The Heart Knows What the Heart Wants
Read The Heart Knows What the Heart Wants Online
Authors: Lori L. Clark
The Heart Knows What the Heart Wants
By Lori L. Clark
Copyright © 2014 by Lori L. Clark
Cover design by Lori L. Clark
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book. Except when quoting brief passages for the purpose of writing reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever wanted to start over. To the men and women everywhere who spend a little more time dreaming up their own happily ever after instead of worrying about something that may never come to pass. Time waits for no one.
The human heart feels things the eyes cannot see, and knows what the mind cannot understand.
Robert Valett
I would rather have eyes that cannot see; ears that cannot hear; lips that cannot speak, than a heart that cannot love.
Robert Tizon
Twenty minutes after Crow's Landing closed for the night, Estelle tugged the mop bucket down the narrow hallway, dirty water sloshed over the sides and spilled onto her boots. When she tried to nudge the men's bathroom door open, it only moved about an inch. She threw her shoulder against it and was met with a, "What the fuck," protest from the other side.
She recognized the woman's voice, muffled undoubtedly from having a mouthful of dick. Estelle rolled her eyes toward the smoke stained ceiling. "Roxy, how many times do I gotta tell you? Blow jobs need to be finished
before
closing time, and preferably in the parking lot behind the bar." Roxy was the owner's, Samuel "Sandy" Crow, only daughter. She was a barely legal, flaming redhead, who spent more time on her knees than a Catholic at Mass.
"Five. More. Minutes," the dude's voice grunted.
Disgusted, Estelle slammed her gloved fists hard against the hollow door with enough force to cause the wood to splinter. She glanced at her watch, and a bead of sweat popped out above her upper lip. She knew if she didn't get home soon, there would be hell to pay with Derek.
Estelle kneaded the back of her neck nervously and decided to clean the women's bathroom first rather than stand around and wait for Roxy and her latest hookup to finish. She left the bucket strategically wedged between the men's bathroom door and the wall. She smiled at her cleverness as she trailed the sopping wet mop behind her down the hallway. She propped open the women's bathroom door with the overflowing trashcan while she hurriedly swept and mopped the grimy tiled floor.
Cleaning the bathrooms after closing time was Estelle's least favorite part of being a bartender at Crow's Landing, the West Memphis, Arkansas cockroach-infested dive. Thankfully, Sandy didn't expect the impossible, he didn't require the place be spotless when she finished. She was supposed to make sure some crack head wasn't passed out--or dead--in one of the bathroom stalls, empty the trash, and mop up whatever bodily fluids had missed the toilet during the course of her eight-hour shift.
Estelle plucked the full garbage bag from the can, and just as she tossed it into the hallway, she heard the men's bathroom door swing open. She smiled smugly when she heard the loud crash, the sound of sloshing water, and the string of "mother effers" that followed.
"Estelle, you're a no good bitch!" the guy, whoever he was, shouted. "That man of yours needs to give you an attitude adjustment!"
Estelle's laughter died in her throat, and she swallowed bitterly. "Y'all have a good night. Drive safe now," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Taylor, the bartender-slash-bouncer, let the pair of lust-birds out the front door and relocked it behind them. He called out, "Stelly, you 'bout done back there?" He had insisted on calling her that unflattering name from the first time they worked together. She didn't like it because it sounded a little too much like "belly," but she tolerated it coming from Taylor.
Taylor Beauregard was a big, beefy man who intimidated everyone but Estelle. In Estelle's eyes, he was nothing but an overgrown, harmless teddy bear. With skin the color of finely polished mahogany, and hands the size of oven mitts, he didn't take shit from anyone. Nobody dared to cross Taylor, and that made her feel as though she had her own personal bodyguard. Estelle wished she had the guts to hire him for whenever Derek flew into one of his alcohol-fueled rages.
"Yep. Grab that garbage there," she pointed to a stack of bags, "while I sweep and mop the men's room real quick."
Taylor slung all five of the bulging bags of trash over one broad shoulder and smiled a gap-toothed grin in her direction. "Front's all locked up. I'll wait for you out by the dumpster, Stelly."
As soon as Estelle finished mopping the men's room, she peeled off the rubber gloves. Her newest tattoo was still fresh enough that it stung a little as she did. The tattoo was a blue sphere, about the size of a quarter on the back of her right hand between her thumb and index finger. People asked why she had gotten a blue ball tattooed on her hand, and a few of them snickered while they speculated the meaning behind it. To Estelle, a Pisces, that "blue ball" was the planet Neptune, her ruling planet.
Estelle ran up front and grabbed her car keys from behind the bar. She switched off all of the lights except for the lone Budweiser sign hanging on the wall next to the coolers, before she darted out the back where Taylor waited to escort her to her car.
She shivered as the cold November wind lifted her long, dark hair into an unruly mess of waves, partially obscuring her face. She gave Taylor a quick hug and pulled her black leather jacket tightly around her, zipping it up to ward off the chill cutting through to her bones.
"Breakfast?" he asked.
Estelle shook her head as she climbed inside her Honda. "Not tonight, Tay. Gotta get home to my man," she told him. She didn't know why, but she was determined for people to believe that everything was
normal
between Derek and her.
He nodded. "'Nother time then."
She chewed on her bottom lip and slammed the car door shut between them. She was going to be about fifteen minutes late getting home and it was making her nervous. She started the car and threw it into gear, kicking up gravel as she fled the parking lot. The old car protested, the transmission growling as she sped through the deserted early morning streets.
Please be asleep. Please be asleep. Please be asleep
, Estelle thought as she turned onto her street.
The bottom of her stomach dropped out as the small house she shared with her boyfriend of three years came into view. Every light in the place was on. The two front windows blazed yellow like a demon's eyes taunting her.
You're late! You're late! For a very important date!
Estelle parked on the street in front of her house and tugged her hair into a knot at the base of her neck. She caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror and wondered when she had started to look so worn out? Countless hours of worry had caused the fine lines around her hollow eyes to multiply. Estelle had always prided herself in looking younger than her thirty years, but she hardly recognized the tired, haggard-looking woman staring back at her.
She sucked in a deep breath and held it as she climbed from the small car. Music blared from the speakers inside their house. Tonight, like so many other nights before, there would be no sneaking inside. No, "Hey baby, how was your night?" Loud music meant that Derek was drunk. And a drunken Derek was a ticking time bomb teetering on the edge of sanity.
He would either pounce on her the moment she walked through the front door, or he'd slink around like a lion stalking its prey.
What heinous crime or misdeed had she committed in a past life to earn her such a pathetic existence this time around
?
How many more beatings would she have to endure before he pushed things too far?
Like a junkie unable to walk away from the needle he knows will kill him in the end, Estelle needed to find the willpower to leave Derek, and soon. Because if she didn't, she was sure she'd be leaving in a coroner's bag rather than walking out on her own two feet.
Estelle had been hooked on Derek Baldwin from the first moment she laid eyes on him three summers ago. From the beginning, the sex between them had been hot and wild. Though his moods were volatile, he could still work his fingers and tongue to make her writhe in passion like no one before him ever had. It still made her ache deep down inside her core whenever she thought of him fucking her in every position imaginable -- even after he slapped her around a few times.
God! What the hell is wrong with you?!
she wondered as she walked on shaky legs toward the front door and whatever fate awaited her on the other side.
Estelle swore her heart stopped beating when she saw the menacing look he gave her when she came through the kitchen door. His eyes were black with rage. He glared and cracked his neck from side to side before he let out a guttural roar and lunged for her.
There was no primal dance, no circling in before the kill. He dove straight for her throat and shoved her against the refrigerator. He fisted his hands in her thick, beautiful hair and forcefully tore a large chunk of it from the scalp. Unshed, involuntary tears burned Estelle's eyes, and she squeezed them shut.
Derek hissed, "Does that black sonofabitch fuck you better than I do? Is that it?" He bent down and kissed her so violently, her mouth began to bleed, and she whimpered in pain. He drew back and slapped her hard enough to make her head ricochet off the fridge. "Answer me, Estelle! Is that why you're late? You were fucking him?"
Estelle shook her head swiftly from side to side. "No, baby, there's nobody but you. You know that," she whispered. Derek laughed maniacally and rubbed his growing erection against her thigh. She swallowed down the bile rising in her throat and forced herself to look him in the eye. "You're the only man for me."
Derek sneered in her face. "Don't you ever fucking forget that either, you worthless cunt."
"Never, baby," she placated him, sickened by her weakness.
He clamped one hand around her throat, and she struggled against him. Just when she felt her consciousness slipping away, he loosened his grip. She gulped in deep breaths, coughing and sputtering. "Dammit, Estelle. Why you gotta make me so crazy? Don't you know how much I love you? The thought of you bending over for someone else makes me wanna fucking lose my mind."
He turned away from her and raked his hands through his coal black hair. Estelle inched slowly away from the refrigerator in an attempt to get out of the kitchen. When he got like this, the kitchen, with an assortment of weapons within reach, was the most dangerous room in the house.
Sensing her movement, he spun around and stalked after her, his reflexes were dulled from drinking, and he was unsteady on his feet. She managed to evade him long enough to get out of the kitchen. Just as she made it to the dining room, she felt him grab the back of her shirt; he yanked so hard, she heard the material rip at the seams.
He turned her around to face him, and she closed her eyes just before his fist connected with her cheekbone. She fell to the floor, where he proceeded to kick her, repeatedly, in the ribs. He threaded his hands through her hair and growled, "Get up, you lousy bitch. Let me show you how a real man teaches his woman to be respectful."
Every part of Estelle's body screamed in agony as she pushed herself slowly to her feet. With his hand still entangled in her hair, he dragged her over to the table. "Put your hands on the table and brace yourself," he ordered.
She stiffened when she heard him undo his belt buckle, then the zipper of his pants. He pressed his hand against her back, forcing her against the cold surface of the dining room table. He yanked her jeans down and tore away her panties. His hand slid roughly between her legs. "You bitch. You're soaking wet!" he hissed. "I don't fucking care. I'll take sloppy seconds."
Without warning, he thrust into her. Estelle shoved her hand into her mouth and bit down to keep from crying out. She stayed motionless as he moved in and out of her. She was humiliated, and angry with herself for allowing this to happen, yet again. He slapped her hard across the ass and grunted. "Tell me what you want, Estelle."
"I want you to fuck me, Derek," she whispered.
"Louder!" he demanded, smacking her again. "Tell me how you want it!"
In spite of how degraded she felt, she found herself edging toward an orgasm. "Fuck. Me. Hard. Oh God. I'm coming."
And she did, followed by his explosive orgasm seconds later. He groaned and collapsed against her briefly before quickly pulling out of her. He spat on her back. "Go clean yourself up, you filthy whore. You disgust me."
She hobbled from the room and locked herself behind the bathroom door. As big, hot tears slid freely down her face, she crumpled to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. "No more," she whispered between clenched teeth. "This ends. Right here. Right now."
