Because I Won't: The Because Trilogy, #2

Prologue

FLUORECENT LIGHTS flickered overhead. The darkness outside seeped through the high windows. I raised my arm, and metal clinked together. This was what I feared. I cast my eyes down and focused on my wrists. The heavy chains have torn into my sensitive skin. It burned, but I tried to push it from my mind. However, I felt the exhaustion creeping up on me again, and I knew I couldn’t hold it off any longer. I succumbed as my eyes fluttered shut. I’m defeated and broken.

I don’t know how long I stayed this way, but I eventually pried my eyes open. My body’s beaten. Everything hurt and was varying shades of yellow, green, and blue. Blood dripped from my nose, and its metallic taste seeped down my throat into my cramping stomach. I curled into the fetal position. I gave up.

Chapter One

A knock startles me from my sleep. I raise my head and look out the window. Gentle, brown eyes stare at me as a man holds a brown paper bag with a plastic spoon.

I shake my head vehemently. After what I’ve been through, I can’t trust. How do I know his offer is friendly? I don’t. I assure myself my fear is justified.

Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he motions to the hood. He places the bag on the metal surface and walks away.  

Curious, I wait a few minutes after he leaves before opening the door to grab the bag and spoon. Once I have the items, I return to the back seat of the car and open the bag. Inside is a container of chicken noodle soup. The scent fills the interior of the car. I set the container on the seat and look back inside the bag. There are several packages of crackers. I take them out, placing them beside the cup. As I lift the soup, I notice the message written on the lid.

You’re welcome to come inside.

My body still aches, and I debate if I should take him up on his offer. I look across the parking lot and yearn for the air-conditioning inside the building. I could, also, stretch my sore limbs. I weigh my options—public place...exits on both ends. What harm can it do if I take the stranger up on his gracious offer? That’s the question. Is it worth the risk? After another few seconds, I conclude it is. I need out of this car.

I gather my stuff—a sweatshirt I found near a donation bin and a used book-bag filled with wrapped food I’d found throughout the day. I hike the bag over my shoulder and climb from the car, not bothering to lock it behind me as I walk across the street. At the front door, I pull the ajar door open and step inside.

The cool air caresses my face as I enter, and I sigh in relief for the few minutes of ecstasy I’ll have before I have to face another muggy, humid night inside a car. I shake my head and scold myself. There are things worse than sleeping in a hot car...much worse.

The inside of the diner is quaint. The floors are alternating black and white tiles, like a checkerboard. There are red vinyl booths, but I choose the stools at the counter. I limp over and sit on the stool at the end. My eyes widen as it rotates. I throw my hands out and clasp the edge of the counter to stop the seat.

Once I regain my balance, I pull the soup out of the bag and set it on the counter. I waste no time digging into the soothing broth and tender chicken.

How is it?

Startled, I glance around and find the source of the voice in the small window separating the eating area from the kitchen. The man smiles and adds a piece of bread to a plate of pasta sitting beneath a heat lamp.

I...it’s very good. Th...thank you, I say and waste no time looking back at my container of soup, suddenly ashamed of my appearance and how my life is out of control.

A few seconds later, the swinging door swooshes, and the man strolls out of the kitchen. I watch him from the corner of my eye as every muscle in my body tenses. He grabs the pasta dish with one hand and a dishrag with the other. Slowly, he makes his way over and places the plate on the counter in front of me.

You must be hungry. He reaches beneath the counter and pulls out a set of utensils wrapped in a napkin, placing them next to the plate.

The sweet smell of sauce filters through my nose at the same time my stomach growls. A little bit.

I can’t stop the innocent giggle that escapes from within because my stomach ratted me out. My face heats, and I’m sure it’s red with embarrassment, but I couldn’t tell you the last time I ate a decent meal.

My name’s Jake. This place was my Dad’s, but it’s mine now. He gestures around the empty diner.

I glance around and admire the retro atmosphere. It’s nice and clean. And from the smell of the food, I bet he does great business. It’s nice. I look down at the plate of pasta and back to him. Thank you. With the fork in hand, I begin to eat.

Jake rounds the counter and sits two stools away from me. He reaches for the newspaper on the counter and flips it open. When I’m sure he’s reading, I return to the food in front of me. We spend the next few minutes in silence, but when I’m halfway finished, I feel his eyes on me. Tension builds inside me once more.

Do you plan on staying in the area for a while? he asks, and my chest tightens.

The guilt of stealing from the dumpsters and sleeping in the parking lot the last few nights settles over me. Did I plan on staying? I hadn’t planned on it, but where else can I go? I don’t have anywhere.

Truthfully, I’m not sure. I don’t know my next move yet. I place the fork down and interlace my fingers in my lap nervously.

He stands and approaches. My mind is on red alert as my back straightens.

By the bruises on your face and the ripped clothes on your back, I think you can use a friend and a little help. I’m not sure what you’re running from, and you don’t have to tell me, but I’m happy to help if you’ll be honest with me. Jake grabs the coffee pot and fills a mug.

I’ve never lied. They just never believed me, I whisper as I cover my cut wrists.

How could a mother not believe her own child? How could she be so blinded by her own life and happiness that she takes what I say so lightly? My heart aches from not knowing the true meaning of love.

All my mother cares about is money, trips, and expensive jewelry. She isn’t worried about the true meaning of love. Those things take priority over the bruises I have or the baby I lost. According to her actions, everything is always my fault.

I wrap my arms around my midsection unconsciously. The miscarriage was his fault. His hits and blows to my body caused it. But why didn’t anyone believe me? They didn’t show any concern. In fact, I heard many times if I weren’t so clumsy, none of this would have happened. My eyes blur, and I blink, sending the tears streaming down my face. I shake my head and my body slumps over. I’m so tired.

I have a cot in the back office. It isn’t much, but I bet it’s more comfortable than the car out back. I can have my wife, Carly, stop by tomorrow with some clothes for you. And I can use another waitress...if you’re interested. Jake places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. I break down completely from his kindness. He leaves me at the counter to gather myself.

***

The next morning, my eyes open, and it takes me a few minutes to realize where I am. The diner. If it weren’t for Jake’s kindness, I would be in the car. Thanks to him, for the first time in a while, I slept through the night. Although it took some time to adjust to my surroundings, it was a peaceful sleep.

When I hear a door outside the office open, I jump from the cot and scurry to a corner. I know I have nothing to be afraid of here, but because of my recent past, I can’t help but cower. I watch the door, and within seconds, the knob turns. Sweat pours down my face, and I hope whoever is there will go away. Soon, the knob stops and the door swings inward. Some petite blonde steps inside and pauses when she sees me.

She stops mid-step and raises her hands in the air as if she’s surrendering. Hi, I’m Carly. Jake’s wife. He asked me to come by and check on you. She smiles and steps into the room before she extends her hand to me.

My heart thunders in my chest, but the kindness in her eyes lures me from the corner. I’m Jo, I say before I take her soft hand into my fragile one and give it a shake.

She runs her eyes over my body. Her eyes have questions, but she remains silent.

I shrug. It’s been a shitty couple of days. I drop her hand and retreat to the cot.

Well, in that case, I think we make the next few days all about you. How’s that sound? She sits behind the desk and directs her attention to the computer screen before her fingers find the keyboard. Within a few seconds she says, The salon next door has an opening at two today. We can get a mani and pedi. Afterward, if you’d like to have your hair done, you can do that, too. She smiles again.

I can’t pay for any of that but thank you.

She stands and steps around the desk. Too late. I already made the appointment. Besides, this is on Jake.

I shake my head. This entire thing overwhelms me. I open my mouth to protest, but she cuts me off.

We won’t take no for an answer, and I’d like to get to know you. I think we could be good friends.

Is she serious? Can I trust these people? I glance around the office. Could I stay here and start over? Thank you. I’d like that. But once I get back on my feet, I will repay every dime.

Her smile brightens her face, and she skips out the door. I watch her, and she stops when Jake steps in my line of sight. She whispers something to him, and he smiles and leans in, kissing her forehead. It reminds me of the good times I had with Nathan. It’s obvious what Jake and Carly have is true love. It’s clearly written in their eyes.

I step out of the office and into the kitchen. Jake’s eyes find me. I’m making eggs. How do you like them? He motions to the stove.

It doesn’t matter. I like them all, I reply and scurry past him to use the restroom.

Once inside the small room, I wash my face. Afterward, I look into the mirror. A hungry, bruised woman stares back at me. Thankfully, the colors are fading. I don’t know why, but disappointment floods me. I cast my eyes down and finish what I came in here for, careful to avoid looking in the mirror again.

When I finish, I exit and make my way to the counter as I absorb my surroundings. An older couple sit at a booth, and a man is at the end of the counter against the wall. Other than those people, the place is empty—which I’m thankful for. As I take my seat, an older waitress places food in front of the couple and refills their coffee mugs. She then approaches the man to take his order. He glances over her shoulder and catches me looking.

His eyes are crinkled in the corners, and they hold a look of concern as they move over my face and down my arms. The hair on the back of my neck rises. I get up and rush over to sit next to Carly. For whatever reason, I trust her. Something inside me says she is there to help me. As I sit, I glance over