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I secretly considered the fact that I couldn't seem to get a grip on life was due to the universe dealing penance for my mega fuckage of the only thing in my life that had ever gone semi-right.
Sighing, I chucked the envelope into the garbage without opening it. I knew what it contained. More false hope—probably in the form of an invitation to Christmas. I could never go back there, and I didn't have time to entertain frivolous fantasies at the moment.
Reality was calling—the reality of a thousand pounds of dog shit in an elderly neighbor's back yard. I had put up an ad hiring myself out for odd jobs in an attempt to make back some of the missing rent money, and that was the response I got. The universe hated me.
Pushing all thoughts of Nan, the ranch, and Christmas parties out of my mind, I threw off the clothes I had worn to the office to pick up my last check and pulled on my rattiest T-shirt and jeans, shoved a pair of heavy duty plastic gloves and several garbage bags in my pockets, and headed out the door. Adulting sucked, but a hundred bucks was a hundred bucks. Maybe I could even afford to spring for Taco Bell when I was done.
* * *
I clutchedthe remnants of an eighty-nine cent bean burrito in my hand, as I jumped off the borrowed bike and limped towards the house. To top off the loveliness that was my day, my car hadn't started on the way home from Mr. Henderson's house, and I had to borrow his grandson's old banana seat Huffy that was, at best, leftover from the late 80s. At least, he had cleaned the cobwebs off of it for me.
Even though it was several miles from home, I had stubbornly ridden over to Taco Bell to fill my stomach full of cheap and filling food that didn't taste like it was made from glue and rubber bands. The only consolation for my shit-tastic day.
I hid the bike in the overgrown hedges near the front porch so it wouldn't get stolen, because that would be just my luck, and groaned with every step as I made my way up the stairs to the large front porch.
I heard the boards creak under my weight like they always did, but I hadn't stepped up yet. A large manly figure stood, hovering in the shadows. I gaped for a minute, confused. When he began to walk toward me, I screamed and threw my purse in his direction.
"Here! Take it all! Take everything! Just please leave me alone! I won't even call the cops!" And there went the hundred dollars I had just earned picking up dog shit.
The man, who I could now see was very tall and wearing blue jeans, stepped over my purse and continued his path toward me.
I froze for a full two seconds, then let out an ear curdling shriek and ran towards the bike, thinking that if I could just get to it, I could move faster than he could and maybe get away with my life.
My whole body was shaking, and I was muttering under my breath as I tossed one leg over the bike and began to pedal before I was even all the way on.
Of course, he cut me off at the path, stopping my escape with one long arm grasping the handlebars.
"Merry, stop."
I stopped. Nobody called me Merry, and I would recognize that voice anywhere. It haunted my dreams. I wasn't sure that I wouldn't have preferred a rapist or axe murderer.
Slade. Slade David Cross.
He fumbled in his pocket, while I watched, and withdrew his phone. He pushed a button, and suddenly, the darkness surrounding us was aglow, and I could see his face.
"What do you want, Slade?" My voice sounded hard and angry, even to me, but it matched how my heart felt at the sight of him.
"Don't you mean Daddy?" His tone was also slightly hard, with a hint of sarcasm that set my blood to boiling.
"Fuck off. And go back to wherever the fuck you came from on whatever piece of shit horse you rode in on."
"That's not language becoming of a lady, little one."
The term of endearment threatened to crumble my angry façade, just as he knew it would. Slade didn't play fair.
"And for the record, I came from Nan's, and my F250 is at the top of the driveway near the road, and I'm not leaving here without you." His eyes glinted with determination at the last bit, just before he softened to apologize. "Sorry if I scared you."
"Whatever. Guess you're stuck here in Page then, because I'm not going anywhere with you, Slade." Now that I knew that I wasn't going to get killed in my sleep or raped in the sanctity of my own bedroom during the night, I threw down the bike and turned to stomp up the steps, gathering my purse as I walked.
I could hear his boots crunch through the gravel as he followed me. I didn't care. He could sleep in his truck, or even out here on the porch, for all the shits I gave.
He caught up with me at the door, as I dug for my keys and tried to unlock the bolt with shaking hands. Was it the cold or nerves? Probably both.
He caught the door as I pulled it open, but I knew he wouldn't follow me in without invitation. For all his bad qualities, Slade was a southern gentleman.
"Please go," I whimpered, resting my forehead against the spine of the door, refusing to look him in the eyes. "Please don't do this."
"I just want to talk."
