A. Arthur - Hunger for You

I watched him walk straight to the bar and stop. Her back had been turned as she punched keys on the cash register, but it was like she knew he was there because she immediately turned to see him. A small smile appeared. It was tentative and possibly rehearsed as she held up a finger telling him she’d be with him in a minute. His hands clenched on the bar railing as she turned her back and my teeth gnashed.

It wasn’t any of my business I knew, but nothing short of an earthquake would move me from this seat. I picked up my beer and took a small sip, keeping my eyes trained on the bar. Hair rose at the back of my neck as the front door swung open again and another guy came in heading for the bar to stand right next to the bastard that had quietly summoned the pretty girl. It would help if I knew the names of all the players, but until this very moment that hadn’t seemed important. Actually, it didn’t seem important now, all that mattered was that she remained safe, because the eerie feeling I was getting from these two wasn’t a good sign.

She turned away from the cash register and walked over to the two guys. My eyes followed her every move. The second guy gave a wicked smile to the first, patted him on the back, then moved away. The first guy instantly reached for her, grabbing her by the wrist until she was leaning over the bar close enough so that he could roughly kiss her lips.

I put down my beer with a hard clank.

“You finished with that, baby?” the blond waitress asked.

She was back. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Okay, maybe that wasn’t fair. Her voice wasn’t that high, it just irritated the hell out of me because I was so focused on that guy touching the girl I was just slightly obsessed with. He was touching my girl.

“No,” I replied without even glancing at the other waitress. I hated how they would switch off tables throughout the night without any rhyme or reason. When I thought I was sitting at a table that she would wait on, I’d get the blonde at least part of the night. They didn’t do that in any other place I’d been; then again, I didn’t go anywhere but here.

“Okay. Well, then can I get you something else?” she persisted.

He was still kissing her.

“No,” I said more emphatically. “I’ve already had nachos and beer.”

“Well, if you’re finished, you can’t just sit here and stare at people all night, you know.” I could hear the irritation in her voice but didn’t really give a damn.

“Either you order something else or you’ll have to leave.”

I didn’t want anything else. All I wanted was for him to get his fuckin’ hands off of her.

“Fine,” I told the blonde, still not bothering to look at her. “Get me another beer.”

She sucked her teeth and mumbled something else and then thankfully she was gone.

My girl finally pulled away from him, which was another reason to give thanks. He said something, I couldn’t tell what because his back was to me, but she immediately declined, saying she had to close tonight. Being such a solitary person since leaving the circle of my two older brothers and sister, I’d become really adept at reading lips. Just because I didn’t like talking to people didn’t mean I didn’t want to know what they might be saying about me.

He must not have believed her or didn’t care because she insisted it was true, said she wasn’t getting off until the bar closed at three and that she would be too tired to come to his place afterward. Very good decision. The guy didn’t think so. She was coming around the bar and out onto the floor when he reached for her again, this time wrapping his arm all the way around her small waist and pulling her back up against him. My shoulders tingled at the sight, my teeth clenching. When he used one hand to tilt her neck and then kissed its length, I wanted to peel that bastard’s hands and lips off her. Her sweet scent was shifting, melting into another aroma that I detested and I’d already stood, ready to move, ready to act. But her manager stepped in front of her and had words with the guy.

“Fuck off, old man,” he said to the manager, but he had let her go and she’d quickly moved away.

Without hesitation, I walked over to where she stood on the other side of the room flipping through her receipts. Fear engulfed her as her fingers shook and she ended up dropping several to the floor. The scent was thick and threatening to choke me, or push the cat inside, until I ended up choking that bastard guy she liked instead. Determined to keep her close, to keep her safe, I bent down to pick them up at the same time that she did and our hands collided over one particular receipt.

She looked up instantly, jerking her hand back as if my touch had somehow burned her. I tried not to be offended even if a part of me knew she’d done the right thing. She shouldn’t be near me, shouldn’t touch me because I wasn’t what she thought. I couldn’t dismiss feeling some sort of electric fission when we’d touched. It was followed by a flow of heat that moved straight to my groin, pooling into a pleasurable erection, so I couldn’t bring myself to complain. Needless to say I was a little more reluctant to pull away, but figured it was the right thing to do.

I handed her the receipt as she continued to stare quizzically at me.

“Thank you,” she managed finally and stood up.

She was moving so fast, about to walk away, but I wanted her to stay. I knew it was wrong but I wanted it anyway. I wanted her regardless.

I touched a hand to her shoulder. It was a soft touch, in no way as rough as the way that asshole had grabbed her and yet she’d turned around fast as if she planned to punch me in the face.

“What are you doing?” she asked me.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” I replied honestly, and a little too quickly.

“I’m fine,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Just keep your hands to yourself.”

Right. Keep my hands to myself while jerk-off over there can maul you in public. Those words I kept to myself even though I figured she really needed to hear them.

“You’re right,” I said tightly instead. “I should keep my hands to myself.” I was digging in my pocket as I spoke and when I found the money in my wallet, I pulled out some bills and thrust them in her direction. “This should cover my check,” I told her before moving, being absolutely certain not to touch her in any way and headed for the front door.

I stopped right there, my hand hovering over the handle and inhaled deeply, letting the breath out slowly. There was something here—in addition to her previously sweet scent and now the tangy stench of her fear—something more than the liquor and cigarette smoke. It was something that was not quite right. I turned, looking over my shoulder and saw that the bastard had made his way over to her once again, rubbing his hand over her ass as she tried to clear off the next table.

I felt like an idiot because it was right there in my face as if to say I was probably the dumbass for attempting to intervene in what was obviously an acceptable relationship between the two. She wasn’t my girl just because I liked looking at her or because she invaded my dreams every night, my thoughts every waking moment.

It was obvious that she belonged to him. He had permission to touch her, to kiss her, to want her. I did not.

With a frown so potent my temples ached I yanked open the door and walked out into the brisk fall air. To hell with her if the jerk-off was who she wanted touching her. I didn’t give a damn anyway. I really didn’t.

I’m a victim of abuse, some sexual, a little physical, but mostly psychological. I accept that. Years after the offenses, I can even admit they happened without breaking down completely. Sure I may shed a tear or two here and there at the painful memories, but I am not a victim .