Denial's Not Just a Feeling

Beyond the Hard

Leaning on palms, thumbnails clawing into the underside of the counter. Shoulders hunched, arms tensed. A throat moved, swallowing saliva and bare stomach churning. Head ducked in probable shame . . . maybe nervousness? Matted, grease covered chocolate hair covered the figures' face. Hands clenched the counter until knuckles went white.

Moments after moments passed long and slow until the face lifted, hair streaked back from covering the features just enough to see all.

The reflection from the cracked mirror stared back at the figure.

Blue, black and purple disfigured rimmed both emerald eyes. Tired orbs stared at her, questioning her entire existence. A pushed in nose crooked sideways, dried blood staining the nostrils and upper lip. She licked her upper lip, tongue gracing the cuts lightly. Dry and cracked skinny lips naturally pulled into a thin line. Part of her lip cheek that could be seen was black with a bruise. Her right cheek was a fading bruise, three fingers still outlined. An odd scar ran from the corner of her mouth, up and over the side of her crooked, button nose, stopping at her hairline.

Her eyes followed the unwanted scar blankly.

Footsteps softly patted the wood panels from a distance. She focused her ears, listening intently at the increasing echo of the footsteps. Further filling the room, she felt a presence enter the room.

She closed her eyes again ducking her head from staring at the presence whose footsteps stopped behind her. A soft, noiseless breath blew strands of her matted mane aside. She squeezed her eyes and bent her head lower not daring to turn to the presence.

"Natellie."

The manly voice spoke her name tormentingly, deep and rough, but holding every emotion not allowed.

She didn't answer. She reopened her eyes, but continued to hang her head thankful for her long waves shielding her face.

"Natellie."

Forward pushing it, a hand found her shoulder through her hair forcefully turning her around. She held her own, standing her ground, not intimidated by the furious look on the mans' face. Short, blonde military cut, dark blue eyes, eyebrows narrowed to stare down at her, slight facial hair, creased forehead, plump lips and pointed nose. Buff arms crossed over a a black muscle shirt, rippling everything underneath she's not impressed by. Dark gray jeans partly hiding his black sneakers.

"I will not repeat myself," he sneered, face hardening daringly.

"I know." Natellie's voice calm and pointed, keeping her eyes on his.

"So why go against me? Us?"

She turned back around, watching him in the mirror, her lips falling. Leaning, placing her palms back on the counter, the mans' face changed, more natural . . . natural harshness. He leaned back on his heels, looking troubled. Making no attempt to answer him, he opened his mouth but then closed it when she shook her head, sending him a long look. A blank look.

He released a frustrated sigh. He walked back to the rusted door and closed it. Looking back at her, he faced her, but kept by the door leaning back on it troubled, just not by her.

"Natellie--"

Again she shook her head. He clamped his mouth shut, his eyes showing reluctance. The corners of his eyebrows twitched. She knew what that meant but decided on not bringing it up hopefully for her own safely. Though, there was never a certainty she would ever be safe in his presence. His face never quit his hard, pesky features, his personality complementing his face. Authority radiated from him to scare others. Well, it worked all the time, just she never showed it.