Thank you for your continued support, for this and my other Samcedes stories.
Standard disclaimer.
Mercedes lived in Ohio for approximately five months, two weeks and six days.
That narrow slice of time, brought so many highs and lows, so many jolts and joys, she couldn't keep track.
She loved the house in Lima with its high ceilings and deep rich colors. With its pretty backyard patio and the little fountain with its own tiny pool.
She'd never lived in a city before, so she spent hours at the window in her room, watching vehicles and cabs of people.
Her room was so beautiful.
The old Cherrywood dresser, an antique, not a hand-me-down, had a big oval mirror, framed in the same wood, with little curlicues. She had a double bed, a luxury that had her rolling around in it, or stretching her arms wide, just because she could. The sheets were so soft and smooth, she'd run her fingers over it and the pillowcases, to lull herself to sleep.
The walls were sunset gold and had pictures grouped together, in their own little garden. She liked her room even more than her mother's, which was fancier with a pale green canopy, draped over a big bed, and a chair with strange, beautiful birds flying in formation.
Carole did great and she was as good as her word. She had come over with them and helped them to settle into their new life. After spending six weeks, Mrs. Jones assured her that, they were fine, and kindly ordered her back to her life with Burt.
During the six weeks that Carole was there, Kurt and the girls came over and spent every weekend with Mercedes. The four grew stronger, even though they were separated.
Starting school had brought nerves and excitement. A new school, a new place, where no one knew her, was both scary and wonderful.
She got to use a new name too. Here, she was Mel J. Her name was a mash-up of her first and middle name, with the J representing her surname. To the others, she was just he new girl. Some made fun of her accent, but none knew her daddy was in prison.
She started seeing a therapist, to help her come to terms with the horror story she was caught up in. She hated going, but the therapist was nice. She always smelled good and treated her kind, but it felt wrong, at least at first, to say things to a stranger about her parents, herself and more than anything, what happened that night in the woods.
Her mother went to another doctor altogether. A lot of times when she should be going, she said she wasn't feeling up to it and retired to her bed, with one of her headaches.
Once a week, she would hire a car, and drive to the prison, on visiting day, mostly when Mercedes was in school. It took nearly eight hours to go and come back, just to spend a small amount of time talking to the monster behind the glass.
And she always came back looking worn and battered, with one of her headaches. Still she wouldn't stop going.
Everything settled into a kind of routine, with school for her, and her mother working part-time as a waitress.
One day, Burt drove up with a tabloid paper in his hand. He looked angry.
Mercedes cringed.
She'd never seen 'uncle' Burt so angry. She didn't know what to do. She stood by the sink making lemonade, the way Carole showed her, while her mother sat staring into space, pretending to help.
Seeing Burt slap the paper down on the counter, her mom jumped up to look at it.
Mercedes peered over at it, as well. She saw that the front of it had a picture of her father, and one of her from picture day, back at her old school.
"How could you? How could you do this to your daughter? To yourself?" Burt snarled. Mrs. Jones clutched at the little gold cross around her neck.
"Don't yell at me. I hardly said anything."
"You said enough. Did you give them this picture of Mercedes? Did you tell them you were living here in Ohio?"
Her shoulders hunched together, the way they used to, when daddy gave her a mean look.
"They paid me five thousand dollars. I've got to earn my own way, don't I?"
She sounded pitiful and un-sure of her words. Burt's features turned stormy.
"And you think this is the way to do it? Selling your daughter's picture to the tabloids?"
"They could have gotten it without me, and you know it. They've been writing about this… nightmare, for weeks now. It never stops."
"That maybe true, but they didn't have her picture. They didn't know you all were living here."
The phone rang right at that moment, breaking some of the tension in the room. Burt held up his hand, halting Mercedes, before she could answer it.
"Don't answer it. Let it go to the machine. I had six calls at the school already and a few at home. It wouldn't take long to dig up an un-listed number." "Mrs. Jones hung her head, accepting that her life had become a never-ending nightmare.
"They're always at the prison… pestering me," she said.
With her shoulders still hunched, Mrs. Jones pressed her lips together, barely holding on to what little sanity she had. There were deep lines around her mouth, Mercedes noted. Lines that weren't there before that hot summer night.
"Marcus said we could make some good money. He can't do it himself. It's the law, but…" Anger resurfaced in Burt. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"You can funnel it to him," he spat. Mrs. Jones flushed deeply. The way she always did, when she was embarrassed or angry.
"I've got a duty to my husband, Burt. They got him locked up, in what they call a special cell. He said he needed money, to pay the lawyer, to work on getting him in the jail's general population."
An incredulous look masked Burt Hummel's face. If he could, in that moment, he would have her committed.
"Christ woman! That's just a load of bullshit. Don't you know bullshit when you hear it?"
"Don't use that language."
"The language bothers you, but this doesn't?" He slapped his hand on the tabloid, emphasizing what he meant, just as the phone began to ring again.
"Did you even read it?"
"No. No I didn't. I don't want to read it. They… kept… pestering me and Marcus said he'd start getting more respect, if he could tell his story. And I could back him up."
Burt bunched the dreaded paper in his hands, as he uttered his next words.
"Nobody respects tabloids. Even he knows…" He paused for a beat and Mercedes looked at him. He looked more sick than angry at the moment.
"Who else pestered you? Who else have you spoken to?"
"I spoke to Simon Vance," she replied.
"The write of true crimes?"
"He's a professional. His publisher is going to pay me twenty-five thousand dollars. It says so. Right in the contract."
"You signed a contract?"
"It's professional," she answered. With glazed eyes and trembling lips, Nancy Jones threw her arms out, as if to ward off an attack.
"And there'll be more when they make the movie deal. He said…"
"Nancy?"
Little Mercedes knew despair now and she could hear it in 'uncle' Burt's voice.
"What have you done?"
"I can't get by waiting tables. And that doctor you made me go to, said I needed to work on my self-confidence. I need to get a place closer to the prison too, so I don't have to hire a car and drive that far. Marcus wants me and Mercy closer."
A mixture of fear and anger flooded Mercedes. Her mom had to be going crazy. It was the only logical explanation, for her behavior.
"I'm not going there," she defiantly said. Nancy Jones spun around at the sound of her daughter's voice.
"Don't sass me."
"I'm not sassing you mom. I'm saying I won't go and if you make me, I'll run off."
"You'll do what your daddy and I tell you to."
The only thing that Mercedes' little mind could come up with, was hysterics. She had heard them often enough in the last four months, to recognize them, spiked into her mom's voice. Mrs. Jones continued.
"We can't stay here."
"Why is that? Why can't you stay here Nancy?" Burt asked.
"I told you. Marcus wants us closer. I need to be…" The tone of Burt's voice stopped her.
"Mercedes honey, go up stairs and play for a bit," he said.
"I still haven't finished the lemonade, 'uncle' Burt."
"That's alright honey. We can finish it...soon. And I bet it's gonna taste great."
Her sweet little face pleaded with Burt, as she began to climb the stairs. Her words almost broke his heart.
"Don't make me go away. Don't let her take me away. Please, I want to stay with you." Burt had to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.
"Don't you worry about that. Go upstairs and make yourself happy."
She chanced a look at her mother, who looked like a deer caught in headlights. Her mom said to her,
"You don't understand…" But Mercedes cut her off saying,
"I understand. I started understanding that night in the woods. It's you who don't understand, mama." At that, she turned away and trudged up the stairs.
M.J couldn't remember the last time she'd danced, but Mary Evans' pleading was so sweet and tiring at the same time, she gave in.
The two danced with each other and separately, the way two friends would. In her mind, M.J believed that dancing would help to burn off some of the heat and tension she was currently feeling, courtesy of Sam Evans.
It felt good to move. To let herself go with the music. To let her hips clock the beat.
She didn't think anything, when someone bumped her hard from behind, it was all part of being in a crowded space. But when it happened again, she couldn't help but to stop and glance around.
She was met with an angry stare, from the sulky blonde she'd met, all of those months ago, and earlier that night.
'What is this child's name again? Minky? Minny? Oh yeah, Mindy, that's it.'
"Am I in your way?" she politely asked.
"You're damn right, you are," the blonde answered and gave M.J a pissy little shove.
"And you'd better get out of it," she finished. Mary stepped in.
"Cut it out Mindy," she warned. "I think you've had too much to drink." The blonde threw an angry stare Mary's way and said,
"I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to the bitch that's in my way."
She turned away from the pissed-off expression on Mary Evans' face and faced M.J again, saying,
"You can't just come around here and try to take what's mine."
"I don't have anything of yours," a defiant M.J responded.
"Sure damned right," Mary piped in, knowing exactly who the blonde was referring to.
Several dancers slowed, stopped or eased back, to stare at them. The attention had something akin to spiders crawling all over M.J's skin. To avoid further attention, she held up her arms and said, "If you want the floor, it's yours."
She started to back off at this point, but the blonde shoved her again.
Someone, a friend of the blonde, stepped in and tried to pull her away, seeing anger mounting on M.J's face. But the skinny blonde slapped her friend's hand away and grabbed M.J's arm.
"You'll be on the floor if you don't stay away from Sam."
The sneer on her face and the gleam in her eyes, told the story of someone having too much alcohol, possibly beer, to drink and too much frustration in her life. M.J held the blonde's eyes, as she yanked her scrawny hand off of hers.
Avoiding attention, side-stepping confrontation, those were hard-learned habits, but defending, or standing up for herself, those were ingrained. In a low deadly tone, she told the blonde,
"You don't want to touch me again." As annoying as ever, the brat asked,
"What are you going to do about it?"
Smirking, and drunk-sure of her ground, Mindy planted a hand on M.J's chest and started to push.
It only took a split second, but M.J reacted. She grabbed Mindy's wrist, twisted and had her squealing, as she dropped to her bony knees in pain.
"Don't touch me again," she repeated, then released her and walked away.
Mary Evans was so proud of M.J.
For good measure, she looked at the pitiful blonde on the ground and said,
"Let me remind you of something Mindy, Sam Evans is Dwight's and my off-spring, after God, he belongs to us, not you."
With that, she ran after M.J, calling out to her. "M.J, M.J! Wait up."
She caught up with her.
"I'm so sorry. She's drunk and stupid."
"It's all right Mary."
She lied. It wasn't. It wasn't alright.
She heard the buzz of the crowd, and felt eyes following her. She saw Dwight making his way through the crowd, coming towards them, with annoyance and concern written all over his face.
"I'm just going to go," she said to Mary. "Why ask for trouble."
"Oh, honey. Let's just go outside and take a walk. You shouldn't…" She politely cut off Mrs. Evans saying,
"I'm fine Mary." She gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and continued.
"She's drunk enough to try something again. I need to get home, anyway. I'll see you later. Tell Dwight I'm fine."
She looked up to see him nearing, a few feet away from them, and sent a friendly wave to him, as she walked off.
She kept her eyes straight ahead.
She dared not look back, for fear of meeting a certain shade of green, that warmed her, from the inside out.
She felt the need to run, but she didn't. By the time she'd reached her car, she felt as if she had run a mile in a sprint.
The shaking wanted to start, so she just braced herself against the door, until she could gather herself to drive. She straightened up and dragged her keys out of her pocket, when she heard someone coming.
It happened fast.
Before she could hit the lock release, Sam's hand closed over hers.
"Wait." His quiet command fazed her.
"I… I need to go."
"You need to wait until you stop shaking, before you run yourself off the road." He released her hand, to put both of his on her shoulders, turning her around.
"Do you want an apology?"
"You didn't do anything."
"No I didn't. Unless, you want to count, that I had sex with Mindy twice… when I was seventeen. That's about ten years ago, so it shouldn't apply here. But I'm sorry she upset you and made a fool of herself."
"She's drunk," she said.
"You know, like brilliance, I've never found that to be a decent excuse for being an asshole." She let out a short laugh at his rant and he relaxed a little.
"Me neither, but the fact remains, she's drunk. And she completely fixated on you Sam."
"I haven't given her a reason to be in ten years." Hints of frustration oozed out, but he kept his demeanor calm and his gaze on hers.
"Plus, for nearly five of those, she's been with, or married to someone I consider a friend. I'm not interested."
"Maybe you should tell her that."
Sam agreed. But he had, more times than he cared to remember. But given the current circumstances, he accepted that he'd have to do it again, or hurt someone he had a fondness for.
"I don't like scenes," she added.
"Well, unfortunately, they happen. I've played at enough bars and weddings… and I've seen every kind of scene there is, so I more or less get used to it. You handled it though, and that's all that matters."
She nodded, turned and hit the lock release.
He turned her around again, pressing her back against the door. Her thoughts screamed at her, 'No fair and not right,' for him to take over this way, seeing as her feelings were so raw, so un-settled.
No soothing and no gentleness, but, as a struck match to dry timber, his mouth took hers and set it all raging.
Sam wanted to make a statement, to reinforce what he'd said to her a while back.
He took her round face in his large hands, not being too gentle there either, as if a volcano was bubbling just under the surface, and kissed her breathless. After a while, he released her lips, and said to her,
"When you walked in, the air changed. I wasn't going to tell you that, because it gives you an advantage… and you're enough of a challenge…"
"I'm not trying to be a challenge," she threw in.
"I believe you. And that is one of the things, that make you one... ' .Mindy. I want you. I want you under me, over me and around me. And you want it too. I'm a good reader and I read that from you… clearly. I'm coming to your place when we wrap up tonight."
"I don't… "
Her words were cut short, by him taking her mouth again. He just took it. And she allowed it. She wanted it. Needed it.
"If there's a light on," he continued, "I'll knock. If there's not, I'll turn around and go home. You've got a couple of hours to figure it out. Text my mom when you get home, she's worried about you. My dad too."
He opened the door for her, helped her in, and kept it open while she yanked at her seatbelt. "Leave the light on M.J," he said.
He closed the door and watched as she drove off into the night.
Sam was a live wire.
He was mad, confused, frustrated, worried and excited.
He knew tonight could have been a game changer, but he had to drive it into M.J's head, that she is the only woman he is interested in.
Mindy went too far tonight.
She could have cost him the woman he loved, but his gentle persuasion helped to pull it all back.
He wasn't one for scenes either, and that is why he made the decision to speak to the blonde, another time and another place. If he had to take it to her husband, well then, he would. There was no way that he was letting Mindy's pettiness ruin what he had with M.J.
He made his way back inside to finish up the set for the night.
As M.J approached her house, she went in and turned off the light she'd left on for herself, very deliberately too.
"Just me, myself and I," she said.
She was determined not to dwell on the disaster of the evening, so she went back to the kitchen to make some tea and take something for the stress headache, banging in her skull.
"Sleep, that's the greatest escape," she muttered.
She took her tea and went out on her deck, watching the moon over the water.
She didn't want or need scenes, neither did she want complications.
This is what she wanted, the peace and quiet of moonlight over the water. It calmed her, and settled the anxiety that had wound up inside of her, caused by the altercation with a drunk, jealous woman.
She took a decision, she'd just have to stay away from the bar, from Sam and everyone else for a while.
Her heart clenched when she thought of being apart from Sam. There was no way she could it.
There was still plenty work left for her to do and she could take a trip to see her 'family.' A smile blossomed on her face when she thought of them. It was high time that she invited them to come and see the place. They could stay for a while, catch up and meet… Sam.
Once again, her thoughts went to him. No matter how much she tried to deny or avoid her feelings for him, they always come back and hit her, full force, leaving her completely overwhelmed.
Her decision to take things slow, came from a place of fear.
Fear of him finding out her background, about that monster and fear of him leaving her.
There was nothing really slow about the pace they were moving at. With the many heated kisses they have shared and are sharing, there's a need for more. She took a sip of her rapidly cooling tea, savoring the taste.
Her lips still felt tingly, from the kiss earlier, and the only thing she could think about is, more.
More kisses, more time with Sam, more of everything with him.
But was she ready for it? She was. With him, she was. She trusted him. It was hard to admit it at first, but in the last few days, she came to that realization.
He was never forceful with her, except for kissing her. But if she asked him to back off, he did. He cared about her feelings, about her happiness and he worried when she wasn't herself.
He admitted his love for her and never expected her to do the same. He allowed her to dictate any and every thing in their slightly complexed relationship. He never pushed her for details on her life before, except what she was willing to share. He was a gentleman, always and he had a good solid background, with a great family. In the grand scheme of life, she could do much worse.
Sam wasn't going anywhere. Her heart told her that. He was in it for the long haul. And she believed that, deep inside of her.
She finished her tea and went inside to check-up on her emails and her accounts.
As she worked, a bout of restlessness attacked her, so she got up and put on the fire, hoping that it would settle her.
She continued working, but the fire did nothing for her. After a few minutes, she abandoned her computer and made her way downstairs, to turn the light on.
"This is a mistake. A terrible, stupid, shortsighted mistake," she grumbled to herself. Internally, she said,
'There's still time to change my mind.'
But she wouldn't. She's not going to change her mind.
She walked into the kitchen again, this time, pouring herself a glass of wine. She gulped it down and went back out in the house, waiting for Sam to knock.
I hope this made sense. Trying to update all of my stories, whilst working, dealing with my young sons and in essence, my day to day life, is not as easy as I thought. But I like the challenge. Much love to you.