Alexa
Inhaling the smell of freshly cut grass, I closed my eyes and dropped my head back as the warm breeze flowed through my hair.
I push my feet forward.
I push my feet backwards.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Holding onto the frayed ropes, I extended my legs, oscillating beneath the sun's hot rays, and wondered what would happen if I let go mid-swing.
If I point my toes, will that make me go higher?
If I stretched my legs far enough, would I land on my feet or tumble across the grass?
I suppose there is only one way to find out.
Releasing the tight hold to the ropes, I lunged ahead, feet almost giving out under the sudden crash to the ground, and then, spinning to see how far I made it, I looked back at the swing as it swayed. I assessed the distance.
My shoulders slumped.
I made it not much further than last time.
Never mind.
Grappling the material of my white summer dress, I twirled and danced, admiring the floral patterns on my frilly socks. Mummy always put me in a dress, especially when the sun glowed. It's pretty, she told me.
I hated the pigtails, though.
I remember when Mummy matched our outfits, Kathy's and mine. If I wore pink, she had to wear pink. And If I wore lemon shorts and a white lace trim blouse, she had to wear lemon shorts and a white lace trim blouse.
Oh, how Kathy hated anything remotely girly. She'd protest every single time. Not the pastels, Mamma, she often groused. We are not twins. Alexa is younger than me. I want to wear jeans. And I like leather jackets and ankle boots.
Mummy fought Kathy often on her wardrobe, but in the end, she gave up and concentrated on me instead, even though she mumbled how unladylike Kathy dressed.
I like what Kathy wears. Her friends seem to like black, too, so I don't blame her for wanting to fit in.
When I grow up, I'm going to be like my sister.
My fingertips brushed over the tall gladiolus that sprinkled our garden, the pretty colours, yellow, red and orange, reminding me of a rainbow. Running through waist-length flowers, watching petals fall as I whacked tall stems aside, I got to the top of the hill, the one Mummy made me promise not to climb, to oversee the enchanted forest ahead. It's our favourite place, Kathy's and mine. We like to hide behind the mysterious trees and endless undergrowth when, being home, listening to Mummy crying, becomes too much to handle.
Onto my backside, I slumped, the extra-bright sun burning above in the cloudless sky. I uprooted a white gladiolus from the ground, snuffed the delicate petals, and then, falling back with a pout, I flung the flower aside, wondering what to do with myself. I am bored. Very bored.
Kathy left at the crack of dawn to visit the beach with friends. When you are older, I promise to take you with us, she'd told me. Hey, we can even make sandcastles, she continued, just behave for Mamma while I am gone, Alexa. She is under the weather.
Yes, Mummy was sad this morning. I made her a peanut butter sandwich, and she never even thanked me. It's unlike Mummy to not eat a peanut butter sandwich, so she's definitely unwell.
I wish I were older like Kathy. I wanted to go to the beach, drive around in her friend's rusty truck, and eat ice cream until I threw up. Well, she always throws up when she comes home from joy riding with friends. Too much candy floss, Kathy would slur into the toilet. Too much ice cream. Ignore me, Alexa. Go back to bed.
I missed out on all the fun.
Daddy's never home.
Kathy's never home.
Mummy's always in the kitchen.
I love spending time with Mummy, but she's busy cleaning or baking or resting, and I get so lonely. There are no kids around here for me to play with. Our neighbours are old and grouchy and barely hear a word I say.
Propped onto my side, I glanced down the hill and wondered what would happen if I rolled. I may fall into the rose bush. I may enter the forest. Alone. That's not fun. It might be enchanted, but without Kathy here to hold my hand, I don't trust the shadows.
It's not that steep.
I don't think about it.
I do it.
Pushing off my side, I rolled down the steep slope, the long grass tickling my face and nose, and, giggling like a crazy person, I toppled across fallen leaves mere inches away from the forbidden woodland area.
Okay, that was too much fun. I have to do it again.
"Alexa," Mummy called, and I slapped two hands over my face. "Where have you disappeared to? I hope you're not down that hill!"
"No," I yelled, pushing to my feet and dusting grass from my knees. "Hang on, Mummy."
How will I get up the hill without her seeing me?
Great. I am in so much trouble.
Mummy stood by the backdoor, her expression all-knowing, all-seeing and judgmental. "Sweetie," she said in a calm voice that I knew not to believe. "Where did you go?"
"I'm sorry, Mummy." My eyelashes fluttered. "I fell asleep." I pointed to the towering tree beside our house, the one with scary leafless branches that knocked against my bedroom window at night. "Over there!"
"Really?" Surprise painted her face. "I checked the tree first, sweetie." Her eyes narrowed in disbelief. "I didn't see you."
"That's because I am magic, Mummy." My hands went to my hips in protest. "You will only see me if I want you to see me."
"Well, alright. I will take your word for it this time. Now come inside." Mummy re-entered the house through the rickety door. "I made you lunch."
Inside the wood-panelled porch, I stepped out of the sandals and arranged them on the shoe rack beside Daddy's humongous boots, and then, stomping down the long-stretched hallway, I went to the pleasant-smelling kitchen to see freshly baked goods on the counter. Mummy sits on the chair. "Here you go, sweetie." Waiting for me to sit down, she slid a plated sandwich across the round table. "Enjoy."
Jumping on the seat opposite her, I picked up the sandwich, took a large bite and licked jam from my lips.
"Do you like the feather's, sweetie?"
Mummy makes lots of dream catchers and hangs them all around the house. She said they would protect me from bad dreams. "I like everything you make, Mummy." When she didn't respond, I peered up to find her watching me. Her eyes were frightfully wide. Her red-painted lips, tight and still. "Are you okay, Mummy?"
Mummy said nothing. But her unblinking eyes, growing wider, darker, like pools of tar, bore into me until shivers plucked goosebumps on my arms.
I lowered the half-eaten sandwich to the plate, ignoring the sticky jam on my fingers. "Mummy, why are you scaring me?"
"It's okay." Her body rocked in the chair. "I won't let him hurt you. He will never hurt you. I promise, sweetie. Mummy never breaks her promise."
Back and forth.
Over and over.
Back and forth.
Over and over.
Her rocking intensified, and the chair creaked and groaned beneath her weight. "I won't let him hurt my babies. I won't let him hurt my babies." Her robotic tone prattled. "My babies. My babies."
I felt sick. "Mummy, what's wrong?"
Mummy stopped rocking.
Her eyes find mine again.
The room is too silent.
I hated silence.
Her voice roared. "Please don't hurt my babies!"
My eyes snapped open.
Lunging forward in bed, I choked with a deep inhalation and slapped a hand on my chest to soothe erratic heartbeats. Hair adhered to my neck and sweat coated my skin. I blow out an unsteady breath in an attempt to contain panic. "Alexa, calm down. It's only a dream," I said whispery. "It's only a dream."
Shutting my eyelids, I fall onto the pillow in exhaustion. It's been a while since I had a nightmare, but they typically involve my mother when I do.
Dreams always start nice.
Memories I cherish.
Reminiscences soon turn sour, though.
Perhaps it's my subconscious mind highlighting buried questions. It's something I often consider as I don't know the truth behind my mother's murder.
Was she aware it was going to happen?
Was she scared?
Did it hurt?
Did she know him?
Was it painless or painful?
The thought crushed me. I want to forget the darkness that's inside my head and not relive it every time I shut my eyes.
Will it ever end?
My bedroom door flung open. Chloe entered. One towel wrapped around her body. Another towel swaddled atop her head. "Isn't it time you got up? It's almost six."
Six in the evening. Jesus, I slept the entire day away.
"Well, I am exhausted from working late all the time. Besides, it's my day off. I have earned it."
I belatedly discerned the dressing gown draped over my legs and frowned.
When did I cover myself?
Maybe I was cold last night.
Shaking away mental cobwebs, I pulled the dressing gown over my face to hide. "Let me sleep, Chloe. I am tired."
Attempting to hide was pointless. Chloe stole the dressing gown and hurled it across the bedroom. "Get up." A clean towel landed on my face. "We're going out, Alexa. I am so bored."
"I seriously do not want to leave." My hands fisted the mattress. "Let me rest!"
"Please," she begged with puckered lips. "I want to dance, Hon. Your girl needs to put on a dress and have fun. I will do anything. Anything if you agreed to come out tonight."
I was starting to crack. "Anything?"
"Well, not anything."
My smile widened.
"You know what? I am not begging. You are coming out. I insist." Her arms folded. "I am not opposed to torture, Hon. Don't make me pour a bucket of cold water over your head."
"Fine," I surrendered. "You owe me."
"Really? You agreed. I mean, yes. I owe you." Masking her surprise, she used her hip to re-open the door, leaving footprint suds on the floor. "On a serious note. Thank you. I had a crappy day at work. Do you want me to do your makeup?"
Yawning, I stretched. "No, I got it."
"Okay," she chimed. "Taxi is due in an hour."
"An hour?" I repeated incredulously. "Chloe, I need more than an hour to get ready."
"One hour." Her voice echoed from the next bedroom. "Move your arse, Alexa."
Yes, mum.
I jumped out of bed and headed straight for the shower.
Sleep is overrated anyway.
***
I am standing at the glass bar in Club 11. Drunk people to my left. Drunk people to my right. Erotic dancers work the cages above. Music reverberating throughout. I love my job, but I practically live here. I would rather be somewhere different for our girl's night out. Away from the bitchiness. Away from the male testosterone.
"Of all the clubs to choose," I muttered under my breath, downing the shot Chloe forced into my hand. It was green. It was disgusting. I will remain shot-free for the remainder of the night. "I am sick of this place."
"Hon, the last time we came here, there were hotties everywhere. I want to enjoy them." Chloe knocked back a blue shot, and her face scrunched up. "Plus, employee benefits. You can get us discounted alcohol."
I put my back to the bar, absently swaying to the blaring trance music when Brad appeared through the energetic crowd. He almost walked on by, and then, with faltering footsteps, his gaze swung in my direction. "Alexa, what are you doing here?" He modelled a messy top knot and a three-piece designer suit. "I thought it was your night off."
"Chloe," I gestured to my best friend, "wanted to come here and enjoy all the hotties."
She sputtered and choked mid-drink.
I couldn't help myself.
Brad raised a curious brow. He gave her a blatant once-over. "Well, there's a hottie standing right in front of you." He indicated to himself—cocky much. "Enjoy." His focus returned to me when he said, "Have a drink with me."
Yeah, I would rather not. "Actually, we were just about to find a table." I grabbed Chloe's hand. "Maybe later?"
"Don't sit down here with all the bellends." His fingers curled around my elbow. "Come." He dragged me through throngs of people. "You can have one of the VIP suites."
Protesting is futile. Firstly, fighting Brad is not an option. He will win. Secondly, I have never seen the VIP suites before, so I am curious what all the hype is about.
We traipsed in Brad's footsteps. With confident, powerful strides, he sauntered past security detail into the hall, not a kink in his self-assured image. Upstairs to the private floor, he took us. He unlocked the black and chrome door, and, stepping aside for us to enter first, he dimmed the bright light. My heels alternately clicked against the glittering black tiles as I ambled to the red leather seating accommodation. While Brad's distracted at the corner bar, calling somebody to restock and deliver alcohol, I used the opportunity to look around. I mean, the room offers privacy, music choice and front row seats to the strippers from the glass balcony. I prefer the liveliness downstairs. The wall-mounted television screens piqued interest, though.
"You can see the bar," Chloe pointed to the screen, and I smiled, watching Josh mix cocktails for customers with vainglorious finesse. "Oh, he's gorgeous."
"Yes," I agreed.
On the other screen, women queue downstairs to use the restrooms. The dance floor, heaving with intoxicated customers, under intermittent strobe lights.
Next screen, I see Natalie exit Liam's office, tidying up her sleek straight hair and dishevelled shorts. A pang of jealousy squeezed my heart. Stop torturing yourself, Alexa. You're not with the man. He owes you absolutely nothing. You have no right to get jealous.
I am not in control of my emotions, though. Natalie's relationship with our boss is more than sex. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see she's pining over him. Perhaps that's where the animosity festered. I rarely see or speak to Liam. However, when I am requested to his office, Natalie makes a note. On multiple occasions, she warned me to stay away from him. Her groundless threats are comical.
Candidly, I don't understand what excellent qualities Liam sees in Natalie. The woman is a bitch. That's harsh. She is gorgeous. Flawless physique. Killer breasts.
She lacks in the personality department.
I rolled my eyes.
Her personality is irrelevant, Alexa.
Natalia has a vagina.
Why wouldn't Liam find her attractive?
And now I must stop referring to myself in the third person.
I fixated on another screen. My eyes bugged out of my head. In the middle of a quiet booth sits a man, his arms draped on the seat's rear, a woman's head bobbing up and down between his thighs.
"Shut your mouth." Brad flicked my chin as he collapsed onto the sofa beside me. "Unless you hope to catch something. In that case, slacken the jaw more."
"Uh, Brad..." I ignored his sexual innuendo. "Did you know there was live pornography in here?"
He eyed the screen. "It happens all the time."
My mouth stayed agape for a moment. "Fair enough."
Wearing nothing but lace thongs and six-inch heels, two dancers arranged ice buckets on the table with expensive champagne bottles inside, followed by whisky, vodka, gin and more of the disgusting green stuff.
"I don't think there are enough of us to get through all that."
Pouring everyone drinks, Chloe admired the female breast exhibition. "Hon, I accept the challenge."
Brad shot me a cheeky wink. "Are you ready to get wasted?"
***
Five hours later, precisely like Brad predicted. "Wasted!"
I am so glad Chloe talked me into coming out tonight. I haven't laughed like this in a long time. Brad, I think I love him. He's not just the flirtatious manwhore I once claimed. He is charming. Hilarious.
My jaw ached from the ever-present smile. My stomach hurt from straining through bouts of giggles. If I weren't so smitten with Liam Warren, I might want Brad. Well, inebriated Alexa definitely liked Brad.
Dancers joined our little get together throughout the night. I enjoyed getting to know them. Usually, they are preoccupied with punters, so it's been entertaining, and I doubt I will ever appreciate a night out without this lot again.
Around two hours into the evening, the Suits entered, Nate being one of them. The man is huge—an impenetrable wall of solid muscle. I am fascinated by his forest-green eyes and muscular arms. He's a handsome man, but he's terrifyingly intimidating. And unsociable. It's his demeanour, the way he holds himself. He's got that look in his eyes, which has my back straightening and core clenching.
Nate's not loud or obnoxious like the other Suits, namely Brad. He's more reserved, standoffish and observant, and he must sense me watching him because his eyes find me across the room. We hold each other's stare for a moment. I snapped away from his heated glare and focused on the dancer twerking on the glass podium instead.
I do not want to fuck with Nate.
Handle him with caution.
You have been warned.
"Come on, Alexa." Brad poured me another drink. "One more shot. I can't believe you lost again."
I cannot play this game. My drunkenness confirms as much.
S and P. It sounds so easy, right? In circular order, everyone participates with a response that's unassociated with the above-mentioned letters.
Very immature, I know. But it did the trick. We're all too drunk for our own good.
As I stated, they make it sound easy—lies!
"Wood," someone said.
"Pine!" I yelled.
Another shot.
"Toilet," someone said.
"Shit!" I muttered.
More shots.
"Dick," someone said.
"Sex!" I sing.
Shot!
It's the worst game invented for humankind.
My bloodshot eyes and drunken stupor agreed.
Having lost again, I downed another shot, and then, the back of my hand pressed to my mouth to prevent vomiting, I swallowed harsh liquor and squirmed in my seat.
I have imbibed far too many shots for my stomach to endure.
"Oh, God. Brad anymore of that, and I'm going to spew." I used the back of my hand to wipe my mouth. "But I can't say no to you," I slurred, pointing the finger at him. "You have a cute face and a sweet mouth. Is this what you do to get the ladies into bed?"
Brad leaned in, his warm breath tickling my ear. "You are so adorable when you're drunk, Alexa. I don't need to get a woman drunk to take her to bed. They come to me willingly when they see the size of my cock."
My spine straightened. Don't do it, Alexa. You are not allowed to look. I do it. Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at the glorious bulge in his trousers.
"No need to perv." Brad busted out laughing. "If you want to see my cock, just ask. I'll happily fucking show you."
Kill me, please.
I laughed. I can only laugh to hide mortification. "I need a bathroom break."
On wobbly feet, I stood and excused myself from the lively room. Spearing a hand through my hair, I exited into the hall and, unprepared for oncoming traffic, crashed straight into someone. "I'm so sorry..." Liam captured me by the elbows. "Mr Warren. Hey."
"Miss Haines." His hands went into his trouser pockets. "What are you doing here?"
Liam looked incredibly sexy in his sartorially tailored steel grey suit. Really, Alexa? Sexy. How drunk are you? The man is handsome—very handsome. My gaze settled on his unbuttoned shirt, the material stretching to accommodate his muscular chest. "I..." My hand slapped the wall for balance. "I am out with friends. Friend. One friend. Plural...Not plural?"
His mouth twitched. "You are drunk."
"Am I? I feel sober." I pulled a face. "Okay. Maybe I am a little drunk."
Liam's stare lazily swept down my legs. He stepped closer, and I sucked in a breath. "This is nice," he whispered as his fingers pinched the hem of my dress. "It looks good on you."
Do not embarrass yourself, Alexa.
"Thank you," I said, and his admiration lingered on my non-existent chest. "Now, if you will excuse me. There is a toilet somewhere with my name on it."
"Wait," he called, and I stopped walking. "Don't use the restroom downstairs. There is a private suite on this floor."
"Oh." I ebbed away from the staircase. "Well, I wish I knew that earlier. I have been running up and down those stairs like a headless chicken."
I followed him to the end of the hall, the light reducing with each step. He paused by the door and swiped the lock with a key card. "Go ahead."
I cannot urinate while he stands in the hall. "Actually, I don't think I need to go anymore."
"Really?" His hoarse voice did something to me. "Just like that."
"Just like that," I croaked.
Liam was in no hurry to leave. His shoulder rested on the closed door, and then, grazing the underside of my arm with his fingertips, he tugged me closer, leaving minimal space between us. "I really like the dress."
It belonged to Kathy. "Thank you."
"Hazel." He respired a long, wearisome breath. "Your eyes. I found the colour most indistinguishable. But now," he rasped, "I can see clearly."
Why had Liam wondered about my eyes?
"Yes," I said, and his stare fixated on my mouth. "Should I go back to the suite?"
His jaw sharpened. "Do you want to return to the suite?"
No, I wanted to stay. "I don't know."
"Indecisiveness is unattractive," he said, and I felt insulted. "Decisiveness is desirable. I happen to admire a woman who knows what she wants."
I struggled to breathe within his proximity. "You are so cryptic. I hate it."
His brows jumped a fraction. "Feel free to elucidate."
"Well, if I assumed, you'd consider me presumptuous. How am I supposed to know whether you wish to converse or not?"
"I am testing the waters," he said, his flirtatious undertone sending my brain into a riot. "Sue me."
I laughed a nervous laugh.
He stared stoically. "Well?"
What is he asking?
"Come here." Liam's arm slid around my lower body. I stopped breathing. "Breathe." His whispered tone warmed my cheek. "I might kiss you."
My breath caught. "Why?"
"Why?" He suppressed amusement. "What, you require a scientific explanation as to why kissing is instinctual?"
I have never willingly kissed a guy before. I am inexperienced. "I am sure there are much better females down the hall."
"Yet," he whispered against my lips, "I am here with you. And you, Miss Haines, look far too tempting to overlook."
I could almost taste the whiskey on his tongue.
"You decide," he rasped, and butterflies uncaged in my chest.
I leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, a soft brush, one that weakened me to the knees. "I..." My heart threatened to detonate. "I don't..." I don't know what to do, I thought.
Liam's eyebrows incurved into a harsh frown. He grasped my jaw and read the panic in my eyes. "You told me you weren't a virgin."
"I am not," I reaffirmed, which heightened his puzzlement. "I..."
"Yet, you have never been kissed," he said assuredly, and embarrassment sent a hot flush to my cheeks. "How is that possible?"
I mustered a bogus response on the spot. "Not all men care to be romantic, Mr Warren. I guess, the first time I had sex, I drew the short straw."
"One boy is hardly a comparison."
I gave him a flat smile. "I suppose."
"Alexa?" Chloe yelled from the suite, and I jumped out of my skin. "If she leaves without me, I will beat her with a stick."
Liam's thumb pressed to my throat. "If romanticism is what you seek, I am not the best candidate. I will, however, tell you, I want to taste these lips." His thumb brushed across my mouth. "If you are inclined to allow it." When I hesitated, his hand lowered, and he stepped back. "Go to your friend, Miss Haines."
I watched Liam walk away and regretted not kissing him for the entire taxi journey home.
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