A Hope and a Chance(23)
Author: Jennifer Foor

The woman was about forty. Years of alcohol had caused wear and tear on her body, and I was certain at one point she was probably a great time. “Just passing through, yeah.”

“That’s too bad. I could have used the company tonight.”

I gave a quick laugh. “I’m giving up on women.”

“Well that would be a damn shame. You’re quite the looker. Someone must have really done you wrong.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” I said as I took another sip of beer.

She grasped my arm. “If you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”

I let her keep her hand there. I wasn’t into her, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She was obviously just trying to be nice. “Thanks for the offer. I just don’t feel like talking. I came here to forget, ya know?”

“Honey, we’re all here to forget something,” she admitted.

“Well cheers to that.” I said as I held my bottle up and clanked it against hers.

I ended up buying the woman a drink before I decided to hit the road. I had already pissed off enough people in my life. I didn’t need to make any more enemies.

When I finally arrived back home it was after two. The lights in the main house were all out. I was quiet as I made my way to the pool house. Once inside, I stripped down to my boxers and got in bed. As much as I tried not to think about it, Hope flooded my mind. When I succumbed to sleep I dreamed of her all night long, again.

13

I didn’t hear my father and Buffy leave, but after I looked at the clock, I knew they had. I stayed in bed as long as I could until I heard noises coming from downstairs. I managed to get myself up and dressed before deciding to take a trip to the hardware store, alone.

My father had left me his credit card, as well as fifty bucks in case I wanted to have friends over and order pizza. He knew I wasn’t into having parties, so there was never a question of trust there, even though he’d teased me about it.

During that long bath I’d finally relaxed; and when I started to drift off while still in the tub, I climbed out and went straight to bed. I worried that I would be restless after my confrontation with Chance, but I slept through the night without waking up.

Once I was dressed and pulled my hair up in a ponytail I headed downstairs to grab some fruit to eat before I headed out. I found Chance in the kitchen reading the newspaper while eating an apple. At first, I ignored him, while I looked in the fridge for something to take with me. When I realized he was eating the last apple I was frustrated.

“Thanks for eating my breakfast.” I announced.

He looked down at the half eaten apple and tossed it across the counter. “Help yourself, princess. I lost my appetite.” His eyes were filled with hostility as he turned and marched outside.

I stood there shocked. Did he really throw an apple at me? Furthermore, did he just call me princess?

The blood was boiling in my body. I rushed out behind him leaving the door wide open. “What did you call me?”

“You heard me.”

“Say it again, Chance. I dare you!”

He turned around and laughed at me. “You dare me? What are you going to tell your daddy? I’m so scared.” He threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t have time for this shit today.”

“Wait! How dare you talk to me like that.”

He walked up to me, his eyes never leaving mine. When he seized my arm I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go. “Talk to you like that? What about you, talking to me like that. It goes both ways, Hope. Maybe you should practice what you preach.”

Tears filled my eyes when I remembered what I had said to him only hours before. “Chance, wait!” He kept walking away from me. “Chance!”

After I waited at least two minutes and he didn’t come back, I headed into the house and located my keys. I cried all the way to the hardware store. It took me about three seconds to pick a color for my room, and I didn’t even care if I hated it. I waited as the guy mixed it for me and then paid for it. I then took my time getting home, stopping by a drive-thru to grab a milkshake to try and settle my nerves.

I wasn’t in a rush to go home, or to paint. My best friend was away with some strange new boyfriend, and I was stuck home alone with the douche-bag, who hated my guts.

Perfect.

When I pulled up at the house I noticed Chance on a ladder. He had removed his shirt and sweat glistened all over his back. Even as mad as I was at him I couldn’t help but stare at his perfectly sculpted ass. Every muscle in his shoulders was well-defined. I tilted my glasses down to get a better look, but as I did he turned to look my way.

I clutched my purse and the paint stuff, pretending like it never happened.

When I reached the front door he’d already gotten back to hammering away at something. I headed into my room and started covering everything with plastic. Once I got the paint out and began working on the corners, I lost track of time. I had my IPod hooked up to speakers and sang along to the music as I focused on my task.

A few hours had passed and I was already done with all of the cutting in. The edges and the corners were all painted with two coats. I’d chosen a grayish-blue color and it went perfectly with my black and white comforter set. I didn’t want my father to have to buy me a new one when mine was in fine shape.

I poured more paint into the pan and started rolling the walls. A song that I loved came on and I began singing it, belting out the lyrics. I was facing the window when I heard someone laughing. I jumped so high before I turned around and saw Chance leaning against my doorway. He had his arms folded against his chest and a smile on his face. I ran toward the IPod and turned off the music.

“You should think about trying out for American Idol,” he cackled.

“What are you doing in here, Chance?”

“Well, I came inside to make a sandwich, but when I heard you singing I had to check it out. I didn’t know it was actual singing. It kind of sounded like you were in excruciating pain. God knows I was after hearing it.”

I picked up a paint brush and threw it straight at his face. Before he could duck, blue paint slapped against his cheek. He took his hand and ran it across the wet paint on his face. “You little bitch. Did you just throw a paintbrush at my face?” He ambled toward me, and had me cornered. I couldn’t run. I was pressed up against the wall.

“Chance, I’m sorry. Really, I am. I swear, I didn’t mean to-.” To be honest I wasn’t sure if he was going to hurt me, or torture me. Neither sounded pleasing.