My Secret Life Behind A Bar

Chapter 2- Beautiful And Swoon Worthy

Over a week has passed since the big episode last Saturday at Jake's house.

A couple of days ago, when most of the bruising left on my jaw had disappeared most people stopped talking about how Dylan had unintentionally punched me, letting the next scandal take over the gossip. But, as expected, Caitlyn still hasn't eased up on the constant tormenting she puts me through. These days, sadly, it was even worse then it had been. Over the past week I had accumulated more bruises than I have had in the past year from being shoved against lockers, tripped in classes and hallways, and when she was feeling really malicious, she would send some of the football players after me. It was a miracle Chris hadn't caught word of some of his team mates "picking on me" (to put it lightly) otherwise he would probably do something that would get him thrown off his team as Dylan was thrown off his.

Despite how Caitlyn was treating me, everything else seemed to be back to normal. Teachers stopped giving me curious glances, Chris seized in apologizing fifty times a day, my two best friends, Marie and Catherine, eased up on the non stop questions about what happened, I continued working at Pom's Club and Zach Edwards hadn't so much as glanced at me since talking to me last Monday.

I stared out of my two story window and gazed at the array of different colored Autumn leaves that covered the road. The neighborhood kids were playing in monumental sized leaf piles laughing hysterically as they threw handfuls of leaves at one another. Sometimes I wish that I could go back to when my life was as simple as that, when Chris, Luke and I would play tag while our mom cooked dinner. We would play until dad came home, but as soon as we saw his black Lexus pull onto the street we came running inside for dinner, giving both of our parents hugs before sitting down to eat. But that was a long time ago, I realized, back when Luke wasn't gone for college, Dad hadn't abandoned us for some sleazy waitress, when Chris wasn't always partying, and when mom was happy. I could feel my eyes watering, but I refused to let my tears spill over. Sniffling, I pushed back from my desk and decided it was time to get ready for work.

Walking into my closet, I pulled my uniform out of its usual hiding place, behind my old dresses, and winced as I looked at it. I may enjoy my job, but I hated the uniform, it just wasn't... me. When Carl, my boss, had first handed me the too tight crop top and barely-covers-my-butt black lace skirt I thought he was joking. Obviously, he wasn't.

After putting on my clothes I pulled on the jet black leather boots that reached my knees, and had about a three inch heel. Then, I quickly straightened my hair, because I hated how it was naturally (a wavy mess), and applied some mascara, eye liner, and pale pink lip gloss. Once I did everything to prepare I turned towards my full length mirror my mom had given me last year, and gave myself a quick once over. My long light brown hair, streaked with a few natural blond highlights, looked better now that I had straightened it, my green eyes looked pretty with the help of my eye makeup, my thin stomach showed off with the crop top I was required to wear, and the short skirt and high heels made my legs actually look long. I may hate my uniform, but I actually looked pretty good in it.

Grabbing my black clutch that contained my fake I.D. and money, I carefully and slowly opened my door, wincing at every creak it made. I wasn't sure if Chris was home, and I would be mortified if he saw me leaving in my .... outfit. Trying to be as silent as I could in these heels, I made my way down stairs and sighed in relief when I finally made it to the garage and climbed into the black Volvo Chris and I shared.

As I drove to Pom's Club I wondered how long I could keep up this facade. I was trying to stay strong so Chris wouldn't notice anything, but I honestly I wasn't sure if it was possible with Caitlyn. If Chris saw just one of the bruises he was bound to figure out something was up. He could figure out I was being bullied relentlessly by who he thought were his friends, or worse, he could figure out that mom, wasn't acting like a mom anymore.