Frayed Rope Read Online Free PDF Page A

women like they do their bikes, which is rode often.
     
    I remember the first time I walked in here almost three months ago. My face was still that ugly greenish blue from the bruises and my left arm still hung in a sling with a cast on my wrist. My eyes were still red and bloodshot, and I wondered how much longer it would take until it fully faded back to white. No one here knew about the marks that were still bandaged on my back. That might’ve given too much away. I still needed to be discreet and no way in hell was anyone going to find out my real name regardless of how much I trusted them.
     
    Trust could get me killed.
     
    Now I’m back, months later and hoping that Tiny is in so I don’t have to hang around this place longer than I have too. The men here never made me feel uncomfortable at all. I even spent a few nights drinking with them a while back, not that I spoke much.
     
    The motto around here is if you’re dressed like a two dollar hooker, it’s open season. I learned fast that jeans and a loose long sleeve top don’t scream ‘this pussy’s open for business.’ The men here gave me respect, and I appreciate that.
     
    I let Norma out of the truck and make my way to the heavy front door. She practically lived in this dive with me, and the men used to enjoy having her around. If I’m honest with myself I think I’m bringing her in with me for fear that I won’t be recognized. I’m a far cry from the bruised up, pale skinned blonde I was the last time I walked through these doors.
     
    I was a broken shell of what once used to be an incredibly strong woman. Now I’ve returned looking more put together and with steel armor coating my skin.
     
    Nothing can break me anymore. That damage has already been done.
     
    Head held high and with eyes straight ahead, I enter the bar.
     
    The first thing that hits me is the smell. I’d like to say it just smells like a dirty old dive bar but in truth it’s more like stale cigarettes and sex. I’m sure this place has never seen a bottle of bleach, but that would probably take away some of its character.
     
    I believe the rule of this establishment is ‘if it ain’t broke, don't fucking touch it’. It looks exactly the same as it did the last time I was here. The long bar stretches across the back wall in front of me. An array of beer taps and liquor laden shelves embellishes the bar, adding to its dingy character. To the far right sits a jukebox and a few pool tables. Closer to the middle is what one would use as a dance floor. To the left are a series of round tables and booths along the wall.
     
    The whole bar is encased in the finest of eighties wood paneling. The floor is sticky as I take the first few steps in, and I can tell from the way Norma is walking that there will be white furry spots stuck to the floor wherever her paws stick.
     
    There’s about twenty-five people in here, give or take. A small group of younger men are playing pool and a few women that wouldn’t be allowed in a supermarket due to a lack of clothing are lingering around the bar.
     
    No shoes, no shirt, no service and all that.
     
    Scattered around the array of tables is a mixture of the people I came to see. I recognize the older man with long grey hair and paunchy stomach. He’s older than dirt and still stands six-feet tall. 
     
    Tiny . 
     
    He was the first man to spot me many months ago and the first to offer help. He told me he had three daughters and that nothing hurt his heart more than to see marks on a woman at the hands of a man.
     
    Tiny is looking at me from his seat at the table like a bird that might fly away. He sits still and quiet, afraid to make the first move. I thought maybe he didn’t recognize me but when his old eyes drift down to Norma and back up again I can see when the recognition takes place.
     
    The conversation at the table has slowly ground to a halt as I stand silent by the door waiting for the old man to make the first move.