Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me, obviously. The title comes from the short story of the same name by Flannery O'Connor. I'm sensing a trend here!
A/N: So, yes, I am one of those poor unfortunates that you are all probably hearing about on the news, stranded in her own home because of the snow. While being snowed in is not entirely a bad thing, it has led to me being inspired to write this story. I am not really sure where it came from but it manifested itself anyway and in my snowed in state, I was too weak to fight it. So, here it is. I know that there is one obvious glaringly inconsistency in this story but hopefully you guys will go with it; also, I thought maybe this story will answer why Lumen asked Dexter if he was going to sell her, because I always wondered that myself. So, here it is, for better or worse, a random short story that I wrote in between chapters of my longer "Dexter" fic. So please, enjoy, read and review (though I guess not in that order) and send waves of heat our way!
"A Good Man Is Hard to Find"
She tries not to notice how attractive the guy is, averting her eyes when he comes through the door and makes his way through the crowd to get to the bar. It's still too soon to be noticing other men, she tells herself; not too long ago she was wearing an engagement ring and a wedding dress and was preparing to promise herself to one man for the rest of her life. Now all that's over; she's traded marital bliss for anonymity in a dirty bar and it's way too early to be noticing other men again. Isn't it? Shouldn't she be in a state of mourning? Can you even mourn for something you killed? She should be moping maybe, staring down into her drink and debating her life choices but instead, she's trying to ignore the well dressed man as he comes up to the bar. Her elbow could brush against him if she moved an inch, but she doesn't think she was that sneaky.
He's wearing a suit and tie, not exactly bar apparel but somehow he doesn't look out of place. His hair is cut short, he looks as well tailored and well manicured as his suit or the lawn she's sure stretches in front of his multi-million dollar house. She knows you shouldn't judge a book by it's cover but she's sure he's wealthy, he seems to exude money and success and in America, that means a multi-million dollar house and a lawn that he doesn't have to take care of. She wonders if it's the idea of money or the obvious good looks of the man that makes her want to study him out of the corner of her eye. She wonders if she's really become that shallow, stooping to the level of the other women from her sorority, who had to know how many zeros were in the bank account before they gave out their name and number.
The bar is crowded but not painfully so, so that people can actually stand around and talk or flirt without having to scream over the jukebox or avoid gyrating strangers. There are crooked tables dotting the floor, though many have been pushed into corners to make a dance floor but there are a few empty stools at the bar (other than the one that she's currently occupying) so when the man gets his drink he sits down on the cracked stool beside her. He sips his drink (not hard liquor, she notices, like the man wants to relax and not forget) and he glances over her. She feels guilty and obvious for staring and looks away, which she figures is even more obvious.
But the man just smiles at her. "What's a nice girl like you don't in a place like this?" He jokes, using the old and painfully cheesy pickup line just to make her smile.
She looks back at him. "I'm not that nice." She says before she even realizes what she's said. She meant she wasn't a nice girl because of the things she had just done days before, leaving her wedding and a string of broken hearts behind her, destroying everything in her path just because she had a whim. But now it sounds like she's coyly throwing herself at him, like she's a sleazy Miami girl with a baby doll face.
The man smirks and she blushes. "You look like a nice girl to me." He assures her and she isn't really sure whether she should believe him or not. "I just meant that you look like you should be in a more upscale place than this." There are peanut shells on the floor and a drunk man slumped in the corner. A couple might be having sex at one of the tables in the back of the room. Not exactly the type of place that she frequented back home.
"Well, I'm new here so I don't really know all the happening spots." She confesses. She'd made the mistake of letting her taxi driver pick the bar and she is starting to think she should have been a little more specific with her request. Then again, she is in Miami, the land of painfully bright colors and stucco.
The man raises an eyebrow. "New huh? Well, if you ever need a tour guide…" He trails off with a grin.
"I'll keep that in mind." She wonders where this new ballsy girl has come from. Where was the shy waif that was afraid to make eyes at the boys in her college classes? Now she's grinning at strange men in strange bars and sipping coyly on a drink she never would have ordered back in college or graduate school. The heat must be causing her to sweat out her old persona.
He smiles at her, seemingly pleased by her reaction. Maybe he likes assertive girls. "I'm James. James Christopher." He holds out his hand for her to shake.
She shakes it and raises an eyebrow. "You have two first names." She points out. Now that they're both turned toward each other and she's getting more of a chance to study his face, the wheels in her head have started turning. "You look really familiar, have we met?"
The man laughs and shakes his head. "Now who's using the cheesy pick up lines?" She doesn't say anything because it was an honest question. "Believe it or not, I've been told that a lot. I think I just have one of those faces."
She looks at him a little closer, sure she knows him from somewhere but it doesn't come to her so she just lets it go. He sips his drink and she does too, just to make it look like her lips are occupied and that's why she's not saying anything, not because she's nervous and unsure because she's been pretty far removed from this whole dating (…mating?) thing for a while.
"So what brings you to Miami?" He questions and she thinks he might have moved a little bit closer to her because their knees are almost touching. That is a good sign, no? A sign of what, she's not sure, considering she came into this bar tonight to have a drink and think about the sorry state of her life and now she's been hit on by some stranger.
She knows she can't tell him the truth because she hates it when strangers get too personal with her and things get awkward when she's just trying to buy groceries. So she just smiles and says, "Change of scenery?" But unfortunately it comes out as a question, like she's wondering if he'll believe her.
He nods. "No better place than Miami to lose yourself." He agrees. He raises his drink. "To a new beginning." She raises hers and the glass clinks together.
He finishes his drink and orders another. Before she realizes what's happening, he's leaned close to her and his hand, heavy and warm, is on her knee. She wonders if she should move away so as not to give him the wrong idea but she's feeling brave so she stays where she's at.
"You're very beautiful, can I tell you that?" He grins at her and instead of wolfish and sleazy his grin looks warm and sincere. Trustworthy. "I'm sorry, I know that's incredibly forward but…I just love your hair." He fingers a strand of blonde hair that has tumbled free from its ponytail.
She flushes, pleased by his words. "I…thank you." She drops her eyes bashfully. Maybe coming to Miami was just what she needed.
He laughs, moving away from her. She misses the heat of his hand. "I'm sorry, I…sometimes I am too forward. But…I'm sure you hear that all the time." She is still looking bashful and that only makes him smile more. "Please tell me I am not the first guy to tell you that you're beautiful."
"No, you're not." She assures him.
He nods, satisfied. "Good, because that would be a tragedy." He's good, she thinks, he's a smooth talker because she can feel herself falling for it hook, line and sinker. But that's okay because there are worse things than having a handsome guy tell you that you're beautiful.
She finishes her drink and he downs half of his in nearly one swallow. He gets to his feet; she feels disappointed, worrying that he might be leaving and she wasn't able to make up her mind about how she wanted to the night to end. But then he takes her hand and pulls her to her feet. "Let's dance."
She laughs and she looks out at the "dance floor." "I'm not really sure this is dancing music." The latest Rihanna song is pulsing from a jukebox.
But he still moves her toward the cleared dance floor and peanut shells crack under her feet. She's posed for that awkward middle-school style dance but he pulls her close, holding her against his chest. He's tall and broad in the shoulders and chest and she kinda likes this.
"You never told me your name." He points out as they sway in an awkward slow dance that has nothing to do with the pulsing hip hop music and is even earning them looks from the drunks in the room. She tells him her name, confused as to why her voice sounds shaky and nervous, like she's never been this close to a man before. "Lumen." He repeats her name back to her and she likes the way it sounds. "That's unique."
She's heard that before. Though, never said quite as nicely. "My dad is…unique."
They dance together in silence and she feels herself grow more and more comfortable in his arms. As the song comes to an end, she has become sure of one thing: she is going to be okay, she is strong enough to start over, she can do this. There is nothing wrong with her, there is nothing stopping her from attracting men that seem to honestly like her, even if they use obvious attempts at flattery. For the first time since she left home, there seems to be a glimmer of light. She can do this.
When the song comes to an end, someone in the corner whistles but they ignore him. He is smiling at her, almost like he's as shy as she feels. Almost like he feels that they might have something here.
"What you like to…God here I go sounding forward again but…would you like to get out here? Get coffee instead or something?"
She smiles and nods. "Sure, yeah. This place is giving me a headache anyway." She waves at the thick cloud of smoke hanging around.
They head toward the door. He has his arm around her waist and she doesn't move away, even though they're walking slightly out of step and awkward. The parking lot is empty aside from a group of men who are all standing around near one of the cars; one is smoking and laughing at something one of the others has said. Her upbringing and all those seminars at school have taught her to be weary of big groups of men like this but she feels more comfortable with James Christopher standing beside her.
He steers her right towards the men. The one smoking flicks away his cigarette and turns in her direction. He takes off his jacket and folds it very neatly over his arm. "And who do we have here?" He is leering at her.
She looks uncertainly up at the man who his arm around her waist. "This is Lumen." He says to the other men and she is starting to realize that something is not quite right. "And she's all yours."
As she realizes that she has made a mistake, he pushes her toward the other men. One of them grabs her arm, pulling her closer. Another takes her face in his hands, studying her closely. She jerks away. "What the fuck-"
The man who folded his jacket strikes out at her, punching her solidly in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. Her eyes go wide; she is stunned by his violence.
"Enjoy her." Says James Christopher as he steps away from the group, who have surrounded her like hungry animals, eager to tear into their prey.
As she sinks to her knees, Lumen looks up at the man who delivered her to these others. She never thought it would be foolish to trust a stranger but she realizes that she was wrong. Because she knows that something very bad is about to happen to her and there are too many hands on her for her to stop it. A hand covers her mouth before she can scream.
Jordan Chase stares at the girl on her knees for one last second before turning and walking away. He doesn't enjoy the fun that the others do, he doesn't enjoy the touching, the hurting, the screaming, the sweating, the animalistic relief, not like the others do. But the look in the faces of the women as they realize that he has betrayed them, that he is not the handsome guy in the bar who is interested in getting to know them, that is what he enjoys. The look of betrayal and fear and confusion and utter helplessness and knowing that he caused it…that is what he lives for.