Beautiful Pain

Chapter 3

Deacon

     As usual, it was difficult to wake up come morning. My body was sore from the bruises, I wince imagining how my soulmate must feel.

     With a glance at my phone to see that it's 8:30, I get up and head to my home gym in the basement. Today is Sawyers day to run the restaurant, so I have all day to stew and plot. I have to think of a way to find them that doesn't cause them pain.

The entire morning is spent running and doing strength training. I don't stop until I can hardly lift my head any more. It's still not enough, I want to keep moving. If I sit still all I'm going to do is get angry again.

I drag my body into my shower and wash the sweat and fatigue away. By the time I'm done I feel halfway decent, but my body is still screaming from the grueling work out I just subjected it to.

When I finally make it to my kitchen, I sigh when I realize that I once again forgot to go grocery shopping. Isn't it ironic that the head chef/owner of one of the most popular restaurants in town has no food in his house? I grab my keys and wallet and head out to walk to the store down the street.

I've been coming to this same family owned store since I bought my house last year, and I still don't know any of their names. There's the grumpy old one, who just grunts and glares at anyone who looks too long in her direction. The tall, lanky cheerful guy who always wanders the aisles and helps the mothers calm their children. Then there's the goth looking one who only mans the cash register. She's pretty cool, although I saw her get pissed at this guy who tried hitting on her once, and I'm surprised he didn't drop dead on the spot. It was terrifying.

The only downside to this place, is the insanely tiny carts. Granted, I'm not a small guy, but I'm also not beastly large. Which is how these tiny carts make me feel. Awkwardly, I make my way through the aisles, grabbing enough to get me through the next few days. I reach for a bag of spinach, when suddenly I feel a sharp pain in my face followed quickly by a pain in the back of my head.

I stumble away from my cart and hit the floor as I feel a pressure around my throat combined with a full body slam in my head and back. It's never felt like this before, it's so strong and filled with rage, this time I can feel their fear. It's all consuming and it paralyzes me. People crowd around me with expressions of concern and shock, but no one seems to know what to do. Suddenly, the pounding stops, but before I can get up there's one last slam and the mark of a cut appears on my forehead.

I take a gulp of air and push myself up to my elbows. My head is pounding and spinning, but I force myself to stand upright and lean on the ridiculously tiny cart for support. The crowd starts to disperse, some of them send me sympathetic looks as they walk away.

"That's an unfortunate circumstance you've got there, boy" A husky, tired voice appears at my elbow as I blankly stare at the spinach. I turn to see the grumpy old woman standing next to me, straightening the produce I'm staring at. "Sad, you don't look too surprised. I assume this has happened before?"

I clear my throat and avoid her piercing gaze, "For close to ten years. Almost every day for ten years." I throw the spinach in my cart and grip the handle so hard my knuckles crack.

"I am sorry about that. It's not an easy thing to handle." She gazes at me with sympathy and understanding. "When I was your age, we had just gone to war. It was very controversial of course, every one was concerned about what would happen to the mates of our soldiers. But we went to war anyway, funny, I don't even remember what it was about." The woman's eyes glaze over as she stares off, becoming engrossed in her memories. My husband survived for a year before he died in a car bombing. That was the longest year of my life."

I wrap an arm around her petite body, and she leans into me. For a long while we just stand there, comforting each other in silence. She pulls away and gives me a motherly smile, the first one I've ever seen her give in all the time I've come here.

"If you ever need to talk about it, my name is Madeline. I'm here everyday."

"I'm Deacon. And thank you." I reply softly. She nods and turns away to straighten the rest of the produce.

With all of my groceries in the cart, I head up to the checkout. But first I run through the personal care aisle, and throw a fresh pack of razors in my cart.