but just gives the impression that he’s trying too hard. Once the order is accepted, I turn around, not wanting to give the impression that I would want anything remotely close to a conversation to start up between us.

Propping my elbows up on the bar top, I scan the dark room, observing all the drunk people. It’s when my eyes land on a certain stranger’s face that my night has truly begun. There’s no stopping my trembling fingers and the slight jerk of my shoulders. Not to mention the jello legs that are barely keeping me in a standing position. The bellowing thoughts rambling through my brain tell me to turn away, but I can’t help but to keep staring at him, either in awe or fear.

It has been a while since I’ve been in this club, but when I am, he’s always here. All those Friday nights he can always be found in the same spot just staring. Besides him constantly being here, I can’t help but to spot him. Never has he once approached me, but you can tell by the look on his face that he holds himself back from doing so. His eyes give him away, the desire within him. It’s not the first time I’ve seen that look. Their face betrays them by giving away what their brains are thinking.

A light tap on my shoulder causes me to jump. Feeling quite silly, I quickly grab the drinks that are on the countertop and make a dash for Juliet. Putting that creepy dude along with my absurd jumpiness aside, I try to look at the brighter side of things.

After several hours and several encounters later, the call of my bed summons me once again. Goodbyes roar out between us over the loud music before I exit the building. Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, I slip off the high heels I forced myself to endure for the evening before starting the four block walk back to my car. The cool night air feels great against my somewhat sweaty skin, a breeze blowing strands of hair in my eyes.

The streets are dark and deserted at this time, causing my nerves to get the best of me. All the storefronts that line the street have darkened windows and eerie shadows play across the glass from the streetlights. The slow pace of my tired feet quicken when I spot my car in the nearby parking lot. Keys already clenched in hand and a quick press of a button, the door is unlocked and waiting for me to enter.

Before I can open the door it re-locks itself. My fingers slide off the handle as I just missed it. Standing still with my head hanging to the ground, I huff in annoyance. Why car security systems have to re-lock the doors after a certain time frame of not opening the freshly unlocked door is beyond me. 

My eyes slowly travel upward until they lock on a reflection in the window. I twist my torso, slamming my back up against the car door. The handle digs into my spine. Air gets stuck in my lungs and all the blood drains from my head, making me lightheaded. The bulge of my eyes and quiver of my bottom lip gives faultiness to any composure I’m pretending to hold on to. All I can do is stare into the empty lot as I try to comprehend what I think I saw, a second reflection in the glass.

Horrified to the point of suffocating myself from forgetting to breathe, I’m frozen in place. My shoes slip out from my numb hands as I’m unable to focus. The distant thud as they hit the pavement doesn’t faze me the slightest bit. The dark hidden spots that aren’t lit, a bordering tree line, and nearby buildings, all demand my speculation. Still gripping the collar of my blouse in hopes of it keeping my pounding heart from jumping out of its cozy spot in my chest, I manage to get into the safety of my car.

Images of that peculiar man from the club taunt me as I retrace my thoughts. His needy eyes, the messy shoulder-length brown hair, and an ashy pale skin tone under the lousy fluorescent lights sear themselves into my memory. “I did see him…right?” I ask myself as I speed out of the parking lot.

Comforting nonsense flows out of my mouth in efforts to convince myself I’m not crazy throughout the car ride home. It’s not the first time that somebody followed me out to my car, but he’s different from the other men. A sick feeling attacks my stomach, giving fuel to the crazy thoughts that find their way into my head. The dark look in his eyes tells you he wants something entirely different from what all the other guys want.

Stumbling bare feet prolong reaching the protection of my home and shaky hands fumble the key several times before successfully unlocking the front door. Just as quickly as I open it, I slam it shut. Completely out of breath from my overactive imagination, I try to compose myself for the night ahead, alone. “See…it’s just your mind playing tricks on you and you lost a perfectly good pair of shoes because of it.”

More than ready for a good night’s rest even with nightmares waiting to haunt my dreams, I find my way to the bedroom. After a quick change into some pajamas I climb into bed. The doorbell unexpectedly rings throughout the house and a yelp escapes my mouth.

I tiptoe my way to the front door. My hands hover in front of me to balance my shaking body. The wooden floor boards creak beneath my weight. Not wanting to give my approach away, I tiptoe the rest of the way. Leaning ever so carefully against the door to peer through the peephole, I stare at an unwelcome guest.

The scratch of my fingernails sliding down the wooden door fills the house. That stranger who watches me on Friday nights from his distant corner at the club circles my front porch. It’s that same pale face that I swear I saw reflected in the window. Now, he’s standing outside my door, waiting for me to open it.