Jolene: Betrayed

Jolene: Betrayed 2

The series of events that happen next seem to pass in slow motion. My first thought is, "FUCKING TUCKER!" I know it was him that shoved me, and based on the smell of liquor on his breath when he mocked my chainsaw fear, I believe he may, in fact, be drunk. At first, I stumble, and think I may be able to regain my balance. I have never been more wrong in my life. There is a rope on both sides, keeping the groups on the guided path, and I am falling towards it face first. Throwing my hands out to grab the rope is a mistake. This only launches my body over the rope, and lands me headfirst into the tall guy's chainsaw. He attempts to dodge me, but he is not quick enough. He, understandably, was not expecting someone to be shoved towards his chainsaw. Screams of horror come from the rest of the group, and to no surprise to me, dumbass Tucker continues into the next room as though my bleeding head is a part of the act.

The immediate blow to my head rocks me. My vision goes blinding white, I taste blood in my mouth, and a ringing begins in my ears. The smell of oil and gas coming off the chainsaw is overwhelming. As I start to register what happened, my legs begin to quit their job; threatening to drop me on my ass. Just as my descent begins, a set of long arms wrap around my waist and hoist me upright. Looking at my now bleeding head, the very tall chainsaw man yells, "What the BLOODY HELL?" I put my hands to my forehead, and begin to look for an exit. Before I am able to make my escape, the long arms still wrapped around me have led me through the trap door and into a long, much quieter hallway. Blood is trailing down my face much faster now, and the pain is close to unbearable. The chainsaw man is gently, but swiftly leading me towards a door halfway down the hallway. As we pass through the doorway, I glance up to read the nameplate fixed to the wall: Mr. Clayton, it reads. I am sat in a chair and a clean white towel is pressed to my forehead. Chainsaw man is pacing, and I am wondering which one of us is more distressed.

"Thank you for your help, but if you could just show me the exit so I can call an Uber," I say quietly, while moving to stand up.

"SIT!" he barks out at me. How is he possibly more pissed off than me? Better yet, is he pissed off at me?

"Who is the asshole that threw you into my chainsaw? You are lucky there was no chain on it." Okay so maybe it is not me he is pissed at.

"That was dumbass Tucker, and this was our first date," I say, a little embarrassed.

"LAST date," he replies, with a strong British accent.

"Excuse me?" maybe I heard him wrong since he is still wearing the mask over his nose and mouth.

"You are telling me you want to continue seeing that asshole after he chucked you into a chainsaw headfirst without so much as slowing his step?" he spits out. He is still pacing the room, which is making me increasingly more nervous. I think about what he said, and of course he is right. There is no way in hell I will ever go out with dumbass Tucker, and his piece of shit car ever again. I also make a mental note to tell Harley and Cal that Tucker is a complete waste of flesh and nearly killed me.

"Yeah, you're right. Last." I agree, causing him to dart his striking green eyes to mine, but continue to pace the room while squeezing the back of his neck with both hands.

I need to get out of here and possibly get stitches, but just as I begin to ask chainsaw man (I should get his name) how to get out of here, the office door burst open. A beautiful woman with bright red hair runs into the office, startling both of us out of our stupors.

"Mr. Clayton there is some jackass at the front..." she starts quickly, but stops when she notices me. Wait, did she just call chainsaw man Mr. Clayton? He turns to look at the wall of computer monitors behind him displaying every inch of the haunted house including the front ticket window. That's where we all see dumbass Tucker looking furious, and shouting at the girl working the counter.

"What the hell could he possibly be shouting about?" Mr. Clayton asks the girl that is nervously standing in his office.

"I'm so sorry to barge in. I didn't know you were with someone, but this kind of explains what he is shouting about," she begins. "He is demanding that we refund his money and replace his shirt. He said, and I quote, "a prick with a chainsaw splattered blood on me, and ruined my clothes... and my night" which I am assuming you are the prick, and it is her blood," she says. She looks at the blood-soaked towel, and slowly looks to Mr. Clayton who is back to pacing.

Mr. Clayton stops abruptly and says, "Tell him to get the hell out of here, and never come back. He is banned indefinitely, and will likely be charged with assault once the police arrive. Or I can come escort him off MY property, and we can both be charged with assault." He turns to look at me as he removes the mask off his face. Hot damn he is beautiful.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"Jo. Jolene Chastain." I stutter out. Real smooth.

He turns back to the girl and says, "And you can also tell him to stay the fuck away from Jolene Chastain."

She turns to look at me for confirmation, and I simply nod in agreement. She leaves the office, and pulls the door shut behind her. I wish I could see Tucker's face when she delivers that blow. It would almost make up for this terrible first, last date. I am beginning to feel faint, so I pull my phone out to order an Uber to take me to the hospital. I am beyond over this entire night, and honestly a bit humiliated. "What are you doing," Mr. Clayton's voice snaps me out of my failed attempt to unlock my phone with facial recognition. It must be worse than I thought. I rest my head back against the wall while looking up at his towering frame, and reply, "I'm ordering a car to take me to a hospital. I'm sure I need stitches, and I am feeling a bit faint. How do I get out of this place? What's your first name? Are you the manager?" I'm rambling, but I can't help it. I have so many questions, and the blood loss is making me feel almost drunk. Mr. Clayton squats down in front me and says, "You are not taking an Uber. I'm driving you. You definitely need stitches. I'm Ledger Clayton, and I own this warehouse. Any more questions?" Yes, tons, but I can't make my thoughts come out as words while he is staring at me like that. He stands up, and holds his hand out to me to help me from the chair. Being the strong, independent, stubborn woman I am, I ignore his hand and stand on my own. Big mistake. I attempt to step forward, and instead I sway left. Mr. Clayton puts one arm around my waist, and the other one on my shoulder to steady me. Once I am safely standing upright, he hooks his right arm into my left arm, and leads me out of his office. I can't help the laugh that escapes my lips as I glance at the screens on the way out, just in time to see Tucker in his blood-stained shirt stomping his way towards the parking lot.