Lasting Damage
Lasting Damage
Isabelle Aren
Lasting Damage
Published by Isabelle Aren
Copyright 2014
This work has been previously published as a short story written by Isabelle Aren under a pen name. It has been lengthened from its original word count and the plot had been changed considerably.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author and her work.
This if a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental
This book contains adult content, sexual situations and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.
All sexual participants in this work are 18 years of age or older.
Cover Design: Slippery Elm Designs
Feel free to email me-
isabellearen@gmail.com
Dedications
My Friday Night Girls-Shawna and Beth.
You kept me sane and you kept me moving forward and this book would not exist without you
And to A.
You told me it was okay to create an unlikable heroine, you said if I loved her other people would also love her. Let’s hope you’re right, but if you aren’t I still love you.
To my sisters, Rachel and Tracey…always
Second Round of Dedications:
AKA
-The Track List-
“Dancing Anymore,” Is Tropical
“Dripping,” Blonde Redhead
“23,” Blonde Redhead
“Dissolved Girl,” Massive Attack
“Sycamore Feeling,” Trentemoller
“Fade into You,” Mazzy Star
“Three Seed,” Silversun Pickups
“Wishes,” Beach House
“Ambrosia,” A Reminiscent Drive
“Missing,” Everything But The Girl
“Roads,” Portishead
“Blue Jeans,” Lana Del Ray
“Born to Die,” Lana Del Ray
“Heavy In Your Arms,” Florence and the Machine
“Skinny Love,” Birdy
“The Blower’s Daughter,” Damien Rice
“Nicest Thing,” Kate Nash
“Sweet Jane,” Cowboy Junkies
“Criminal,” Fiona Apple
“Shadowboxer,” Fiona Apple
“Worry About You,” Ivy
“First Day of Spring,” Noah and the Whale
“Watching You Without Me,” Kate Bush
“Far Far,” Yael Naim
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Prologue
A long time ago in a high school far, far away...
Jane Hollis was seventeen when she woke up one wintery morning in February and realized she was in love with her chemistry partner, the beautiful and tightly wound, Robin Geary. As her realization evolved she understood that being in love was a good thing. It meant that she possessed the ability to rise above her craptastick parenting and care about another human being in a deep, meaningful way.
So, as she lay on her bed examining the intricate pattern of her tiled ceiling she knew being in love with Robin Geary was not the problem.
No, the problem a girl called Sara Jacobs.
Sara, the new girl in town, was small boned and fragile. She carried the ‘Collected Works of Sylvia Plath’ everywhere she went. She was constantly seen scribbling in thick notebooks with vintage fountain pens she’d bought on her summer trip to Europe and Paris appeared to be the center of her personal universe.
Jane didn’t bother to point out that an obsession with Sylvia Plath and Paris was a bad cliché because Sarah appeared to be a special snowflake. Since Jane had never met a special snowflake that didn’t love playing the part of the victim she decided it was better to ignore, and avoid Sarah Jacobs until she crawled back under her rock.
That particular tactic, ignore and avoid, didn’t work out the way she planned. It seemed Robin and Sara made every effort to accidently run into one another and then, out of the blue, Robin’s schedule changed and her grades in French dropped. Robin now needed a new chemistry partner and a French tutor and Sarah was ready to jump in and help in any way she could.
Jane held out hope that she wasn’t being replaced by the girl with the big brown eyes and Louise Brooks haircut but the day she walked into the library and caught Robin and Sara swapping spit in the American Literature section she knew her time was up.
Jane rolled over in bed and closed her eyes. She’d told everyone in the house she was going to take a mental health day, so she was free to linger under the covers for as long as she wanted. She already knew there was an envelope full of cash waiting for her kitchen island. Her father always used money as an incentive to rejoin the human race and she never failed to take the bait. She just needed a few more hours of lying around feeling sorry for her broken heart as she was still struggling with the idea that it hurt to lose something you didn’t even know you wanted.
1.
Jane stood on her side of the bar watching four giggling blonds squeeze into a corner booth when she realized she’d never be able to tell them apart. Maybe it was her, she thought, or maybe it was because they looked like they went to the same hair stylist, shopped at the same stores and frequented the same spray tanning salon. Jane knew it was a combination of everything. She was having difficulty distinguishing between humans because so many people were desperate to look like everyone else and because she didn’t actually like most people.
Jane ran a clean rag over the bar and counted to ten. As much as she wanted to stand behind the bar and contemplate the sad commentary on society, she was already bored with the topic and ready to move in. She took a look around the empty club and knew the turnout for tonight’s hand wasn’t going to be good. They’d be lucky to see thirty people before last call and her boss would be looking for someone to blame after the receipts were tallied.
It was getting time to jump ship. The clientele had changed, hipsters with money and a love for live music moved on as soon as the twenty-somethings showed up looking for over-compressed remixes and jello shots served by glittery girls in halter tops. The club still managed to do a decent business on the weekends, when they got a bigger name act in from New York or Boston, but there were too many nights like this.
“Earth to Jane.”
She shifted her gaze from the empty club to the girl standing on the other side of the bar.
“Hey, Chloe,” she said before returning to her compulsive wipe down.
“You mixing drinks tonight or taking the varnish off that thing?” Chloe Anderson, her best friend and roommate, and the world’s worst waitress, placed her serving tray in front of Jane and leaned against the bar.
She thought about saying something snarky but stopped. She, and the highly medicated Lily Hastings, had to live with the Chloe, and it wasn’t going to help either one of them if she was in a bad mood.
“Hello?” Chloe laughed. “May I have your attention, please?”
“Sorry,” Jane mumbled, “I think I forgot to eat lunch.”
“Sure.” Chloe eyed her carefully before tucking a stray lock of cherry red hair behind one ear and shaking her head. “You do know that being full of shit turns your eyes brown?”
Jane tried her best not to crack a smile but it was difficult. Chloe knew what to say and how to say it and Jane was a goner. “Do you have a drinks order or did you just come over here to bother me?”
“Well,” she began. “You did look a little bored.”
“That’s because I am bored.”
“We’re all bored around here.” Chloe nodded. “But, I need a round of Patron margaritas for the creampuffs in the corner.”
“You show them the drink menu? Right? I don't want you get into fisticuffs when you bring them the bill.” She grabbed four fresh glasses from the rack and start setting up the round.
“Of course,” She sighed with a roll of her eyes. “I pointed out the price list and one of them started waving a credit card around like it was the only one left in existence.”
“Let’s hope it’s not maxed out.” Jane grumbled as she salted the glasses.
“They don’t look the type.”
“How’s that?” asked Jane.
“Because it's Wednesday and we've got some crap, no name band playing, and those girlies traveled all the way from Taunton to hear them play.”
“Four groupies?” Jane cocks an eyebrow at the empty stage before measuring out the tequila. “That’s impressive.”
“Four groupies isn’t impressive.” Chloe turned to look at the giggling blondes and made a sad little noise. “And let’s be honest those aren’t groupies. Those are wives and girlfriends.”
“True.” Jane decided it was useless to fight with the obvious and made herself busy measuring out Cointreau and Patron in equal amounts. “If we're really lucky a whole tour bus will park outside with a bunch of horny, thirsty girls.”
“Yep, and I bet they’ll all be straight,” Chloe groaned.
“And order appletinis.” Jane gave each glass a healthy slice of lime before placing each one onto Chloe’s tray. “It’ll be a sad parade of Sex on the Beach, Fuzzy Nipples and Long Island Iced Teas.”
“You’re making me depressed.” Chloe set her elbow on the bar and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “Set me up one of those.”
“Kinda early for you isn't it?” Jane smiled as she made room for Charlie, the underpaid and often mistreated bar-back.
“But I’m so thirsty.” Chloe whined, her eyes going all sad and pleading.
“You know the rules.” Jane crossed her arms over her chest and stood firm. “No drinking till we turn on the lights and send the yucky people home.”
“God,” Chloe huffed as she jumped off her stool.
“Be good and I'll use the top shelf stuff when Jimmy’s not paying attention.” Jane assured her
“When is Jimmy ever paying attention?” Chloe asked with a laugh.
“When it’s time to tally up and count his cash.”Jane grimaced as the stage door entrance swung open and a group of haggard looking men came stumbling in. “Oh look, the band finally decided to show up. Just in time to skip sound check and start playing.”
“Let’s just hope they've got enough brains to stay sober till their sets are finished.” Chloe picked up the tray and took a step away from the bar.
“By the looks of them it'd doubtful if they have a fully functioning brain between them,” Jane muttered. “But we can always hope.”
“Hope doesn’t pay the rent,” Chloe laughed. “And it doesn’t clean vomit off the drum kit.”
“Good thing Charlie gets paid to do it.”
“True.” Chloe shrugged and nodded toward the front of the club where a fifth customer stood. “Oh, look. Wednesday night and we've got another live body.”
Jane tossed the dirty rag under the bar and grabbed a clean one. She was tempted to chuck it at Chloe’s head but with her luck she’d miss and spill the drinks. “Can you please go and serve those before you dump the tray and I have to make them all over again?”
“Fine.” She gave her head a little flip, sending her thick red ponytail into the air as she turned. “But you better find a way to make us some money tonight because it’s your turn to buy dinner.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” Jane shot back before turning her attention to the other end of the bar where her new customer was waiting.
*****
Harper Merrick sat at the end of the bar trying to look like she wasn’t staring at the beautiful girl tending bar, but it was difficult. She had a weakness for leggy brunettes with pouty lips and big green eyes.
“So what are you drinking tonight?” The lovely bartender eyed her carefully, but didn’t move one step closer
It took Harper a second to come up with an answer. She wasn’t sure if the other woman was waiting for an invisible signal or code word to but sure as hell seemed like it. “Bourbon, on the rocks.”
“Do you have a preference?” She took a few steps closer before stopping.
“Not really?”
“Do you have a budget?” The bartender smiled and a matching set of dimples appeared on both sides of her face.
“No,” Harper replied.
“You sure about that?” She touched the toe of her black Doc Martins on the edge of the stepstool in front of her and cocked an eyebrow. “We've got some pricey stock.”
“How about I let you call it?” Harper reached into the front pocket of her jeans, produced a crisp hundred-dollar bill and placed it on the bar.
The smile on the bartender’s face turned into a wide grin and the dimples grew deeper. “A.H. Hirsch Reserve?” she queried before stepping up on the stool.
“Sounds like a plan,” Harper said only to realize why the bartender asked for a price point before risking the climb. It was all about the length of her miniature kilt in comparison to how far she was going to have to reach for the bottle of booze. More than likely, she wanted to get confirmation before she put on a free show for the customers.
“So, what do you hear about the band tonight?” Harper struggled to look away. She knew it was wrong to know the color of another person’s underpants before learning their first name, but her eyes didn’t want to cooperate with her moral compass.
“Those guys? I have no idea who they are.” The bartender hesitated before extending her reach and exposed the lush curve where her ass met her thigh. “I can't even remember their name.”
Harper felt her face flush as she watched the bartender rise to the tips of her toes, this time the skirt moved high enough to reveal most of her purple polka-dotted backside. “That's not a good sign,” she said, averting her eyes before the girl started stepping down. The last thing she wanted to do was look like a pervert.
Which, she figured she was, because she’d ogled a strangers butt in public.
“They were preceded but four groupies of rather questionable quality.” She picked up a shot glass from the stack behind the bar and shrugged. “Never a good sign.”
“Four is better than none,” Harper responded.
“Four?” She sidled up to the bar in long, easy strides. “Come on. My cousin Hamish plays the banjo in a folkpunk band and he's beating the lovelies off with a stick.”
“So, you can tell the quality of a band just by its groupies?” Harper asked while the bartender set the shot glass in front of her and filled it to the brim with amber colored liquid. “Isn't this a little small for the drink I ordered?”
“This is a free preview.” She laughed. “I thought you might want to taste what you're paying for before I fuck it up with ice.”
“What's wrong with ice?” Harper made a concerted effort to push the memory of those pale thighs as far into the back of her head as it could so she could meet those green eyes with a clear conscience.
“Waters down the taste.” She shook her head and sighed. “You really want to spend that kind of money on something and not really taste it?”
“I guess not.” H
arper answered.
“Go on.” The bartended nodded. “Give it a go.”
Harper picked up the shotglass, let out a breath before tipping her head to do the shot. To her surprise, the bartender placed a fast hand on her wrist stopping her from taking the shot.
“Hold on there, Cowgirl,” she laughed. “Just because I’m serving it a small glass doesn't mean you gulp it down.”
“This is what you do with a shot.”
“I told you, this isn’t a shot.” She announced. “And even if it was this is not like your average alcohol. It isn't Stoli or Jäger. This is a work of fucking art. It has aged and mellowed into a rich, warm, honey flavored piece of American awesomeness. It's like a beautiful Kentucky woman. Long dark hair, bright blue eyes, a nice southern drawl. The kind of woman who will kiss you till you’re blind and shoot you when you run. You would not rush a woman like that. You'd take your time. You'd go slow and enjoy every second.”
Harper sat back. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears and her skin felt like she’d just been rolled onto hot sand. “I can't tell if you're being serious or not?” She looked down at her wrist. The bartender’s hand resting on her skin and it took every ounce of brainpower she had to move her eyes away from those long, slim fingers.
“Neither can I.” she answered, moving her hand away. “I just sort of opened my mouth and all that crap just sorta came out.”
“Do you do that a lot?”
“All the damn time.” She set her elbows on the bar and leaned forward a little. “Now, take a nice slow sip and tell me what you think.”
Harper eyed the small glass for a moment and tried to remember that thing about a woman with long dark hair and bright eyes and how you were supposed to move slow, so as to enjoy every second. Harper took a sip, the taste was smooth on the tongue with a nice hot burn down the throat.
“Did you know that September is National Bourbon Heritage Month?” The bartender asked with a sweet laugh. “I figured you might want to know.”
Harper took another sip and let out a deep breath before setting the glass down on the bar. She figured it was time she asked the question bothering her for the last few minutes. “Do you really have a cousin named Hamish that plays the banjo?”