Her hands still and she looks up at me. Her eyes are still dark and filled with fury. She doesn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry, Rowan. I didn’t mean anything at all by that statement. It was just a cliché that popped out, but I don’t think of you as a beggar.”
She regards me for a moment and while I’m happy to see her eyes lighten up a shade, her tone is frosty. “I don’t take handouts, Flynn. Not from you... not from anyone. I stand on my own.”
“I got it,” I hastily assure her. “Seriously... I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Her eyes pin me and we wage a silent staring war. This woman standing before me... I wonder what has happened in her life to make her so averse to getting help from others. It makes me a little leery over the fact that I just really want to help her. I will have to be careful so that she doesn’t see me giving her a handout, but rather a hand up. Even then, she’s going to insist on repaying me in some way for that hand up.
I take a deep breath and continue on. “Rowan, I know you’re perfectly able to take care of yourself. I haven’t known you long, but gaging by your resilience and determination... well, I just know it about you. But just this once... let me give you a little help. You can pay me back, with interest if you want, but take this little bit that’s being offered.”
I hold my breath, waiting for her reaction. It comes in the form of her hands dropping away from the drawstring. “Fine,” she says after issuing a long-suffering sigh. But then she grudgingly adds, “And I’m sorry I’m so sensitive. It’s just something I take seriously.”
I take a step back. “I won’t forget that, trust me.”
She regards me for a moment. “See... that’s just it. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone. But I’ll take your help, and yeah, I’ll pay you back. Make no mistake about that.”
Yes, there is no doubt in my mind that Rowan is broken.
And it’s equally as clear that I want to try to fix her.
7
I’m sitting in Flynn’s car and I’m feeling guilty, which is not a feeling I’m used to. I was fuming mad at him over his “beggars” comment; a reaction that I now see was probably just a bit over reactive.
I’m touchy—I get it.
But because I’ve lived my entire adult life learning to only trust myself, learning to only depend on myself, I get a little heated when my ability to do so is called into question. When I left home—and my father told me that I would be nothing but a failure—I was determined to prove him wrong. When he told me I’d never be able to provide for myself, it only made my spine stiffen with resolve.
I may not have amounted to much in his eyes, but I’ve kept myself alive and surviving all on my own, and I’m damned proud of it. Besides... I’m still young, and if I can ever distance myself from this Juice fiasco, I’m going to buckle down and really try to make something of myself.
I pick subconsciously at my new “slightly used” plaid, pleated mini-skirt, which was one of the many great things I found at a local thrift store Flynn took me to. I paired it with a black tank top and a really, really worn-out, black leather jacket I picked up for just ten bucks. My biggest score was a pair of broken-in, leather combat boots I found in the freebie pile. They were slightly too large for me so I just doubled up on the socks.
After I made my purchases, I asked Flynn to wait a second while I went into the dressing room and took off the expensive clothes that he had brought me. He had told me his cousin’s fiancée had loaned them, and they probably cost more that I made in a month at Zeke’s Bar. I hated wearing them because they reminded me of my old life, but I folded them with care to show my gratefulness over their use.
When I came out of the dressing room, Flynn roamed his gaze over me with lazy interest, but I swear he spent extra time looking at the way my legs were showcased in the mini-skirt. Spending the last five years working in bars, I knew how to dress to get maximum tips and, frankly, it was the only way I knew how to dress now.
When we had left his apartment, I gave Flynn the address to my friend Amy’s apartment. I wanted to go there first to get my money, but Flynn insisted we go shopping for clothes first and that I could pay him back. I didn’t like that but I eventually gave in, not needing to win every battle with him just yet. I just hoped that Amy hadn’t spent my money and that I could, indeed, pay him back.
I call Amy a friend but she’s more like a casual acquaintance, a former co-worker type of friend. She used to work at Zeke’s with me but quit saying she got a better job. My instinct says she’s hooking, but I never asked her outright. The only thing I asked was if I could start storing some extra cash at her place. I had hoped that this emergency fund would help me disappear if my break up with Juice didn’t go so well.
“We’re here,” Flynn says.
I look up in surprise, my fingers smoothing out the edges of the skirt I had been fiddling with. I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t even realized where we were.
Turning my head, I look at Flynn and he’s wearing that casual, friendly smile that I’m getting used to seeing on his face. I don’t know many people that wear friendly smiles all the time.
It’s weird... but nice.
Which also ramps my guilt up further over the way I reacted this morning.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.
Those are two words that don’t come easily to me because I rarely apologize for my actions. It’s not that I don’t ever think that I’m wrong, but in my world, you have to react on instinct most of the time, and you have to be confident about it. Apologizing for foolish actions could get you in trouble down the road and ruin your street cred.