Hero
You would'nt know
*August 1990*
“Are you planning on coming out anytime soon?” she reiterated for the millionth time that evening.
“I’m coming, the zipper’s broken on this thing!” Adrienne answered from inside a dressing room booth.
With a dramatic sigh, Cynthia leaned off her own booth door, only to knock savagely on her best friends’.
“Open up, I’ll fix it,” she added with a thud.
Within seconds the fitting room door bursts open, and Adrienne, wearing a gorgeous black tube dress with her infamous black pumps, stood in the fitting room looking at herself in the glossy mirror. The dress fit in all the right places, squeezing her every curve to the dress’s own delight.
“It’s cute,” Cynthia cooed, already reaching out to grab the tainted zipper.
“I know,” the older woman answered with a small laugh, earning herself a shove from the back from her best friend. Cynthia dragged the seemingly rusted zip, grabbing the cloth of the dress in her fist as she finally managed to zip the material in a fluid upward motion.
“It feels comfy,” Adie muttered, turning herself sideways, hands on her waist as she examined herself in the mirror.
“I hope Billie Joe doesn’t drool, that loser,” Cynthia laughed, stepping out of the prison sized room to give her friend much needed space. Whisking her fingers through her chocolately brown tendrils in exhaustion, she took a seat outside the fitting room, her already purchased dress buried deep in her purse.
Sarai Marshall, a friend of the two girls’ was getting married, and of course, the festivity called for new dresses for the pair. And to add to the excitement, Green Day would be playing at the show, who’s lead singer was quite fond of Adrienne.
As the younger woman checked her wrist for the time, she rolled her eyes, just realizing that Adie had yet to exit the fitting room, wasting not so valuable time.
“Hurry up A—“
“Alright, alright, I’m out,” muttered Adrienne, dressed in her usual battered jeans and t-shirt.
After Ms. Nesser purchased her dress, a hunger that could only result from hours of shopping gnawed at the girls’ stomachs. So it wasn’t a surprise when Cynthia drove down the streets of Northbridge in her old poison oak green Camry and whisked through into a Wendy’s drive through.
Upon ordering her favorite Biggie meal, the impatient van behind her continued to honk. After several middle fingers from both women, the van continued to honk and fucking honk. The windows were tinted and pulled up, so the aggressor(s) had yet to be seen. But laughter soon yielded about when out popped a scruffy looking Billie Joe, all smiles as he handed a birdie to the two women.
“What are you getting?” Tre asked after they had all exited the drive-thru and decided to dine inside.
“Uh, I usually get the baked potato and chili. You, um, ever tried it before?” Cynthia asked shyly, trying to make conversation with her pre-crush.
“Nope. I get the oiliest, most inorganic food they have here. The unhealthier the better” he added with one of his sexy grins.
The pair in line laughed as they finally reached the registrar. Since Cynthia was in front, he made it his duty to check out her ass as she leaned into the counter and ordered her food. The view was quite nice too. When his eyes passed her behind, they wondered onto her long legs, legs that he’d give anything to spread and be wedged between. His sinful blue orbs then slithered up towards her waist and the slender fit of her back. He was in lust… pure, relentless lust.
“Sir”
No answer
“Sir! May I take your order?”
No answer
“Tre!” Adie yelled from behind, which finally drew him away from her body.
“Oh, sorry” he smiled sheepishly.
* * *
She stirred numbly the following morning, the room still shaded as night with the blinds still folded and shut tight. Cynthia, now dressed in a large t-shirt and panties slid her hand to her sore stomach, still not yet accustomed to the pain, the pain that had started so long ago. And with force, she then opened her eyes, opened them up to a brand new fucking day.
The square shaped clock hanging above the wooden dresser and against the wall informed her that it was nearly 10 a.m. Jordan must have left for work about an hour ago, meaning she had the house for herself until his arrival later in the day. As she pulled the cold, foreign sheets from her dulled body, a small yellow post it note found its thin way onto her bosom. She automatically rolled her eyes, already knowing the demented contents of this ‘note’. And when she pulled the covers back even more, feet just grazing the carpet to exit the bed, the bud of a red rose fell onto her lap, almost making the trapped vixen vomit.
With a low grunt, she grabbed the evil bud and crushed its velvet red petals into her fists, the blood-like juice dripping eagerly through the webbing between her fingers. After her routine thrashing, her groggy eyes treaded towards the yellow post it, and her rose stained fingers soon followed, wanting to hear his explanation for this time.
I’m sorry about last night. I trust you Cynthia, and I can only hope that you’ll forgive just one more time. I love you, always will – Jordan.
Reenacting the precise actions she took upon the rose bud, she took upon the note, crushing the paper into her palm and then finally discarding it, along with the bud, into the wastebasket in her bathroom.
After a long steam of a shower, Cynthia slipped on her silver silk robe, body still damp and stood in front of her bedroom mirror, well, their bedroom mirror. She examined her appearance, the way she no longer knew how to show a true smile, only a forced one. The way her eye had begun to swell, which reminded her of where she had last placed her dark sunglasses. The way her thin frame seemed torn and doomed, the blackening scars brewing behind her shoulders.
A tear had fallen, and she quickly flicked it away and against the mirror before turning around to dress herself in a pair of blue jeans and a yellow tank top.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes Cynthia. Just make sure to beat the eggs good or it won’t harden on your face,” her best friend replied.
“And exactly how many times have you done this Mrs. Armstrong? I thought celebrities got facials and all that other good shit done,” she teased, almost giggling into the receiver when Adrienne mumbled ‘bitch’.
The wooden cutting board was stained with shades of scarlet and olive as the woman continued to chop red and green bell peppers against it. The stainless steel knife cut effortlessly into the vegetables, and for a moment, she hoped that it was Jordan’s skin she was cutting instead of a pepper.
“So, have you decided how long you’ll be spending over here?” Adrienne mused
“About two weeks or maybe three, I cant leave Jordan here for long or he’ll get pissy,” she explained.
The truth was, that Jordan didn’t even want Cynthia to go. He knew how close Adrienne and the guys used to be to Cynthia, and he feared their relationship might take on new levels, levels that would result in the destruction of their “relationship”.
Cynthia wedged the phone between her shoulder and left ear, stretching across the counter to retrieve a package of lettuce for the sprucing salad.
“Oh yes, how’s Jordan?”
“He’s fine I guess, nothing new.” Cynthia replied rather bitterly
“You guys had a fight or something? There was a bit of venom in that response” Adie explained with a smirk.
“Not really, just premarital problems, nothing serious” she lied.
“Oh yea, the wedding! Did you set a date yet?”
“Nope.” Was her only answer as she eagerly awaited a switch in subjects. “Can I call you back? Someone’s at the door,”
“Sure, see you soon.”
“Bye”
After clicking the phone off, Cynthia couldn’t help but roll her eyes at just how nosey Adrienne could be. She wondered if and how Billie Joe could put up with this. But Adie was really sweet too, and understanding, and a lot of other positive things, which is why they were still best friends after nearly thirteen years.
Wiping a damp hand on her jeans she placed the phone on the hook and set about to answering the door, where she smiled when she saw who it was.
“Hey Michael,” she grinned, enveloping one of her best guy friends in a hug. His messy orange hair hung in several places, whipping at her cheek as he hugged her.
“Hey, you wanna come with me shopping?”
“Shopping? For what?” she asked with a curiously cocked eyebrow, a hand on her hip.
“Michelle’s birthday is coming up and I have no fucking clue what to get her, pllleease?” he begged, ringing his now folded hands at her.
“What did you get her last year?” she asked
“I got her a necklace and a massage thingy at a spa,”
“So just get something similar, maybe a bracelet and s—“
“Cynthia just get your ass out here and help me.” he pegged annoyingly. Michael was a tall man, at least a good three inches taller than Cynthia. A clown at best, he always found creative ways to cheer her up, especially after debacles issued by Jordan. He knew that Jordan had hit her, but he didn’t know the frequency or the pain. Neosporin always worked wonders…
“I can’t Mike, Jordan is already pissed at me as it is. It’ll just make things worse.”
He eyed her apologetically and then stuffed his hands in his pant pockets. “I don’t understand why you just don’t leave,” he mumbled.
She sighed regretfully, “Because it’s not that simple. And for the most part, he’s o.k.”
“Gimme a break.” He huffed, “No woman should get treated like you do, especially you. You do too fucking much for people.”
The damsel bowed her head, not wanting to cry in front of one of her best friends. But they had been through this routine before, her hiding her tears, while he continuously coaxed her to leave, giving her a shoulder to cry on.
“You wanna go shopping and max out his credit card?” he asked with a faint chuckle. When she finally nodded, a gleaming smile broke out across his face, tugging Cynthia out the door.
It was a quarter to seven when she got back from shopping. After helping Mike choose a gift for his girlfriend Michelle, the pair had took to every super pricey department store that existed at the city mall. Cynthia made minimal purchases; some make-up for her scars, a new pair of sunglasses, a summer dress, two pairs of jeans and a shirt. Nothing too pricey, the total only summed to $350, which fit nicely into Jordan’s budget. He had called her cell several times and had even opted to leave angry voice messages, but Michael had kept the phone the entire time.
“Tell Michelle I said hi,” she waved and yelled as she opened front door to her home. After a honk for Mike’s car, she stepped inside. The only light on was exuding from the television in the next room. Without a care, she skipped into the living room where she saw her fiancée, sitting dangerously quiet in front of the television in the completely dark room, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s between his thighs.
She only stared at him as he stared at her, anger bubbling through both their veins. Her left leg had just moved to continue walking when he finally spoke up.
“Are you o.k?” he asked quietly.
She quirked her eyebrows, shopping bags dropping to the floor in utter disgust,
“Don’t ask me if you don’t give a shit,” she snarled
“Of course I care! I’m sorry about last night, I tried calling to apologize for the thousandth time and you never fucking answered. For all I knew, that prick you were with coulda chopped your he—“
“Don’t you DARE say anything about Michael. He’s the one who made me feel better after what your sorry ass did to me!”
He instantly stood, head to head with Cynthia. “And how did he make you feel better, huh? He fucked you?”
“Yes Jordan. Nice and hard, much better than you ever did!” she yelled.
The suddenness that took control of his hand was abrupt. The back of his hand, a bitch slap if you will, slammed against the now scarlet colored cheek of Cynthia. Instead if tearing up, she stood firm and strong, and just as suddenly punched him in the neck (something she saw on television), which worked, because he was instantly choking.
With a smug smirk she gathered her bags and proceeded towards her bedroom. Leaving a coughing Jordan standing dolefully in the living room.
“Are you planning on coming out anytime soon?” she reiterated for the millionth time that evening.
“I’m coming, the zipper’s broken on this thing!” Adrienne answered from inside a dressing room booth.
With a dramatic sigh, Cynthia leaned off her own booth door, only to knock savagely on her best friends’.
“Open up, I’ll fix it,” she added with a thud.
Within seconds the fitting room door bursts open, and Adrienne, wearing a gorgeous black tube dress with her infamous black pumps, stood in the fitting room looking at herself in the glossy mirror. The dress fit in all the right places, squeezing her every curve to the dress’s own delight.
“It’s cute,” Cynthia cooed, already reaching out to grab the tainted zipper.
“I know,” the older woman answered with a small laugh, earning herself a shove from the back from her best friend. Cynthia dragged the seemingly rusted zip, grabbing the cloth of the dress in her fist as she finally managed to zip the material in a fluid upward motion.
“It feels comfy,” Adie muttered, turning herself sideways, hands on her waist as she examined herself in the mirror.
“I hope Billie Joe doesn’t drool, that loser,” Cynthia laughed, stepping out of the prison sized room to give her friend much needed space. Whisking her fingers through her chocolately brown tendrils in exhaustion, she took a seat outside the fitting room, her already purchased dress buried deep in her purse.
Sarai Marshall, a friend of the two girls’ was getting married, and of course, the festivity called for new dresses for the pair. And to add to the excitement, Green Day would be playing at the show, who’s lead singer was quite fond of Adrienne.
As the younger woman checked her wrist for the time, she rolled her eyes, just realizing that Adie had yet to exit the fitting room, wasting not so valuable time.
“Hurry up A—“
“Alright, alright, I’m out,” muttered Adrienne, dressed in her usual battered jeans and t-shirt.
After Ms. Nesser purchased her dress, a hunger that could only result from hours of shopping gnawed at the girls’ stomachs. So it wasn’t a surprise when Cynthia drove down the streets of Northbridge in her old poison oak green Camry and whisked through into a Wendy’s drive through.
Upon ordering her favorite Biggie meal, the impatient van behind her continued to honk. After several middle fingers from both women, the van continued to honk and fucking honk. The windows were tinted and pulled up, so the aggressor(s) had yet to be seen. But laughter soon yielded about when out popped a scruffy looking Billie Joe, all smiles as he handed a birdie to the two women.
“What are you getting?” Tre asked after they had all exited the drive-thru and decided to dine inside.
“Uh, I usually get the baked potato and chili. You, um, ever tried it before?” Cynthia asked shyly, trying to make conversation with her pre-crush.
“Nope. I get the oiliest, most inorganic food they have here. The unhealthier the better” he added with one of his sexy grins.
The pair in line laughed as they finally reached the registrar. Since Cynthia was in front, he made it his duty to check out her ass as she leaned into the counter and ordered her food. The view was quite nice too. When his eyes passed her behind, they wondered onto her long legs, legs that he’d give anything to spread and be wedged between. His sinful blue orbs then slithered up towards her waist and the slender fit of her back. He was in lust… pure, relentless lust.
“Sir”
No answer
“Sir! May I take your order?”
No answer
“Tre!” Adie yelled from behind, which finally drew him away from her body.
“Oh, sorry” he smiled sheepishly.
* * *
She stirred numbly the following morning, the room still shaded as night with the blinds still folded and shut tight. Cynthia, now dressed in a large t-shirt and panties slid her hand to her sore stomach, still not yet accustomed to the pain, the pain that had started so long ago. And with force, she then opened her eyes, opened them up to a brand new fucking day.
The square shaped clock hanging above the wooden dresser and against the wall informed her that it was nearly 10 a.m. Jordan must have left for work about an hour ago, meaning she had the house for herself until his arrival later in the day. As she pulled the cold, foreign sheets from her dulled body, a small yellow post it note found its thin way onto her bosom. She automatically rolled her eyes, already knowing the demented contents of this ‘note’. And when she pulled the covers back even more, feet just grazing the carpet to exit the bed, the bud of a red rose fell onto her lap, almost making the trapped vixen vomit.
With a low grunt, she grabbed the evil bud and crushed its velvet red petals into her fists, the blood-like juice dripping eagerly through the webbing between her fingers. After her routine thrashing, her groggy eyes treaded towards the yellow post it, and her rose stained fingers soon followed, wanting to hear his explanation for this time.
I’m sorry about last night. I trust you Cynthia, and I can only hope that you’ll forgive just one more time. I love you, always will – Jordan.
Reenacting the precise actions she took upon the rose bud, she took upon the note, crushing the paper into her palm and then finally discarding it, along with the bud, into the wastebasket in her bathroom.
After a long steam of a shower, Cynthia slipped on her silver silk robe, body still damp and stood in front of her bedroom mirror, well, their bedroom mirror. She examined her appearance, the way she no longer knew how to show a true smile, only a forced one. The way her eye had begun to swell, which reminded her of where she had last placed her dark sunglasses. The way her thin frame seemed torn and doomed, the blackening scars brewing behind her shoulders.
A tear had fallen, and she quickly flicked it away and against the mirror before turning around to dress herself in a pair of blue jeans and a yellow tank top.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes Cynthia. Just make sure to beat the eggs good or it won’t harden on your face,” her best friend replied.
“And exactly how many times have you done this Mrs. Armstrong? I thought celebrities got facials and all that other good shit done,” she teased, almost giggling into the receiver when Adrienne mumbled ‘bitch’.
The wooden cutting board was stained with shades of scarlet and olive as the woman continued to chop red and green bell peppers against it. The stainless steel knife cut effortlessly into the vegetables, and for a moment, she hoped that it was Jordan’s skin she was cutting instead of a pepper.
“So, have you decided how long you’ll be spending over here?” Adrienne mused
“About two weeks or maybe three, I cant leave Jordan here for long or he’ll get pissy,” she explained.
The truth was, that Jordan didn’t even want Cynthia to go. He knew how close Adrienne and the guys used to be to Cynthia, and he feared their relationship might take on new levels, levels that would result in the destruction of their “relationship”.
Cynthia wedged the phone between her shoulder and left ear, stretching across the counter to retrieve a package of lettuce for the sprucing salad.
“Oh yes, how’s Jordan?”
“He’s fine I guess, nothing new.” Cynthia replied rather bitterly
“You guys had a fight or something? There was a bit of venom in that response” Adie explained with a smirk.
“Not really, just premarital problems, nothing serious” she lied.
“Oh yea, the wedding! Did you set a date yet?”
“Nope.” Was her only answer as she eagerly awaited a switch in subjects. “Can I call you back? Someone’s at the door,”
“Sure, see you soon.”
“Bye”
After clicking the phone off, Cynthia couldn’t help but roll her eyes at just how nosey Adrienne could be. She wondered if and how Billie Joe could put up with this. But Adie was really sweet too, and understanding, and a lot of other positive things, which is why they were still best friends after nearly thirteen years.
Wiping a damp hand on her jeans she placed the phone on the hook and set about to answering the door, where she smiled when she saw who it was.
“Hey Michael,” she grinned, enveloping one of her best guy friends in a hug. His messy orange hair hung in several places, whipping at her cheek as he hugged her.
“Hey, you wanna come with me shopping?”
“Shopping? For what?” she asked with a curiously cocked eyebrow, a hand on her hip.
“Michelle’s birthday is coming up and I have no fucking clue what to get her, pllleease?” he begged, ringing his now folded hands at her.
“What did you get her last year?” she asked
“I got her a necklace and a massage thingy at a spa,”
“So just get something similar, maybe a bracelet and s—“
“Cynthia just get your ass out here and help me.” he pegged annoyingly. Michael was a tall man, at least a good three inches taller than Cynthia. A clown at best, he always found creative ways to cheer her up, especially after debacles issued by Jordan. He knew that Jordan had hit her, but he didn’t know the frequency or the pain. Neosporin always worked wonders…
“I can’t Mike, Jordan is already pissed at me as it is. It’ll just make things worse.”
He eyed her apologetically and then stuffed his hands in his pant pockets. “I don’t understand why you just don’t leave,” he mumbled.
She sighed regretfully, “Because it’s not that simple. And for the most part, he’s o.k.”
“Gimme a break.” He huffed, “No woman should get treated like you do, especially you. You do too fucking much for people.”
The damsel bowed her head, not wanting to cry in front of one of her best friends. But they had been through this routine before, her hiding her tears, while he continuously coaxed her to leave, giving her a shoulder to cry on.
“You wanna go shopping and max out his credit card?” he asked with a faint chuckle. When she finally nodded, a gleaming smile broke out across his face, tugging Cynthia out the door.
It was a quarter to seven when she got back from shopping. After helping Mike choose a gift for his girlfriend Michelle, the pair had took to every super pricey department store that existed at the city mall. Cynthia made minimal purchases; some make-up for her scars, a new pair of sunglasses, a summer dress, two pairs of jeans and a shirt. Nothing too pricey, the total only summed to $350, which fit nicely into Jordan’s budget. He had called her cell several times and had even opted to leave angry voice messages, but Michael had kept the phone the entire time.
“Tell Michelle I said hi,” she waved and yelled as she opened front door to her home. After a honk for Mike’s car, she stepped inside. The only light on was exuding from the television in the next room. Without a care, she skipped into the living room where she saw her fiancée, sitting dangerously quiet in front of the television in the completely dark room, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s between his thighs.
She only stared at him as he stared at her, anger bubbling through both their veins. Her left leg had just moved to continue walking when he finally spoke up.
“Are you o.k?” he asked quietly.
She quirked her eyebrows, shopping bags dropping to the floor in utter disgust,
“Don’t ask me if you don’t give a shit,” she snarled
“Of course I care! I’m sorry about last night, I tried calling to apologize for the thousandth time and you never fucking answered. For all I knew, that prick you were with coulda chopped your he—“
“Don’t you DARE say anything about Michael. He’s the one who made me feel better after what your sorry ass did to me!”
He instantly stood, head to head with Cynthia. “And how did he make you feel better, huh? He fucked you?”
“Yes Jordan. Nice and hard, much better than you ever did!” she yelled.
The suddenness that took control of his hand was abrupt. The back of his hand, a bitch slap if you will, slammed against the now scarlet colored cheek of Cynthia. Instead if tearing up, she stood firm and strong, and just as suddenly punched him in the neck (something she saw on television), which worked, because he was instantly choking.
With a smug smirk she gathered her bags and proceeded towards her bedroom. Leaving a coughing Jordan standing dolefully in the living room.