Eleanor had always been quick to anger. Sometimes she was able to keep it under control, but often that anger would spill over and manifest itself in unpredictable ways. Today was one of those days when she was coming scarily close to losing it. Sitting in the California traffic with a broken AC could have cracked even a soul much more peaceful than Eleanor. She gritted her teeth and tried to desperately feel a breeze by sticking her head out of the window. Torture, this was absolute torture, she thought. The line seemed to be moving at the speed of a tortoise and she felt like screaming. Nothing in here moved any faster than she did, until from the driver's side a man on a motorcycle was making its way ahead of her. And suddenly she could no longer hold in her anger, it spilled, and before she knew it, she was honking her car horn at the man on the motorcycle, and then, flying open the door and getting out of the car to stand on the motorway. The man had come to a halt. He was on a shining Harley Davidson, wearing a black leather jacket with an image of a skull facing a sword printed on the back. His head was uncovered, his long hair on his shoulders. Slowly he turned around to look what all the fuss was about.
"Can't you fucking wait for your turn like everyone else!" Eleanor found herself screaming. There was not an ounce of fear in her, her jaw set and her chin up in a defiant manner. The man slowly removed the Ray Ban sunglasses he had been wearing and unbelievably, cracked a smile.
"You can always hop on, angel," he said and patted the seat on the back of his bike. Oh hell no, she was having none of that.
"Okay, first of all, I am not your angel, second, just wait in line like everyone else!" The heat outside the car was even more unbearable, as the direct sunlight hit her face, the curls framing her face seemed to now be plastered on to her skin and the redness that came with the anger was not a good look on her, but she did not give a shit.
"Now, why would I wait when I can just do whatever the fuck I want, angel?" his voice was hard and raspy. So deep it sent shivers down her spine even in this heat.
Perhaps it was the heat, or perhaps it was the undeniable attractiveness of the man in front of her, but she, for the first time in her life, was lost for words.
"Oh fuck you!" she shouted and pulled open her car door with considerably too much force.
"You offering? Cause you clearly need one," he mused. She flipped him the finger and stepped into the car, slamming the door closed. The man put his sunglasses back on and nodded at her, then speeding away. Fucking asshole, she cursed and felt like slamming her head against the steering wheel. What a fucking morning. As the line finally started moving, she glanced at her watch. She might just make it to her high school graduation after all.
Eleanor did make it, after all. She rushed through the high school hallways and into the bathroom to fix her makeup and do something with her hair, as it still seemed to be stuck to her face. She sighed as she looked at herself in the mirror and finally put on her gown and cap, placing the tassel on its rightful place and made her way outside to the lawn. She was met with a sea of students and parents already seated. Of course she saw no one familiar in the crowd. Six months in this place had not been worth learning anyone's name or face. So she sat quietly on her allocated seat and paid no mind to the two strangers sitting next to her. The ceremony passes in a blur, names were called, names she had never heard before. She was positively surprised she even realized when her own name was called and the diploma handed to her by a white haired man with clammy hands. Once it was all over, everyone around her seemed to be hugging and congratulating each other. All she wanted was to get out of this place.
As she made her way away from the people she had gone to school with for a few months, she stopped in her tracks as she saw one familiar person, waiting for her on the edge of the lawn. She swallowed and stuck her chin up, making her way to him.
"Father, I did not think I'd see you here," Eleanor said simply. Her father scoffed and looked at her disapprovingly.
"Of course I wanted to see my only child graduate. I am proud of you, Eleanor," he said and she hated herself. Hated the fact that those words pulled on her heartstrings, that his approval was still something that she wanted, and needed. The emotions bubbling under the surface would never be revealed to the man in front of her, not if it was up to her. Before she could compose herself, he continued.
"You should run home and make yourself presentable, we have many highly esteemed guests coming to celebrate you. And do something with your hair," he said while making a face of utter disapproval. And so, once again any hopeful feelings that her father might actually be something more than just the donor of half her DNA were trumped. She looked at him squarely in the eye and nodded. She would be there; she would allow herself to be paraded in front of these important people one last time. She would hate every second of it, but come fall, she was out of his house and all this would just be a distant memory.
Her graduation party was everything she expected it to be. Her home was filled with solemn men in suits, their significantly younger wives in their arms when they slipped envelopes to her as discreetly as possible, while at the same time making sure everyone that mattered took note. She circled the room as a good upper class girl would, smiling the fakest smile to the people offering their congratulations. The champagne glass in her hand emptied fast, again and then once more. After an hour of polite mingling, she saw her father head to the door, shaking the hands of a man with long hair and facial hair. He did not fit, even if his suit was finely tailored. Her father occupied with the man, she saw her chance for a break and she slipped to the balcony, feeling the cooling night air brush against her skin. The sun had almost set, just an inkling of light still in the horizon coloring the sky to resemble a painting. Here she could almost forget the party in her honor, which in fact was just an opportunity for her father to talk business. There was no one here she knew, or cared about. She never felt so utterly alone than when she was among those people. Here, alone in the balcony, that feeling faded. Here she could breathe again. When she was alone, she did not have to pretend, she could just be.
The sound of the balcony door sliding open pulled her away from her thoughts, her back stiffening at the thought of inevitable small talk. Slowly she turned to face the person who dared to disturb her.
"Didn't expect to meet me again, angel?" the man rasped, that smirk still plastered on his damn handsome face.
"You!" she snapped. It was indeed the man from this morning, the devilishly handsome asshole on the motorcycle. Only now he was standing on her balcony, wearing a well-tailored suit. All black, down to his shirt and tie. His hair was still open, the stubble still decorating his chin. Looking at him sent shivers down her spine, and oh how she hated her traitorous body for that reaction.
"Me. Truth be told, I did not expect to see you again, either. But I can't say I'm not enjoying this," he mused and moved to lean on the railing, staring into the horizon.
"What the hell are you doing here? And better yet, who the hell are you?" The man turned to face her, and it did not escape her notice how his gaze traveled from her eyes to her toes and back up again.
"Charles Vane," he rasped and extended his hand. For a while she stared at the hand reaching for her, waiting, until she finally took it and shook his hand. His hand was large and calloused, strong and firm, making her feel like a dainty little girl compared to him. She pushed that thought out of her head.
"Eleanor Guthrie," she stated, looking him in the eye. His eye brows raised at her remark and something resembling recognition set into his eyes.
"Then you are just the person I was meant to find," he said and stuck a hand in his breast pocket and handed her an envelope, identical to the ones she had a two dozen in her purse already. In a neat handwriting it said Ms. Eleanor Guthrie on it.
"You work with my father then," she mumbled, still staring at the envelope, trying to piece everything together. Her mind shifted to earlier today, to him on his motorcycle, wearing his leather jacket. It had had a club logo on it, she was sure.
"Something like that," he admitted and she finally managed to look up to him once more. A silence fell between them, but soon enough he broke it. She was expecting him to congratulate her, just like everyone else, that's how it went, a handshake, the envelope and their congratulations on completing this chapter of her life successfully. But he surprised her instead.
"Do you often throw tantrums on the freeway, angel?" he asked, a smirk playing on this lips. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to find her anger again, but failing.
"I am not going to apologize to you, if that's what you're aiming at. And stop calling me angel, asshole." He threw his head back and laughed sweetly.
"I was not aiming for one. It's just not every day a woman screams at me in the middle of traffic out of all places."
"And where do they usually scream at you?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips.
"First they scream in my bed and then they scream because they were asked to leave," he said with a straight face.
"I think people should scream at you more often in traffic, then. Perhaps help to shrink that ego of yours just a bit," she said and crossed her arms on her chest.
"You can yell at me anywhere, angel," he rasped, and with that left her standing alone in the balcony. Eleanor looked at his back disappearing into the crowd inside, feeling like this was not the last time she would come face to face with Charles Vane. And truth be told, she was looking forward to the next time.