Loving the leech (Guardians of Red Moon city #4)
2. Creeped out

“I’m sorry, guys. You can keep on drinking if you want, but you’ll have to do it somewhere else,” I tell the last group of customers in the room while leading them to the door.

They whine some but finally do as I say and leave the place to drink further elsewhere. Damn it! I was supposed to have dinner with my dad tonight, and I forgot to tell him that I would work extra at the bar. I hope he isn’t too disappointed that I didn’t show up. What I should do now is hurry home and make sure he’s not out looking for me. I lock the door, get in the car and accelerate as fast as I can home without breaking the speed limit. The discomfort I felt on my way to work earlier comes creeping back when I drive through the dark streets, and when I stop at a red light, it gets even worse.

My gaze accidentally moves to the alley I previously looked towards, and the feeling becomes almost indispensable. Someone honks behind me, and I jump at the sound. I turn my eyes back on the red light that has now switched to green. If dad is at home, he’s guaranteed to sit in front of the TV, either sleeping or awake; however, I bet my money on the first alternative. My dad works hard at an industrial factory on the outskirts of town. It’s a very tough job that he uses his whole body in. He’s often exhausted when he comes home, and it doesn’t matter how many times I tell him to take it easy, that his heart can’t handle too much effort; he still doesn’t listen.

Although it’s the weekend now, I know that he won’t relax and take care of himself; instead, he’ll work on everything that needs to be fixed he usually doesn’t have time for. When I park the car outside the bright yellow country house with cracked facade paint, the lights are extinguished throughout the house, everywhere except in the living room. The light blue glow indicates that dad is in the living room; the only question is whether he’s awake or not. I walk in through the front door and meet what I suspect. He’s sleeping on the couch with a bit of drool running down the cheek.

I turn off the TV and put a blanket over my fatigued father before walking into the kitchen to meet a note on the kitchen counter.

“Good evening, my piglet,

since you didn’t show up for dinner, I took for granted that you worked extra tonight and forgot to inform me. You’ve got to tell me about this; I always worry a lot when you’re going to drive home so late in the dark all alone. You never know what kind of danger there is out there; I love you, piglet.

Love,

dad.

PS; there’s Chinese food in a styrofoam box in the fridge for you.”

I smile as I read the note and open the fridge to bring out the carton of food. To avoid waking my father, I don’t heat it but sit on the barstool at the kitchen counter and eat the meal cold. My eyes look out the kitchen window and the darkness outside. I’ve always found comfort in the dark and find it beautiful in some way. That I can hide among the many shadows of the night just to come out when I want to; on my terms, you can’t even unify how many psychologists my dad sent me to over the years because of that mindset because he thought I was depressed. I’m not depressed, just lonely and forgotten.

Not forgotten as a person, but somewhat forgotten as a priority, the things I want to do are often overridden while I’m expected to consider others’ needs first. It’s not right, I know, but at the moment, I don’t have much to come up with anyway. A shadow captures my interest across the street, a figure of someone I can’t see clearly. The physique ensures that it’s a man with dark clothes. Beyond that, there’s nothing I can identify. The person stares at me, and for some reason, it pisses me off. I get up quickly, pick up the baseball bat we’ve got standing at the door, and walk out with it, ready to swing at whoever it is.

“Who are you, motherfucker!?” I growl, angry at the place the man had previously stood at; now it’s empty. “Show yourself you pervert!”

But no sounds, shadows, or people are nearby. Damn, did I imagine it all? It’s undeniable that there’s no one here, so why do I react with a mixture of anger and fear? I shake my head and walk back in, where my dad is sitting on the couch with tousled hair and a confused expression; I probably woke him up when I yelled at nothing.

“Kay, are you okay?” he asks confusedly and hurries up to me. “I heard you scream. Are you hurt? What happened?”

He throws questions at me and puts his hands on my cheeks to make sure I’m unharmed. I look at the spot where I saw the figure one last time and then close the door with a sigh.

“I thought I saw someone,” I answer, chuckling. “I guess the adrenaline took over for a moment.”

“Show me,” he says, going out into the kitchen, determined to find out if a peeping Tom is watching his daughter.

I reluctantly follow along and point out the window. Dad looks closely with tense shoulders before he gradually relaxes when he realizes the same thing as me; there’s no one there. He turns to me and hugs me.

“My little piglet, you must have imagined it,” he quietly says, kissing me on my forehead before walking towards the stairs. “See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, dad,” I respond with a forced smile on my lips.

He walks up the stairs, and I breathe out soundly. I know I didn’t imagine it! There was someone out there, I promise... or was it? I don’t know what to believe, and there’s no point in me standing here in the kitchen at half-past four in the morning trying to figure it out. Instead, I throw the styrofoam in the garbage and walk up the stairs. I brush my teeth and change before throwing myself on my bed. Darkness embraces me, and silence caresses me like the softest silk. I crawl under my blanket, and sleep takes over my tired body before my head has time to touch the pillow.

I wake up from the light seeping in through the blinds and groan of having to wake up now that, for once, I’m free. But it doesn’t make any sense to keep lying here and sluggish now that I’m awake. I throw off my covers and yawn my way into the bathroom to shower. The omelet scent makes me shampoo and cleanses my body quickly to take part in dad’s special breakfast; I would recognize that fragrance everywhere. I put on a pair of black sweatpants, a dark red tank top, and a thick sweater before walking down the stairs.

Dad stands in the kitchen with an apron around his waist, humming along to the song playing at low volume from the radio.

“Good morning, dad,” I say with another yawn and sit down heavily on the bar stool.

“Morning, piglet,” he replies, setting down a cup of coffee in front of me that I eagerly receive.

I’m absolutely no morning person, have never been and never will be either. If I have a baby in the future, then it’s the damn father of the kid who gets up; it’s as simple as that. I lean my head against the kitchen counter and try to make my body realize that we’re awake; it doesn’t work very well. Dad chuckles and puts down a plate in front of me, packed with his specialty that I’ve loved ever since I was a child. I moan when the first bite meets my taste buds in a fantastic dance in my mouth and shovels the food into my body until I’m full.

“Thank you for breakfast,” I say, looking up at his amused face.

Yes, I eat like a pig, and I’ve been told that by many over the years. The only one who doesn’t usually point it out is my dad, probably because he’s the same. By the way, that’s where my nickname comes from; piglet. He has told me that my mother always pointed out that he ate like a pig; she always called him “boar,” and given that I’ve taken after it, it’s no more than right that I also get a suitable nickname. I put my dishes in the dishwasher and pick down the shopping list sitting on the refrigerator.

“Is there anything else you need?” I ask and bring my drinking bottle.

“No, not that I can think of now,” he replies, looking up from the newspaper.

“Well, I’ll work out at the gym before anyway. If you think of something, you can call or text me, and I’ll get it.”

“Absolutely.”

“See you later!”

I walk to the entrance and put on my shoes before walking out the door with the exercise bag. My gaze slips back to the place I examined yesterday, and I can’t help but walk up to it. Under the street lamp lies several cigarette butts; they don’t look to have been lying here for very long, which can only mean one thing; there was someone here yesterday, and I’m not losing my mind! I walk back to the car and put myself in the driver’s seat.

There aren’t many at the gym on Saturday mornings; hence I prefer to train then. The ordinary men who train here are guaranteed to be deep sunken into their beds in the dreamland still, desperately trying to recover from yesterday’s escapades. I say “the regular men” because, honestly, it’s just me and a handful of other women practicing here. I don’t know what makes it that way, though; maybe it’s because “Sylvester’s” is an old gym that doesn’t have all the top-of-the-line equipment they’re used to, and that’s a problem somehow.

That’s what I like about this gym; it’s old-school, yes, but also very much homier than the more modern options. I politely greet the few I meet before walking up to the treadmill to warm up my body. With Lucy Hale’s “Bless myself” in my ears, I start running and speed up. The sweat flows down my back, and I smile from the feeling I always get from exercising. The sense of vigor and improvement is what continually drives me to come back here three times a week. When I feel that my body is ready for the actual training, I step off the treadmill and walk up to the punching bag hanging in the corner.

I tape my hands, put my gloves on, place myself in the correct position and breathe in a couple of times before starting hitting with “You don’t own me” as a company in the headphones.

Right.

Left.

Left, left, right.

Right kick, left punch.

Left kick, right blow, left blow.

I continue in the same style until I feel the lactic acid in the body; I’m completely exhausted and sit down on the bench to drink water. My body gratefully receives the cold liquid that gracefully moves down my throat. I breathe heavily and take off my gloves and pull the tape off my hands. As I try to regain my breath, I look around the room and meet the men I served whiskey the day before. None of them look at me, but I can’t help but look at them. Or well, staring is maybe a better word to describe what I’m doing. The man who ordered the drinks lifts weights while another of the men assist him.

He helps a short-haired blonde muscular man who also looks my age; it’s another man who belongs to their group with black hair; I even think I can see some dark-blue elements. The men are attractive, which probably is why I have a hard time looking away. In the end, however, I have no choice because one of them moves his head in my direction. Thankfully, I manage to focus on turning my eyes away the moment the man’s gaze lands on me. I get up with my big training bag on my shoulder and my boxing gloves in my hand.

The door slams behind me, and as I walk past the window, I find myself able to see the men look at me, which I ignore. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it would be to look back just for our eyes to meet in such a cliché meeting? Nope, no, nada, that’s not going to happen. I’m anything but classic and cliché; if you want to give me a “wow factor,” you must be innovative and creative. Damn it; I have to shop before going home, after all, that’s why I’m in town from the beginning. But now that my body feels like I got run over by a train, I have no desire to do it.

With a sigh, I drive towards the grocery store and make an effort not to go off the road. Once inside, I pack down everything on the list and look at my phone to meet my dad’s message asking me to buy home more beer. I knew he would write that; he always forgets about it and then sends me a text message. That’s why I’ve already put two six-packs in the cart. I pay for the articles, get out of the store and pack everything in the car. Finally, I’m going home!

“Hey, I’m home!” I shout and slam the door shut with my foot.

I just have time to put the paper bags on the kitchen counter before someone dives at me and makes us both fall on the floor. Laughter echoes in the kitchen, and I would recognize that sound everywhere.

“Britney!” I exclaim and hug my laughing cousin. “When did you get here?”

“An hour ago, I can’t miss out on your birthday. So Uncle Carl called me the day before yesterday and came up with the idea that I would surprise you. I got in the car and drove here as fast as I could, and now I’m finally here to hang out with my best girl cousin!” she explains excitedly.

“I’m your only girl cousin,” I point out factually, and she laughs in return.

“Hey! It’s a good thing; then, no one can take away your place!”

“Hello girls,” dad says and then looks confusedly down at us. “What the hell are you doing on the floor?”

We look at each other and break out into a gasping laugh. It’s impossible to explain Britney’s and my relationship; she’s like the sister I never got but wish I had. Dad shakes his head, picks up a beer from the bag, and walks out the back door to continue with what he’s doing now.

“So, we’re going out tonight!” Britney says in a happy tone when we get up and begin to pick up the food.

“What?” I ask stupidly with a raised eyebrow in bewilderment.

“We’re going out tonight! You’re still working at Polly’s Lagoon, so your coworkers can serve you for once.”

She knows I work hard not only with the rehab group but also at the bar. I’m that person who always jumps in for someone else’s shift if they can’t because I’m just too kind to say no. Maybe she’s right. I haven’t been out in ages. Oh, what’s the worst that can happen?

“Okay, you win,” I say, and she squeals like a schoolgirl; I show my index finger. “On one condition.”

“Anything!”

“You’re not leaving me for some cute guy tonight under any circumstances; I don’t want to be by myself with lots of drunk people. You know how I feel about that. Promise me that,” I say and bring out my little finger.

“Deal!” she exclaims, and we make a pinky promise pact.

If only I knew then how my life would change...

A/N:

Hi everyone!

❀ So, who are these men she continues to meet at random places?

✿ Who was the man standing outside?

❀ What is happening?

Please let me know your thoughts since they help me develop in my creative process! Thank you for reading, lots of love.<3

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