Unlocking Adeline (Skeleton Key) (2 page)

Ever since I graduated high school,
three years ago
, I have been busting my ass to save money. My parents, bless their poor hearts, couldn’t afford to send me to college so I got a job instead. Okay, let me rephrase that, I got
one
semester into college before my tuition was declined, and they told me I had to stop attending school and
start
showing up for a day job. Hey, that’s life right? I mean, it’s not like I was all that upset or anything.
Liar, liar, pants, shirt, and the entire house on fire.
Okay, so maybe I was
crazy
angry, but I understood. My mom had been really sick and she’d had to quit her job, and my dad was working day and night to support my little brother and me.

The biggest thing that sucked was watching all my semi-kinda-sorta friends move away from Merryville, a small town just outside of Seattle, Washington, to their lavish universities, while I stayed behind and got a job at the local movie theatre, gas station, and diner. You now, the exact same places I terrorized when I was a teenager. Now
I’m
the grouchy employee shooing away the pain in the ass kids with spray paints, and underage smokers off the property. I know, poor me, right?

Nah, my life lost its luster well before I was eighteen anyway. Not that it really ever had any. You learn to grow up fast when tragedy hits home. Five years ago, when my mom got sick and had to stay home, Dad and I started splitting the chores around the house to have less work on my mom’s plate. At age sixteen, I slowly transitioned out of the free spirited kid and more into the stand in parent.

My mom had been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma cancer. Most days I didn’t think about it, mainly because no one talked about it. Dad couldn’t seem to bring it up and Mom didn’t want to see anyone upset, so she pretended she had a cold. The longest running cold I’d ever seen.

As I leave work, I think about what I’m going to say to my parents. I haven’t shared with them that I plan on leaving. But it’s time. I need to get out, experience life on my own. I need to spread my wings or however that lame pun goes. I worry that my mom won’t be able to take care of my brother on her own. I worry Dad will guilt trip me into staying. Even though, by some miracle last year, my mom turned her cancer into remission; Dad will still beg me to stay, and in the end I will.

I’m just praying he doesn’t.

I want to be a normal kid. Well, I’m not technically a kid anymore. Today is my twenty first birthday. I know, happy birthday to me, right? But it doesn’t feel that happy. I hoped an old friend would remember and ask me to go out. Possibly my family would take me out to dinner. Or work would at least give me a day old cupcake and sing to me. But nothing. I simply finished my shift and left. I promised my dad I would come home right after work, but as I walk out of the diner; I just can’t. I want to be wild for once. Go out. Drink. Kiss a random guy. Sex!
Okay, slow down
. Probably no sex. But kissing. Kissing sounds good.

I know Dad was really adamant about me coming straight home, but he’s going to have to wait. My freshly twenty-one-year-old self is going to a bar to celebrate.

Stepping inside Sullivan’s, the crowded dive bar down the street from the diner, I pull the hair tie out of my ponytail, so my brown mop falls to my shoulders, hoping to look like I belong here. My elbow knocks into a guy’s chest as he walks in, and I turn to apologize. “No worries, princess,” the man says, while he continues to walk through the crowd of bodies. I shrug it off, trying to keep my cool. I’ve never been one for drinking so this whole scene is new to me. I’ve heard about this place from customers who come eat at the diner, especially from an old classmate, Becky Horner. She likes to brag about how all the guys fawn over her, like she’s some royal princess or something. I guess she comes here all the time and gets ‘lucky,’ as she says. Not sure I would consider ending up Becky Horner lucky.

I scan the packed place and thankfully spot an empty seat at the bar. “Excuse me, sorry, excuse me, sorry,” I mutter to people, as I push and bump my way through.
I can’t believe I snatched such a prime spot,
I smile as
I settle in, making eye contact with the bartender who nods that he will be right with me. Okay, so I’m at a bar.
Go me.
Next, is to order an alcoholic drink. After that, talk to a guy. My nerves are a mess. I look down and remember I’m in my black hoodie, dirty work jeans, and my Converse. Ugh,
super attractive, Addie.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should have just listened to my dad and gone straight home. His warnings lately have been in the back of my mind. Normally, I tell myself he is delusional and that I’m a grown up. He’s always so worried that someone is going to snatch me up and kidnap me. I mean come on! I am twenty-one years old and still have a parent who doesn’t want me out once the sun goes down. I know he’s going to be calling me soon. He hates when I work double shifts, because that means I get off after dark. He always insisted on picking me up right outside the diner, but for starters that was just straight up embarrassing, but also, because he couldn’t leave my little brother and mom. A tinge of guilt hits me, thinking about how I lied. But Mom is getting better every day, and that changes things for us. If she’s better, that means I can leave.

I scan the bar once more, getting a feel for the people inside. A bunch of college kids, some I recognize. I tried my best to make friends the five minutes I was at the local university. But let’s face it, when you don’t come from much money, it shows on your attire, and people tend to stay clear. Plus, I always had a hard time gravitating toward people. It’s not that I’m not normal or anything. I guess I am just missing that cool factor. So ideally I kept to myself. I mean, I
had
friends. Well, kinda, sorta had friends. Becky Horner pretended to like me, until we hit high school and she stole all of my clothes from my locker room in gym class, forcing me to hide in the bathroom stall until school was over, and I could walk my naked ass to the nasty gym rentals. Making note to continue feeling sorry for myself tomorrow, I continue my view around the bar until I end back where I started, catching a glimpse of the guy sitting next to me. Mmmm, looks hot. And possibly alone.

“Sup,” I start with.
Like an idiot.
I have no game. Hence why I don’t or have never really had a boyfriend. I’m not a virgin or anything. Okay, lie. I am. I tried losing it once, my senior year in the back seat of Jimmy Forester’s Buick, but he was drunk and I panicked. I knew nothing about
having
it, and I put my money on it that Jimmy wasn’t sober enough to even know where to
put
it. I figured I’d get my day in college. Had high hopes, actually. I heard ‘
How to Become a Slut 101
’ was like a given in college. Either way, I got no slut crash course, no college, and no game. Probably why the guy next to me doesn’t even acknowledge me.

Man, I suck
.

Figuratively, not literally
.

Maybe I just need to attempt a different route. If I don’t try and talk to people I’ll never get a date, or learn how to speak to the opposite sex. I mean I know
how
, I do it all the time at work, but that’s just taking orders. Half the time I’m coasting, daydreaming about getting my own place and freedom.

Trying to regroup, I take another stab at it because he looks super attractive from the side, and he could possibly be a good kisser. I would kiss him.
Yeah, Addie, he has to acknowledge your existence first.

“So, you come here often?”
Dude, come on
!
Pull it together.
Not that it matters if I do, since he doesn’t even as much as flinch. Nothing. Nada. Strike two, going on two billion. I’m going to be an old maid for eternity if I keep this up. I take a deep breath, trying to remember any sort of pick up line I’ve seen on TV. They seem to always do it right.

“So maybe you wanna—” He cuts me off when he slowly turns to face me. His hazel eyes blaze fire at me. Jesus, he does
not
look friendly. Super-hot, but not so friendly. Okay, so it’s settled. I picked the wrong seat in the bar.
No wonder why this spot was open
. As I gather my purse off the bar and slide off my stool, he speaks.

“I come here a lot and I come for pussy. Ye willing to offer yers up for me tonight, sweet girl?” He lifts his beer bottle and without taking his eyes off mine, he takes a deep swig. I say nothing as my mouth hangs open in shock. He boldly just used the word p-u-s-s-y, and I definitely wasn’t prepared for that one. I stare at his Adam’s apple as he swallows. Wanting to follow that sip all the way down— “Ye gonna eye fuck me some more, princess, or shall we part from this shit hole and go somewhere? I’ll let ye have yer way with me all night long.”

My mouth still hanging low, I twist to look at whoever is sitting next to me.
Huh.
It’s another dude. I turn back. Okay, so he
is
talking to me. “I’m a… I’m a…” If this was an audition to play the role of a gaping fish, I’d be nailing it. Adding to my uncomfortableness, he leans in, his warm breath hitting my still chilly earlobe. “What shall it be, princess?”

Oh God, his voice. Have I mentioned he has an accent? And it’s like a sundae with both caramel
and
hot fudge, cold lemonade on a hot summers day, salted French fries right off the fryer—
Focus, Addie
. Vibrating sex voice or not, he’s not the guy I want to or should share my birthday kiss with. And
definitely
not one Dad would approve of.

Trying to pull it together, “Um, yeah so, I’m just gonna have me a drink here and be on my way, alright, mate?”
Oh my God, now I’m Australian?!
I will die alone. I shake my head and turn toward the bar, needing a time out from this intense stranger.

“What can I get you doll?” the bartender asks, placing his hands on the bar.

“I’ll just have a beer. Anything on tap.” Beer is the closest form of alcohol my parents keep in the house, so I order what I know.

“Sure thing. Can I see an ID?” Ugh. I hate this part. I should have just ordered water. “Yeah, of course. Duh. Only of age drinkers come to bars,” I give him the universal “Pfft” face and reach for my purse.
You’re twenty-one now, Addie, chillax.
I can totally be in here. I grab for my bag and realize the man hunk next to me has scooted in closer, his nearness causing my skin to shiver.
Shit.
What did I get myself into? I should have just gone home. Signed up for an online dating website. If I wanted to drink so badly, I should have picked up a six-pack on my way home, anything but this intense guy sitting next to me. To be honest, there was something familiar about him that drew me in. Like I knew him, but I would have remembered someone as intense as this guy. It’s probably because he’s your typical hot guy, rough around the edges, with that bad boy persona. The one with the accent that all girls fall for, and then end up hacked to pieces in an alleyway by the end of the night. Thankfully,
that
thought reminds me that something about him does scare me. Like I should be afraid. My dad’s warning once again brews to the tip of my mind. The typical
whatever ye do, don’t talk to stranger’s
speech.

Come on, Addie, you’re not a kid anymore.

I shake it off. I need to stop letting his fantasy world of crazy stop me from living my life.

As the bartender places the beer in front of me, I grab for it, giving any reason not to have to make conversation. Maybe if I just ignore him, he’ll lose interest and leave.

“Why don’t ye hurry up with that drink? I am eager to claim my little prize that so naughtily fell into my lap this evening.”

I choke on the liquid in my mouth.

Whoa! Hello, serious potty mouth.
Too bad survey says, I’m a huge wimp and I’m going to forfeit this round.
Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.
Even if I was dying for an adventure, there is no way I will go through with this. Tomorrow I will try picking up a guy at the movie theatre. Or the library.

I take another sip struggling to get the beer down, but when I finally do, I pivot to face him and jump a tad at how close he is to me.

“Whoa. Um, yeah, so… I’m sorry, but I don’t think…” I begin declining his offer, but my words trail off as our eyes meet. Immediately, he has this hold on me, one that forces us to keep eye contact. He makes me feel as if he’s not just staring at me, but completely
through
me. I try to pull away, but I can’t. My mind won’t let me. The more he holds me visually captive, the more I feel the recognition erupting inside of me.
His eyes.
Why do I know those eyes?

Then, like a raging force, it hits me.

It can’t be
.

Just like my dad’s stories.

The man with a crescent moon embedded into his iris.
But there is no way he’s… he’s…

I fight harder to pull my eyes away from him, but I’m trapped in his visual hold. My body begins to gently tremble and without knowing it, I lift my hand to the man’s cheek.

And I poke him.

There is no way he can be real.