“No weapons or physical violence are necessary; a glance is enough.”
Jennifer's Notebook

Jennifer

I close the door behind me.
Let out a long, tired sigh.
What a fucking long day...

I massage my temples, trying to ease the headache, but it doesn’t work.

I head to the closet, needing to change. Take off the cape coat and hang it carefully.
Then the dress. The soft, thin fabric brushes against my skin as I pull it off.
I hang it by the door… It was the first time I wore it. Should I take it to the dry cleaner? I shake the thought… I’ll think about it later.

Grab a pair of pajama shorts, a blouse, and underwear, and step out of the closet.
Head to the bar and pick up a bottle of wine. I couldn’t properly enjoy the one Sal served at dinner. It was a good one, what a waste.

I place the clothes on the counter of the bathroom, the bottle on the small table next to the bathtub, where my usual wine glass is already waiting.
Then I turn on the hot water.

While the tub fills, I light a few lavender-scented candles.

I tie my hair into a high, messy bun. I love how long it is, but making a bun is always a chore. That’s why I usually wear it loose.

I connect the speaker to my phone, avoiding any other notifications on it. I take my time scrolling for the right song.

“Like a Stone,” Audioslave.
Sounds right.

I turn off the water and step into the too-hot bath. I welcome the pinching burn of the almost-boiling water. Close my eyes and try to distract myself with the song.

But my mind… is still tangled in the mess of the day.
Fuck.

Why did I let them stay? Why does he look at me like that… And why the fuck did I overshare?

I pour myself a full glass of wine.
The dinner… and that fucking proposal. Ridiculous.

I like Gino. Really. He’s a good friend. And I like who he is when he’s not just the family name he has to carry. But knowing him better just reaffirmed that we’re not meant for each other.

He simply takes what I give. Never asks for more… No one does.

I let out a frustrated sigh. I turn up the volume. It doesn’t help.

Enzo entered my room… No. I let him.
And he didn’t frown like my brothers. Didn’t pinch his nose and give me that look of disgust like my mother. Didn’t flood me with questions like Inés and Sarah.

He just took in all the details he could. His stare roamed the space with curiosity and almost awe. Enzo’s movements were careful. As if one wrong step might make me disappear.

Somehow, his presence feels...
I don’t even know how it feels, really.

But I can’t help but answer his questions.
Can’t help but watch and enjoy the way his expressions shift so easily.

The playlist keeps going. I don’t notice when the next song starts, until the first riff hits.
The electric guitar.
Raw.
Heavy.
Familiar.
Too familiar.

“Whiskey in the Jar.” Metallica.

I blink.
A smile finds me as the memory of those countless days with Gus in the workshop floods in.

I’m eighteen again.
Exhausted.
Sleeping in my car across the street from a garage that smelled like old oil and burnt metal.

Ten years ago.

I park in the same free spot a few blocks from the dance academy where I’ll work cleaning floors between the morning classes.
My feet drag across the pavement as I step out of the car to get something to eat at the 24-hour store.
It’s the only thing open nearby at 2 a.m.

Walking back to the car, I feel like a ghost. Too tired to even chew the cereal bars I just bought. I was so hungry a few hours ago, now tiredness seemed to swallow any other feeling.

Yesterday was my one rare night off and I had no one to spend it with.
My brothers were at a sleepover, Inés out of town...
So I drowned in a shitty empty bar on the outskirts of the city.

Woke up with a splitting headache and spent today doing extra hours behind another bar.

I’m still wearing the apron from work. I reach for the front door of my old Honda CR-V.

“I can join you, pretty?” a man’s voice says behind me.

I sigh and press my forehead against the cool glass of the window.
This can’t be happening.

“What’s wrong?” the man slurs, dragging the words.
I parked far from the bars to avoid this kind of shit.
Fuck.

“I’m not interested,” I say, not even turning to look at him, just opening the door, hoping he’ll take the hint.
But the door slams shut again before I can get in.

I stare at the big hand pressed firmly against the metal, stopping me.
I try to open it again, but it won’t budge.

“Hey! Answer me,” he breathes behind me.
His voice is rough, unsteady.
The stink of beer and something sour hits me like a wave.

My chest tightens, my head hurts, and I feel the pressure behind my eyes from the tears threatening to fall. I wish I could just let them run free. I’m so fucking tired... I take a deep breath, lock it all in, and turn to face him. 

But before I can speak, before I can even see his face—
He’s gone.
Ripped away.

“Walk away, or I’ll make sure you regret it,” a rough deep voice warns.

The man just mumbles a curse and stumbles off on unsteady feet.

The big man turns. Probably late forties or early fifties, it’s hard to tell with that deep beard hiding half his face.

“Are you okay?”

No. I’m not.
But I don’t say that.
I just nod.

“Thank you,” I manage to say.

“I’m Gus. I own the workshop.”
He nods toward the closed garage across the street. A sign with faded red letters that reads “Gus’s Garage: Tuning & Restoration.”

“I live there too. If you ever need help... I’m always around.”

I try to find something off. Some hidden condition in the way he offers help.
If there is something in the way he looks at me… but there’s nothing.

He just blinks at me, genuine, and that’s the part I can’t process.
I don’t trust my own mind in the state I’m in.

I nod again.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I say, hurrying into my car and locking the doors.

I press my forehead against the wheel.
Breathe once... twice...
Calm. Control.

I pull the parasol over the windshield, close the little curtains I installed on the side windows.
The car’s tinted, but it gives me a sense of privacy.

I take off the apron and climb into the back seat.
Kick off my work shoes.
Change out of my clothes and into warm sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt.

It’s summer, and I must have something wrong with me because I get cold easily no matter the weather.

I crawl into the sleeping bag, layer on a few extra blankets, and settle against the pillow.
I barely sleep that night. As always.

The next morning, just before I leave for the academy, a soft knock on the window startles me.
It’s the man from last night. Holding two coffees.

I crack the window open and stare at him inquisitively.
He doesn’t say anything.
Just offers me the cardboard cup through the half-open window and leaves.

And it continues like that for days. Each night I park in the same spot, and even when it’s late, he appears moments later.
Sometimes with something warm to eat, or something to drink.

At first, we don’t talk. After a few nights, I start asking questions and he answers.
He asks some things back, but never too personal, never too close. Never presses.

A few weeks later, he offered me a job and a room inside the workshop.
The pay was more than I made juggling my three jobs together.

“No pressure, kid, but I could use a hand over here.”
That’s all he says that night. There’s never a price hidden beneath the kindness he offered.

And he gave me something else without knowing, too.
A place where my brothers could visit. They always wanted to see the apartment I said I was renting.
Now, I didn’t have to lie to them anymore.

So after a few days I accepted his offer.
I still remember the way they looked that first time they walked into the garage.
Wide-eyed, amazed.

In the eyes of two thirteen-year-old boys it was so cool to see their sister living in a workshop, with a badass-looking boss.

They started spending weekends there with me and Gus, who lived up to his image: big, rough, bearded, tattooed. Heavy metal always blasting from the speakers, always having a car project.

I even asked my mother to come, to see where and with who I was living. Nico and Sam wanted to show her too… but she never came. I told myself that seeing their smiles was enough, for her, and for me.

Gus was kind with us. Patient. He even taught me self-defense and how to use different guns… He owned too many, and gifted me most of the ones I have.
I didn’t let him teach my brothers that.

But he taught them his craft, and they loved it. Sam with the same passion as Gus to create and modify, and Nico with the speed and adrenaline.

Maybe that’s when it started. This need to give others what Gus gave me… a chance.

Gus never asked why I was sleeping in a car and I never asked about his clearly shady past either.

The water’s gone lukewarm. A shiver runs through me.
The song has changed twice now.

I blink slowly, the scent of lavender still thick in the air.
I run a hand over my face.

Ten years.
And I still don’t know what Gus saw in me that night.
But I’m grateful he did.

I stare absently at the wall.
Maybe I let them stay because of what I didn’t see in them.

Not just pity for some men who don’t have a home anymore, because I’m sure, if they want, they can go anywhere else...

But his eyes... they didn’t have that look.
That one with that vicious glint, cruel and greedy, that makes you feel like a piece of meat while they calculate how much they can tear from you.
The kind that makes me want to scrub my skin off.

Neither of them did.

I shift slightly in the tub, the warm porcelain against my back.
The candles flicker.
I turn on the warm water, just enough to stay a little longer.

I reach for the wine glass on the small table and take a sip. The woodsy scent with the fruity notes fills my lungs.

Enzo looked at my room like it meant something. Like he was trying to understand me. He listened and asked and pushed, but not too much.

Like he really wants to understand me…

I chuckle at the ridiculous thought. We just met. I must be overthinking.