The Outlaw's Opposite~~Ashley Purdy

Loud, pounding noise that fills my ears. Girls shouting, screaming and laughing. Guys drinking, a few fighting. People making out. Dancing crazily. Singing out the lyrics to the pop music. Everything I hate.

I stride out from behind the counter and to the half of the bar that is filled with tables. The other half has flashing lights, a smoke machine—the dance floor. My dress chafes at my inner thighs. I’m forced to wear a horribly short, tight black cocktail dress.

I grab my notepad and go to a table that just filled up with five guys. Black hair, black make-up, leather, studded vests. Great. “Hello, I’m Natasha. What can I get you?” I ask, almost screaming it. The music is too loud. One guy with high cheekbones and the shortest hair is about to order something when another interrupts. “Your number!” He replies with a smirk. I take a deep breath and clench my fists. “Order a drink or get out.” I hiss, stomping a foot. He looks taken aback.

“We’ll all have a beer.” Cheekbones says. One with joker-like make up nods, giving a smile. I go back to the counter and grab 5 beers. “Thanks!” Joker shouts, taking his and passing one to the guy who hit on me. “No problem. Get me at the counter if you need anything else.” I say, walking away.

I hate the bar. I only work here to manage rent. It is a great way to meet guys, though. I’ve just been too nervous to test that theory. I haven’t had a date in over a year. Two years ago, when I was 22, my fiancé died. I’ve steered away from men I guess.

I check the clock. My shift ends in five minutes so I go to the back room to change. I put on a less-revealing dress. It’s lace, goes to my knees and white with black cats on it. I leave on heels—thankfully the bar owners, Tara and Rayne, don’t make me wear anything too big.
As I’m leaving, someone grabs my hand. “Hey, can I buy you a drink?” A guy asks in a raspy, drunken voice. “No!” I growl, yanking my arm into my chest. I can smell the distinct scent of alcohol—too much of it—and weed. “Come on.” He says smoothly, his words slurred. I furrow my brow angrily and stomp out into the chilly August night air. I grind my heels into the asphalt, steaming mad. Honestly, I don’t know how much more of the bar I can take.

I smell it again. The druggie from inside. I break into a run, the music fading behind me the further I get from the bar. He catches up and grabs my waist, dragging me into his stomach. He’s much taller. I can feel muscles from inside his loose shirt. He pins my arms behind me, his breath tickling my neck. “Help!” I cry as he starts to pull me into an alleyway.

I try desperately to kick him with my heels but he dodges them. Each time he gets angrier. He’ll drag me harder, faster, cursing and shouting. “Help!” I shout again, starting to get out of breath from my struggle. “Shut up!” He demands, throwing me onto the ground.
Pebbles cut my hands, a broken bottle cuts my thigh. I can faintly hear the music—we’re in the alley behind the club. I see him now. About 25-30 years old, unshaven, tangled brown hair, bruises on his face, wild eyes. My heart plummets in fear. No one will be able to hear me now.

He grabs my shoulders, pushing me into the brick wall. He kisses me roughly, keeping one hand against my throat while the other slides up and down from my knee to my inner thigh. I try to shove him off me but he won’t budge. He’s way too heavy and strong. He smiles rudely, trailing kisses down my neck and across my collar bone.

“Help!” I cry, kneeing him in the gut. He grunts in pain before backhanding me across the face. Tears flow down my face, smearing my simple makeup—mascara and blush. “Be quiet!” He shouts, un-zipping my dress from the back. I feel it loosen, falling to my rub cage. He unclasps my bra, tossing it aside. I sob, too tired to get him off me.

Just as he pulls my dress to my waist, someone grabs him, throwing him onto the ground. I open my eyes to see the five guys from earlier. Cheekbones and Joker tackle him, one with a headband punching him. The other two, the one that hit on me and one with hair teased in the back, rush over to me.

They drop beside me. I cover my bare breasts, tears cascading down my face. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay…” The flirty one soothes. The other one passes me his leather jacket to cover myself with. I do so, zipping it up. Flirty helps me up. He looks at his hand, covered in scarlet red blood. “Whoa, where are you bleeding from?” He asks. I point to the back of my thigh, the large cut stinging with dirt and chards of glass still in the ragged flesh.

I’m exhausted. Emotionally even more than physically. I collapse into Flirty, crying so hard it’s getting difficult to breathe. “Andy! Jinxx! CC!” The other one that helped me shouts to the guys beating up the druggie. They stop, Cheekbones kicking him once more in the ribs. “Where do you live?” Flirty asks gently, looking down at me.

“Tw-tw-tw…” I start, tripping over my words. “Shh, you’re okay.” He whispers, brushing tears off my face with the pad of his thumb. I take a deep, strangled breath and start again. “Twelve W-Weldon a-av-avenue.” I answer. “Okay. We’ll drive you home and fix you up. Okay?” He asks, helping me walk to one of two cars. “Hey guys, will one of you come with me to help me?” He asks the other guys. Joker nods, joining me and Flirty.

The others get into a dodge charger, driving away while Joker and Flirty help me into a red sports car. They buckle my seat in the back and start off towards my house. I try to stop my tears but I can’t. They just keep flowing rapidly down my cheeks. To distract me, Joker turns on a CD. It’s punk-ish rock. “Do you like this? Listen, that’s me and Jinxx.” Flirty says as if he’s talking to a child, gesturing to himself and Joker. I mean, Jinxx. I nod softly, wiping tears away with the back of my hands. My palms are still bleeding heavily from glass and sharp rocks.

We pull up to my house and Jinxx helps get me out. I limp to the front door, grabbing the spare key from a flower pot. I unlock the door. Flirty flips on some lights and leads me to the bathroom. “Okay, I’m Ashley and he’s Jinxx. Can you go put on shorts so we can clean your cut?” He asks. I nod and stumble to my room. I pull on loose gray booty shorts nervously. What if Ashley and Jinxx are like that druggie?

I sit on the closed toilet seat. Ashley goes to the side of me where the cut is, Jinxx holding a first-aid kit. He passes Ashley band aids, polysporn and rubbing alcohol. Ashley empties a bit of the alcohol onto a cotton ball and presses it to my skin. I shriek, clasping Jinxx’s hand tightly. “Almost done!” Ashley says, cleaning up the rest of the blood. I see Jinxx pass him a pair of tweezers before a huge, burning sensation spreads through my thigh.

I gasp in pain. “That was the only piece of glass.” Ashley tells me, putting the broken chard onto the counter. He slabs on some polysporn gel and tapes a large, canvas band aid down over the cut. Tears have started to leak from my eyes again.

Jinxx wipes them away as Ashley repeats the process to my palms, only having to wipe the cuts to remove any remaining chards of glass. They help me to bed, getting me Tylenol and water. I cry myself to sleep, not remembering much more of that night.

Notes

Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I like writing it! Check out my other two?? ;)