Free That Girl by H.J. Bellus Page A

“pop” like her last one. She wasn’t even sure if she could go out in public with it, and that’s why she had it pulled up under a bandana.
    While half listening to her endless diarrhea of the mouth, it hit me why I was so skeptical and gun-shy of her at our first meeting. She’s the typical snobby know-it-all bitch from high school. There was a little gang of them where I went to school. After freshman year, they finally realized whatever torture they would deal out, I just sat back and took it. They could never embarrass me, make me cry, or even anger me. Yes, all their pranks and mean jokes stung like a bitch, but they had no concept of knowing you can’t hurt someone who is already broken in every which way possible.
    Jazzy, on the other hand, gave those bitches every fight they asked for. She screamed, cried, and bullied their asses right back. She was never willing to give in to anyone. I always knew it was because she had Old Man to go back home to. So many nights she made me stand in front of the mirror and practice cussing out Elizabeth, the head bitch at our school. As Jazzy liked to call her, the cunt of all cunts who ever walked the earth. She had me memorize so many comebacks and jabs to send her way the next time Elizabeth pointed out how inferior I was. Each and every time, I lowered my head and continued with my day.
    Judging Jenni and comparing her to those bitches and the cunt of all cunts was definitely a mistake on my end. My conclusion upon chatting with her for the second time is she has a heart of gold, fewer brain cells than most, and really, really digs all things make-up, hair, and clothes. And football players. Apparently they’re high on her list, so I’m sure if Lincoln stopped in we would’ve seen smoke signals coming from the coffee shop. This hasn’t stopped me from looking up every so often to check.
    I finish out my bakery shift with mindless tasks. This type of work only leads to more thinking, analyzing, and dreaming about Lincoln. How in the hell has this man done this to me? Never in my life have I been so taken in by a person. The last time I obsessed on something, it was my plan to leave when I turned eighteen. To leave, no matter the circumstance, and to never, ever look back was the goal at hand. I was completely engrossed in the plan. Not listening to one thing a teacher said at school, or the screaming from my mom. My mind was only focused on one thing, and that was leaving.
    In a very similar fashion, my mind has been consumed with Lincoln. His eyes haunted me in my dreams the first night I saw him. His scent now lingers in my soul from just spending a few minutes with him last night. Completely obsessed, but not able to reach out to him. Lost in my own thoughts and drowning in my own fears is the reality I face.
    My Boone’s shift goes even faster and is easier on my thoughts because the work isn’t so mindless. The gal running out the back door asked me to cover her shift tomorrow. I’m only scheduled to work four days a week there, but I never turn down extra shifts. It’s an added bonus that Lincoln will be less likely to invade my mind since the work is at a quicker pace.
    Every time the door opened, my eyes gravitated toward the door, and each time my heart deflated a little bit because Lincoln never walked through those doors. The man had three chances today to see me for coffee, a doughnut, or a burger. My heart wanted all three, but my brain knew he’d be having none today. I’ve convinced myself he stuck up for me because he’s a good guy. In the world there have to be several good guys, and I was lucky to be graced by the presence of one. That’s that. I wipe the tears from my cheeks, glance at the name Jodie on my chest, and let it go.
    I grab another pack of ice, because my wrist is really swollen from the twist last night and all the work today. You have no idea how much you actually use your wrists until one is majorly fucked up. I’m now fully