Happy Lowman Imagines

Stood Up

NOTE: mentions of abuse.

You sat in your favourite booth at your favourite diner, your fingers tapping against the table.
One hour, twenty two minutes and counting. That's how long you had been sitting here, staring at the menu over and over again, waiting for your boyfriend to turn up. Your ex-boyfriend, you reminded yourself.
Brandon had never been good at showing up on time, but you thought maybe this time, he might just pull through. He was the one that wanted to meet, after all.
You sighed loudly and tossed the menu back on the table, next to your empty coffee cup.
You had been with him for four years now. You didn't love him, not anymore. You had though, you had loved him with every inch of your being, he had been your world.
He had treated you like a queen, showering you in gifts and affection.
You were so in love with him. It was the kind of love people wrote books about, made movies about, wrote songs about. You both fell hard and fast, falling deeper in love everyday. People on the street would watch you with envy, your love glowing around the both of you as you laughed and gazed at each other. You couldn't have dreamed of a better man, counting everyday as a blessing.
But all of that changed when he lost his job. He started drinking more, criticising every thing you did- from the way you talked to the way you cooked, cleaned, slept. He told you not to see your friends, your family. At first, you had agreed, being so in love with him had clouded your judgement and you had cut your family and friends out of your life.
He told you what you could, and couldn't wear. He even told you what you could eat.
Thinking back, It made you sick, how naive you had been with him, letting him take over every aspect of your life.
It was when he started selling Crystal on street corners that he became abusive.
He had come home one night, and found you in bed. You were sound asleep and had woken suddenly, as pain shooting across your jaw.
You'd looked up, wide eyed as blood left your lip, and had looked up at the man you loved, hovering over you with a scowl.
"Make sure you turn the tv off before you go to bed, you lazy bitch." He had growled at you before he left the room, slamming the door.
But you were too young and too dumb. Too in love to know that you didn't deserve this. You deserved more.
Things had only gotten worse from there, him beating you often, for no real reason, and you had let him.
Of course, you'd been mad at him.
But he had a power over you, and he knew it. He knew all he had to do was apologise, tell you he loved you, and he'd never do it again.
And you'd forgive him, kiss him, and make love to him.
It had been going on for two years, but these last few months you had began to fight back. You were wiser now, you didn't love him, you didn't need to live like this. You couldn't live like this.
He had hit you again, three days ago.
You had waited til he fell asleep before you crept out of the house into the night.
He had called you constantly, you had told him it was done, but he didn't believe you.
He had pleaded with you, begged you to take him back. You had refused.
He hadn't listened so you had agreed to meet him at the diner on Main St, 5pm.
A public place.
You had gone to your lawyer that day, and filed for a restraining order, effective from tonight onwards. You had the paperwork sitting next to you, to prove that you meant it this time.
But he hadn't showed and you were sick of waiting.
You checked your watch one more time before you cleared your throat, grabbed your bag and began to slide out of your booth.
Before you could stand, a man wearing leather slid into the seat opposite you.
You sat back, and looked at him, puzzled.
He stared at you with dark eyes, rolling a toothpick between his lips. He was gorgeous, mysterious and covered in tattoos.
His body almost radiated danger, yet you were intrigued.
He wore a white Tshirt and a leather kutte.
He was a Son, you realised as you stared at the handsome stranger.
"Don't go back to him." He said, his voice raspy.
Damn, he sure was sexy for an outlaw.
"Excuse me?" You asked, taken aback.
Who the hell was this guy?
He stared at you, studying your face and you blushed slightly, realising he was staring at the bruises around your eyes and your swollen and bruised lips.
"Don't go back to him." He repeated, never looking away from your face.
"Look, I dunno what your talking about" you said, leaning back into the booth and crossing your arms over your chest.
He leant his elbows on the table and leaned closer to you.
You felt his hot breath on your lip and you could smell him, a mixture of leather, ciggarettes and whiskey.
"Did you fall down the stairs?" He asked, his voice low. "Or did you walk into a door?"
You stared at him, your breathing becoming more rapid as sweat began to form on your brow.
"Who are you?" You asked, embarrassed by how small you sounded.
"Happy. Happy Lowman." He leant back in his seat. "I've been watching you."
You raised an eyebrow at him, your arms still crossed.
"You've been here for almost two hours. Waiting for the guy that did this to you."
You nodded slowly, looking down as you played with your hands in your lap.
"Look at me, girl"
You didn't, as your eyes began to burn, your vision growing blurry as tears began to fall.
"Look at me." He repeated calmly.
You hesitated before meeting his gaze.
Neither of you spoke as you stared at each other.
You saw his jaw twitch as he looked at your beaten face. You suddenly regretted your choice to not wear make up tonight- you had wanted Brandon to see you like this.
"What's your name girl?"
"(Y/n)"
He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours.
Normally eye contact made you uncomfortable, especially with strangers. But there was something about this guy. You didn't know what it was, but you wanted to find out.
"This the first time?" He asked you, you were surprised by the coldness that was in his voice now.
You scoffed before shaking your head, dropping your gaze.
"How long?"
You sighed. You had never told anyone about the abuse, always covering it with makeup. So why did you feel comfortable telling someone you had just met?
"Two years." You played with the salt shaker in the table as you spoke.
You heard the toothpick in his mouth snap as he clenched his jaw tight.
"You can't go back to him. He will kill you." He told you.
"You think I'm afraid to die?" You laughed bitterly. "Honey I'm not afraid to die. I'm afraid to live another day in this life"
He suddenly grabbed your hands and you gasped at the touch of his big strong hands against your small delicate fingers. You liked the way your warm hands felt against the cold metal rings he wore.
"Don't ever speak that way again."
You looked up at him, puzzled.
"Why do you care?" He began to speak but you held your hand up, shushing him. "No I don't mean to be dramatic. But why do you care? You don't know me. You could have left this diner hours ago. But you stayed, watching me. You came and sat here with me. Why?"
He shrugged
"because your beautiful."
You blushed slightly under his gaze.
"Your beautiful. And you don't deserve to live like this." He told you.
You didn't answer, just grabbed his hands, squeezing them tightly as you felt a tear roll down your cheek.
"You can stay with me. Or not. Either way, I won't let him hurt you again."
"Thankyou Happy," you smiled gently at him.
You stared at each other, both of you feeling something stirring inside yourselves as you held hands across the table. You don't know how long you sat like that, hypnotised by each other.
Neither of you noticed the bell on the door chime as it opened, the cold air swirling into the diner. Neither of you noticed the man that marched towards your table angrily, a scowl on his face. Neither of you noticed as he stopped next to your table, shaking with rage.
You only noticed him when you heard the voice that sent shivers up your spine.
"What the fuck is going on?!"