Whistler by K.L. Savage

If I had a nickel for every time a man sees me and thinks I’ve arrived for something other than work, I wouldn’t even need to work.

I’d be the richest woman alive.

Granted, my dad called me to stop by this place when I was on the way back from the grocery store. I need to be heading home. I don’t want to get in trouble with my husband.

I spin around ready to mouth off to this guy for assuming that I’m here for a damn beer when my tongue gets tied.

There is no way that he is real. He’s everything I’d ever wanted.

If I were allowed to want. Maybe in another life where I’m not unhappily married, I’d be able to dream about being with a man like the one in front of me. He is tall with a wide chest, obviously in shape, dark hair, dark eyes, with trouble written all over him.

People would say that is a bad thing, but I married a man who was picture perfect. No tattoos, money, good job, wears khakis, polos, and has a smile that could tame a cobra.

And he is the wickedest man I’ve ever come across. Not always. He had to win me over somehow but once he did, the mask came off.

I’ve been trapped ever since.

Just over four years and counting.

“I’m not here for a drink…” my eyes fall to the name patch on his cut, “Whistler.” Interesting name for an interesting man.

His eyes turn stormy and narrow when he sees the scarf I have tied around my neck. I rub it subconsciously. It can’t be that noticeable. Everyone wears a scarf.

“Pretty hot for a scarf,” he comments, leaning his shoulder against the truck.

I put on a smile, something I’ve mastered over the years. “Not really. It’s just to add to the outfit,” I say. “It’s thin. Anyway, I’m here to speak with Mercy?”

His smile falls. “Are you his daughter too?”

“Uh, no. My father is Fredrick Fletcher of Fletcher’s Construction. I’m Charlie.” I hold out my hand, and he stares at it as if he’s been stunned with a taser.

“You’re Charlie? You,” he points to me, “are Charlie?”

“Last time I checked,” I say, a bit confused at his surprise.

“Of course, you are.”

“Don’t act so excited.”

“No, gosh. No. I’m sorry. I was expecting—”

“—A man,” I finish for him, giving him a smile reassuring him it’s okay.

He reaches behind his back and scratches his neck. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t make assumptions.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m Charlie because my parents thought they were having a boy and then bam, I showed up and they already had everything engraved and stitched with the name. So—” I wave my hands up and down my body. “Here I am.”

“Here you are,” he states, but how he says it and the way he looks at me… he almost sounds… thankful.

That’s impossible. No one is ever thankful for me.

“So, I’m supposed to take a walk through?” I reach into the truck to grab the clipboard. I have to lean forward, stand on my tiptoes and stretch. I can feel his eyes on me, and it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything other than fear when a man looks at me.

Once I have the paperwork, I fall back onto my feet and forget I’m wearing wedges. I hate heels but Kenneth, my husband, prefers them. My ankle twists and I yelp as I begin to fall, but Whistler is there to catch me.

I feel like I’m in some sort of movie. That’s the only place where things like this happen. His arm wraps around me and his palms stretch in the middle of my back. His eyes dart over my face and he stares at my lips as I lick them.

“I got you.” The baritone of his voice vibrates against my chest and swims through my entire body.

“You can let me go now,” I whisper, afraid that if he doesn’t, I might give in to the first thing that’s made me feel good in years.

“Hmm,” he hums and shakes his head. “Shame that I have to.” He straightens and sits me back on my feet.

I blush, not knowing what to say or do. I haven’t been held by someone that has wanted to hold me in… I don’t know how long.

“You aren’t dressed for work, Charlie. You’re going to break your leg wearing those things in there. It’s a mess.”

I clear my throat and rub my hand down my dress. “I’ll be alright. I usually don’t wear outfits like this to work but Dad called me on my day off and asked me to stop by on my way home.”

“Where you live with your husband?” he asks, glancing at the ring on my finger.

For the first time, I’m disappointed he knows I’m married. I didn’t want him to know. I wanted to keep feeling wanted and good, which is wrong, I know. I’m a horrible person.

“Yes,” I answer, short and clipped.

“He’s a lucky man to have a woman like you at home,” Whistler says, having me enter through the doorway first by spreading his arm out to guide me on my way.

Yeah, he doesn’t think so.

I give him a tight smile, not wanting to thank him for the compliment, but acknowledging it, nonetheless. Too bad he doesn’t know me well enough to know I’m screaming at him with my eyes to save me from my nightmare; that’s the scariest part of being trapped and alone.

No one can hear me scream. I’m crying on the inside. I’m begging for the pain to stop, for someone to see the screams instead of hearing them.

My soul is getting tired of slamming against my bones to be set free.

“Hi, I’m Mercy.” A very handsome older man reaches for my hand in introduction, breaking whatever moment Whistler and I were having.

A moment that should have never happened.

Or maybe it’s wishful thinking on my end.

“Charlie,” I introduce myself. “I’m sorry I’m overdressed. My Dad called me in the middle of something,” I explain.

“I don’t care. I was expecting—”

“—A man. I know.” I try not to sound annoyed from hearing it.

“Yeah Prez, we have had this conversation already.” Whistler clears his throat and stands so close to me, I can feel the breath leaving his mouth against the side of my neck.

My skin reacts, hell my entire body reacts, and I shiver, taking a large step to left. I pretend to move because I need to look around when in reality, I just need to get away from him.

“Sorry, anyway, as you can see, I’ve already done some work.”

“Oh. It wasn’t like this before?”

“Ha! Told you. It looks worse than before, Prez,” an unfamiliar voice echoes throughout the empty space.

“Shut it, One. No one asked you. Let the lady make her decision.” Mercy crosses his arms and stares at me long and hard.

I swallow. I don’t like this attention. “I’m just going to do a small walk through, okay? Before I start, can you tell me everything you’re wanting so I can tell my dad?”

“Cupcake, he needs everything replaced. You’re being sweet saying you’re going to look around, but you already know, don’t you? He also needs to expand, and in the next lot, there needs to be a house attached that can sleep up to 50 people.”

“I do?” Mercy asks Whistler and the confusion on his face makes me want to laugh.

I have to pinch my lips together to stay professional.

“Yeah, you do. This is going to be the club bar, Prez.”

“No,” Mercy growls. “I don’t care about us hanging out here or the house attached. You’re right. It’s a good idea and that should be the home base, but I didn’t buy this place and set all those workers free to fall into the same place. Those girls that worked here needed a safe place and they didn’t have it. I refuse to let it happen again, goddamn it.” Mercy kicks a board, and it flies across the room.

The loud thud of the slab hitting the wall has me jumping and closing my eyes, the noise reminding me of when Kenneth slams me against the door. I can still feel a bruise the doorknob left in my lower back.

“Hey,” Whistler stands in front of me and tilts my head up with his fingers. They are rough with callouses and stained with grease. I bet it’s from working on his bike. “He wouldn’t hurt you. You’re safer here than you are anywhere else, Charlie. I promise you that.” He feels so different from Kenneth. Where Whistler is rugged and tough, Kenneth is soft from moisturizing his hands. Where Whistler’s touch is softer than I’ve ever felt, Kenneth’s is the hardest.

Appearances aren’t everything.

Angels and devils are all the same.

It’s the place they take you to that matters.

And I’ve lived in hell already.

What’s heaven like?

“No, I’m sorry. Damn, I’m screwing all this up? No, I hate abusers and the women that worked here before, they were all running from something. I want this place to be a safe haven of sorts, which means the rooms here in the bar are off-limits to members. If the club is going to be here, then abuse is out of the question, got me?” Mercy questions me for the first time as a member.

“I got you, Prez. You won’t hear any complaints from us,” I say.

“This fucking paint is ruining the leather of my boots!” One bellows from somewhere else.

I giggle and step away from Whistler again. “Okay, so like a bar, restaurant, shelter?” I step around broken pieces of floorboard and look up at the second floor that’s sealed off from us. “What’s up there?”

“Spare rooms. Upstairs used to be where the girls could be rented and… have sex. I changed that. No sex up there. Ever. Those rooms are all complete. I only want the main floor to be the focus and the house attachment.”

“Okay, that’s a lot of work. The numbers aren’t going to be low.”

“I don’t expect a low number. I think I did more harm than good trying to do this on my own.”

“No,” I try to sound reassuring, but I know the truth can be heard. “Let’s highball. I don’t want to give you a low number and then you be surprised if it costs more. Let’s shoot for sixty thousand. High number, so you can prepare—” Mercy cuts me off when he reaches around the table and two stacks of money appear. “Here’s a hundred thousand. Do what you need to do.”

“I…” I open my mouth and close it. I do that a few times as I stare at the money. I’ve never seen so much in one place. I feel dirty like I’m doing a drug deal. “I’ll throw in a sign for the place?” I squeak. “What’s the name?”

“Mercy’s,” the distinguished man in charge says and if I’m not mistaken, I hear a tone of sadness.

“Color and font?”

“Blue. She liked blue,” Mercy answers.

I don’t know who he is talking about but she sounds important and something bad must have happened if he is talking in the past tense.

“As for font, I don’t care. Surprise me. I’m calling it a night. Thanks for coming Charlie. I’ll expect a phone call on when you will get started.”

“We will be here tomorrow. Business has been slow so we’re kind of desperate for work.” I shouldn’t have said that. He might pull back the offer now.

“Great. Perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Did I say something wrong?” I whisper to Whistler as I watch Mercy walk away.

“No, he’s been through a lot lately. The sign to this place is important, so make it beautiful. He’d want that.”

“Sure, not a problem. Well—” I gather the stacks of cash awkwardly “—I guess I’ll be seeing you, Whistler.”

“Wesley,” he corrects me. “You can call me Wesley.”

“Wesley.” I try it out. “It suits you. I like it.”

“Let me walk you out.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t care. You’re safer with me at your side.”

If he only knew how true those words were.

Help me. Save me. Can’t you see the plea in my eyes?

We walk in silence as he escorts me to the truck. My wedges can’t handle the parking lot gravel too well and my ankle bends. Wesley is there to catch me again.

Always catching me instead of letting me fall.

“You have to get rid of those shoes, Cupcake. You’re going to get hurt and what if I’m not there to catch you?”

The next time I get hurt will be tonight and he won’t be there anyway.

“I’ll be alright.” I tug away from his arms, and he frowns, opening the truck door for me when he notices my hurry.

“Charlie, you’d tell me if something is wrong, right?”

“I don’t know you well enough to tell you if anything was right, Wesley,” I say honestly. “I’ll be seeing you around.” The truck grinds as I start it, struggling to start as I turn the key. It always does this.

The engine finally comes to life and grey smoke comes from the exhaust. “You know, I can fix that for you.”

“It’s alright. It’s as good as it’s going to get.” I wonder if he catches the hidden meaning behind that statement.

“Be safe, Cupcake.” He walks next to the truck as I reverse.

“I always do my best.” I turn the wheel and begin to drive away, and he taps the side of the truck with his hand to say goodbye.

I glance in the rearview mirror and see him watching me as I go. My eyes burn and my fingers curl around the steering wheel to hold on tight. Why does it hurt to pull away? It’s like any chance I had at being saved disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

I want nothing more than to turn this truck around and run into his arms. I don’t know why I’d put blind faith in a man I hardly know but my gut tells me his embrace is safer than Kenneth’s.

I sniffle and wipe my cheek as my phone rings. “Hello?” I answer.

“Where the hell are you? You’re ten minutes late and fucking dinner isn’t ready.”

My stomach curls in fear and any strength I had with Whistler vanishes when I hear the anger in Kenneth’s voice. I become the compliant wife, the one that lost her backbone a dozen beatings ago. I try to do everything right, I do, but it’s never enough.

He always finds something to get angry at me for.

“My Dad needed me to stop for a job estimate, Kenneth. I swear, I’m on my way home.”

“You could have called me! I’ve been starving. You know how I like to start my evenings when I come home.”

“I’m sorry, Kenneth. I didn’t have time—”

“—What did you just say?”

My breath starts to come out faster, and I hold back a pathetic whimper when I replay the choice of my words in my head. “That’s not what I meant, Kenneth. I was loading the groceries and then Dad called. I—”

“—You just said you didn’t have time for me.”

I turn onto my road and sweat beads across my forehead the more driveways I pass.

There are ten before mine comes to view.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

“I’m sorry, Kenneth. You know I love you. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.” I pull the rusted truck into the driveway, and I stuff the money under the seats, so he doesn’t see it. I won’t be able to get it to Dad until tomorrow.

No one would know I live in a beautiful two-story home with the truck I drive, but it’s the work truck. It’s meant to look rough around the edges. There’s a sign stabbed in our lawn that says, “All Are Welcome Here” and the flower beds look perfect and polished.

Such a façade with what goes on behind closed doors.

Kenneth could make all the money in the word, and I’d still be just as miserable.

“I’m here,” I say, my voice small and unrecognizable. I gather the two grocery bags sitting in the passenger seat and open the truck door. I do not hang up. I learned a long time ago that Kenneth always has the last word.

Always.

With small steps, I head to the front door. The red flowers sway in the wind and the wind chimes ding. An eerie cloud hangs over me when Kenneth opens the front door, and he is smiling.

I know that smile.

It’s the kind that promises anything other than happiness.

“Hey baby,” he greets me and bends down to kiss my cheek. Kenneth takes the bags, faking being a gentleman just in case the neighbors are watching.

I try to prepare myself, but no matter what I do, I’m never ready.

Abuse is funny like that, isn’t it?

You expect it to come so you shouldn’t be surprised, but then when it happens, you find you’re never ready.

I’ve learned it’s the hit I prepare for, but the pain slams into me like it’s the first time; that will always be unexpected.

Kenneth grips my wrist and tugs me inside, then slams the door, locking it so no one can come in. He slings me onto the floor and throws one grocery bag across the room. “What the fuck did I say about making time for me?” he roars at the top of his lungs until his face is red.

I begin to crawl away, and his foot connects with my stomach. I gasp and hit the floor again, my chin connecting with the hardwood which causes my teeth to clink together.

He drops the other bag and digs into it. “You can’t fucking listen, can you? How hard is it to obey your husband? You know not to talk to anyone but me. Your father should have called me.” He opens the egg carton and tosses one in the air. “You’ve always had issues with listening.” He throws the first egg, and it hits me in the back.

I’m crying by the time he hits me with all of them and he tosses the empty container on me. So humiliating. If Wesley could see me now…

Kenneth kicks me again and the force flips me over. He straddles me and his knees hit the floor where the egg is, the khaki ruined. Blood pools in my mouth after he backhands me. He tugs the scarf free and wraps his hand around my neck, squeezes, and lifts my head off the ground. The smell of whiskey lingers on his breath and the strong scent tickles my nose.

“You’re going to clean this mess up like the good little bitch that you are, aren’t you?”

I nod and he bends down and kisses my tears away.

“Good girl.”

That’s me.

I’m the good girl.

The good, ruinedgirl.