"The Night We Met" Lord Huron
I slammed the door, its timeworn wood creaking under the touch, the rusted fittings groaning their ancient song.
Stepping inside, I let out a sigh, heavy with the day's burdens, and collapsed onto the couch. Its familiar embrace offered little solace against the relentless tide of the day's challenges.
The bar where I worked was a storm of lecherous old men and apathetic colleagues, all entangled in a dance of greed and lust. I shut my eyes tight, attempting to banish the sordid scenes playing like a broken film reel in my mind. Clawing, grasping hands, leering faces, and the suffocating stench of desperation and greed lingered in every corner of that wretched place.
Rose, my younger sister, sat at the kitchen table, her favorite well-worn slippers dangling from her feet as she lounged in a chair.
Engrossed in a magazine, she lowered it just enough for her eyes to peek over the top when she heard my heavy sighs.
"How was work?"
"Perfect as usual," I replied, my voice heavy with sarcasm.
Life hadn't been kind to us—we were orphans of circumstance, our mother lost to fate, and our father to his demons of drink and gambling. It often seemed like he'd gambled everything away, even his soul.
Sensing the edge in my tone, Rose glanced at me, her smile soft but concerned.
"Was it that bad?"
I forced a wide, insincere smile. "Yes."
Trying to lighten the atmosphere, I moved towards the kitchen.
"So, what's for dinner? Pasta and cheese, or cheese and rice?"
She chose with a light-hearted tone, "Pasta and cheese."
As I began to boil water for the pasta, I sought to bring some normalcy to our evening.
"How was school?"
"Actually, pretty good," she responded, her face brightening with a genuine smile.
Her smile sparked my curiosity. Brandishing a fork, I asked playfully, "Is there a boy in the picture?"
"Maybe," she blushed, a playful glint in her eyes.
"And what's he like?"
"He's... a bit of a bad boy," she confessed.
I laughed, teasing her further.
"Of course, he is."
Her smile grew wider, a twinkle of secrecy in her eyes.
"He's a good boy who made some bad decisions, that's all."
Raising an eyebrow, I couldn't hide my curiosity.
"When do I meet him?"
"Never," she chuckled, her voice airy and teasing. "You'd scare him off."
"Am I that intimidating?"
"Isn't that why you're still single?" she shot back playfully.
She's not wrong.
"Eat," I urged her.
As I washed the dishes, a sudden, loud knock at the door startled us.
"Are you late on rent again?" she asked.
"No, Rose," I reassured her as I dried my hands.
I took a pan and approached the door; the knocks grew more insistent.
"Who's there?" I called out.
A deep, unfamiliar voice replied, each word laden with a menacing undertone, "We need to talk about your father."
As I opened the door, holding a pan defensively, the sight before me was startling— a muscular man stood, holding our father aloft by his collar.
"Is this your father?" he asked.
I nodded reluctantly, "Yes."
His gaze shifted, piercing. "Are you Rose Bernard?"
Stepping protectively forward, I replied, "No, I am not."
Rose arrived at the door from the kitchen the moment her name was mentioned, "It's me. Is Dad in trouble?"
The man's expression hardened, his voice firm.
"Big time. You need to come with us to meet the boss."
Instinctively, I stepped in front of Rose, shielding her from him.
"She's not going anywhere."
Narrowing his eyes, the man insisted, "The boss's orders are clear. She must come."
My frustration peaked.
"Are you deaf?" I snapped back. "I'm her legal guardian. She's not leaving with you."
He hesitated, starting to speak, "But—"
I interrupted, my tone icy and firm.
"Take my father. He'll be more entertaining for your boss."
As the man pushed my father aside, rushing towards me, I struck him with a pan across his face.
With a swift motion, I closed the door, cutting him off.
Turning back, I saw Rose trying to hide her amusement.
"You see what I mean," she said.
"Don't even joke about it. We don't know the mess Dad's in."
As I returned to tidying up, another knock on the door halted me. Cautiously, I approached, ready for another confrontation.
The man, now sporting an already bruised eye, stood in front of me again, but now he held his distance.
I blurted out, "Do you need ice?"
He looked puzzled.
"Ice?"
I nodded towards his injury; my voice laced with disbelief. "For the bruised eye."
He cracked a slight smile.
"Yeah, that would be nice."
I shot back, half-serious, "Hawsky's across the street sells ice packs for a dollar."
Closing the door once more, I left him standing there, bewildered. Rose's laughter echoed in the room.
"He must be crying now," she joked.
Struggling to keep a straight face, I said, "Enough, Rose. Time for bed," though I couldn't suppress a smile.
The third knock was softer, tinged with hesitance. Driven by curiosity, I cautiously opened the door, revealing another stranger.
Unlike the other man, his presence was commanding yet not overbearing, his gaze piercing.
"Is your name Rose?" he inquired, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.
"Who wants to know?" I asked, my defenses up.
He exhaled, a trace of irritation in his tone.
"One of my men is downstairs, staring at a puddle, looking like he's about to cry."
Behind me, Rose's chuckle betrayed her amusement.
"I knew it," she quipped.
"Look, Mr. Whoever-You-Are, like I told your man before, my sister isn't going anywhere, especially not with people sent by our father."
His response sent a chill through me.
"Your father signed a contract selling your sister to me to cover a sixty-thousand-dollar gambling debt."
"Sixty thousand?" I echoed, a mix of disbelief and dread in my voice.
"Yes," he stated flatly, his face an emotionless mask.
My heart raced with fear and defiance as I confronted this man, claiming ownership over our lives because of a debt we never owed.
"She's only eighteen," I declared, my protective instincts flaring.
Without giving him a chance to respond, I slammed the door shut. Yet, he persisted, knocking again with a calm that contradicted the severity of the situation. Reluctantly, I opened the door, intent on closing it again, but he was quicker.
He extended the contract, a tangible nightmare.
"Here it is," he announced, his voice devoid of emotion.
Without hesitation, I grabbed the paper and tore it apart.
"She's not going anywhere!" I declared.
His reply was chilling. "Then we'll resort to force."
Fear gripped me, but it also sparked a desperate call.
"No," I countered firmly. "Take me in her place."
He seemed taken aback.
"Why would I agree to that?"
Holding his gaze, I spoke with conviction, my sacrifice heavy in my words.
"She is only eighteen, I would do anything to protect her, and I will not allow her to be sold into slavery to someone like you."
A tense silence followed as he weighed my offer. Then, with a nod, he agreed, "Very well."
Rose interjected, her voice quivering with fear.
"You can't do this! He can't just take you!"
Turning to her, my heart heavy, I reassured, "It's the only way, Rose. I'll be okay."
The man scrutinized me, his eyes calculating.
"You realize this means you'll marry me to settle the debt?"
"A marriage proposal?" I retorted, a mix of disgust and disbelief in my voice. "Is this some twisted plan to trap desperate men and their daughters?"
His response was curt, a hint of weariness in his tone.
"No. Your father begged us, his life for Rose's. It was either this or I kidnap her and sell her to be a sex slave for the rest of her life."
"How dare you suggest such a thing?" I demanded, outraged.
"How dare I? Well, I'm not to blame if your father's mind is as feeble as a beanstalk, and his heart as frigid as a glacier."
"Can't I work off the debt? Like a maid or something?" I asked, clinging to a last shred of hope.
"No," he said firmly. "The contract is explicit. You will accept my terms, or Rose becomes involved."
I felt a lump in my throat, resigning myself.
"How long do I have before we leave?"
"You have an hour to say your goodbyes," he replied emotionlessly.
Closing the door, I turned to find Rose, her tears flowing freely.
"You can't do this," she cried, embracing me tightly.
"Rose, call Aunt Ginny. You must stay with her. Okay?" I said, my voice steady despite the chaos inside.
"But her house always smells like cat litter," she complained through her tears.
A faint smile crossed my lips, a small attempt to bring some lightness.
"Wherever I'm going, I need to know you're safe."
She nodded, sniffling. "I'll call her."
"Help me pack," I requested, leading her to the bedroom as she rubbed her eyes.