NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for persons under the age of eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. It contains descriptive scenes of a sexual nature and violent attack. By reading this eBook, you assert that you comply with your local or state laws. This book is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons whether living, deceased, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
The Evil That Men Do
My name is Susan Fraser; not that who I am means anything to you. I live a quiet life with my best friend, Nicole. Nicole is everything I am not. She is one of those people who go through life with seemingly no effort. Being outgoing, popular, attractive, confident and well rounded comes naturally to her. She oozes self-confidence, and has a charismatic air about her that draws people to her. A room will feel more alive as soon as she enters it. She is my best friend, my soul mate, and the person I aspire to be.
So what am I like? Imagine the absolute, complete opposite to Nicole and you will find me. I am the introverted, shy, plain, and unsure girl who scurries through life hiding in the shadows. The one who lives life from one embarrassment to the next, face blushing fiercely, mumbling in a soft voice that no one hears, and making the quickest exit I possibly can to escape any social situation. I am a wallflower, one of the invisible people who drift through life, trying desperately to blend in with the background. I am anything but well rounded.
The fact that Nicole and I are friends is nothing short of a miracle, and I have no delusions that I had anything to do with it. It was one of those moments when life or God perhaps, decides it is a good day to mess with things; throwing two sides of a coin and two complete opposite ends of the spectrum together just to see what transpires. I am well aware that if it were not for Nicole, I would be friendless. She is very protective of me, as if I am her little pet project that she must keep safe at all times. I must admit I like my role of 'she who must be protected' a little too much and have become more than comfortable with Nicole being the leader of our two member pack.
I work in the office at a local doctor's clinic, and while it may not be the best job in the world, I have managed to keep it for several years now. What I lack in social skills, I seem to have made up with in abundance in organizational skills, which suits this job perfectly. My brain just thrives on lists of appointments, times, dates, patient names, phone numbers and matching lab results and prescriptions to said patients. I would much rather deal with all those lists, keying them into the computer, avoiding actually interacting with said patients any day. The doctor makes me nervous when he is around me; for that matter, everyone makes me nervous. He might have a nice bedside manner with his patients, but he is arrogant and lords it over his staff. I try not to flinch under his gaze too much though.
I have the luxury of being in the back of the reception area, almost in the bathroom really, which suits me fine. There is no such solitude upon me now, however. The one afternoon of the week I hate intensely is Friday afternoon, when the front receptionists apparently have important work to do in the examination rooms leaving me sitting at the front desk. I paste on my friendly smile, greeting all the hassled mothers with runny-nosed kids, elderly men and women who cannot hear a word I am saying, and young men who act as if they are not sick, but they are here anyway.
Every so often, I steal glances back at my perfectly tidy desk in the back, longing to run and hide there. The clock does its slow steady march from one minute to the next and time passes at a snail's pace, inching closer to 5pm. Normally that would mean freedom, but not today. Today is my birthday and the women I work with are dragging me to the local bar. I am not comfortable with this at all, but there is no way out of it.
The patients come and go with monotonous regularity. One snotty nosed kid after another needing some antibiotics. One overprotective mother followed by another who looks as if they would rather be anywhere but here. They sound the same; they look the same. They are the same and only their names differ.
I drag in the smell of the office, clean, sterile and with that odor of things just cleaned with alcohol and bleach. The smell fills my nostrils letting me know that all is clean, which is just as well, as I hear one little girl sneeze and spread her nasty germs around the waiting room. I glance up in time to see a small boy using his sleeve to wipe his nose, and so the disgusting ordeal continues.
One woman catches my eye, the only one that looks any different from the others because she is dressed like a slut. Her torn shirt barely contains her fat breasts while her cut-off jeans show a roll of skin bulging over the waistband. She works her gum furiously, snapping and popping it in her mouth, like a mini cannon going off in the waiting room. The boy with her asks for some gum and I watch in horror as the mother pulls it from her mouth and the boy eagerly scarf's it up. My stomach turns.
The woman shifts in her seat, frowning as she looks around at the room full of women. Her son smacks the gum even more violently than his mother did. I feel a bit queasy when the boy sneezes and snot flies.
"Shit, Jimmy, use your fucking hanky," his mom scolds.
"Mrs. Johnson you and Jimmy can come back now." One of the nurses finally takes them from my sight.
At last, the clock inches around to 5pm and quitting time. I am happy it is over, but now I have to go out with the office girls. This day has been hard and I just want to get home and relax a bit and get the kinks out, but I cannot yet. The bar is only two blocks from the doctor's clinic, and the five of us walk there together. Actually, the four of them walk together and I lag behind them.
The mixed smells, sounds, and sights assault my senses as we enter the darkened bar. Women doused in strong perfume and dressed in provocative clothing. Men with their strong aftershave, dressed in clothing from business to casual. Bombarded with the sound of talking, the silly exchange of pick-up lines and the forced laughter of women, it is all I can do not to turn and flee. I dutifully follow my coworkers to the bar. The bar is packed and still more are arriving.
"What will you have?" a voice in my ear asks me. I look up at the waitress taking drink orders. She is attractive but all I see is how outrageously tight her outfit is on her. The uniform strains to hold her breasts in while the shorts fit so tightly they show every bump and cleave.
"I guess a screwdriver, what do you think?" I ask the woman.
"If you want a screwdriver, sweetie, then you should have a screwdriver." The din in the bar requires us to raise our voices and I feel flustered already.
"Okay, a screwdriver then, thanks." She writes my order on a pad and turns away. She makes me think of Nicole who is very sexy, but unlike the waitress does not dress like that in public to turn men on. The woman returns and puts my screwdriver in front of me, then heads off to the next drink order.
I suddenly notice that Mrs. Johnson, the slutty, half-dressed woman from the clinic is here. She kisses and fondles a man old enough to be her father, sticking her tongue in his ear. I remember the exchange of gum between her and her son and again feel queasy. She reaches between his legs and leans in to him. Whispering in his ear, the man smiles and they break apart and move toward the door. As they pass me, I overhear her.
"Forty-five for a blow job baby and seventy-five for a blow and fuck."
"Sounds good to me, honey," he says eagerly, looking like a puppy running after a child.
A wave of nausea sweeps over me again, remembering her son showering snot over the waiting room. I try to steady myself and take a sip of the drink in front of me. I have no idea where my co-workers are now. I really could leave and I doubt they would even notice.
Having made up my mind to leave in five minutes if I do not see one of my co-workers again, I suddenly feel eyes on me. I look up to see a guy with the most piercing blue eyes staring at me. I quickly drop my gaze, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. Even in this low light, I know the blush on my face must be noticeable. Surely, he is not looking at me. I casually look around as if looking for someone, and sure enough, he is still staring. Damn, I do not want this. I just want to get out of here and get home where it is quiet and safe.
I feel his gaze burn a hole in me, and hope fervently that he is looking at someone behind me and not me at all. That delusion disappears as he begins to move toward me. Oh my God, he is walking toward me.
"Hey baby doll, how you doing?" he asks as he walks up to me, smiling.
"I'm okay, thanks," I reply, unsure what to say, wanting him to go away.
"Oh, I'm great sweetheart, but it's lonely over there all by lonesome. I think I'll sit with you," he grins, those mesmerizing blue eyes dancing as he grins. I notice a slight Texan drawl in his speech.
.... There is more of this story ...