Any POVFemaleNeighbourOriginal CharacterSlice of LifeSlow BurnSwitchDramaTomboyTattoos
Esme
Boone's Mill is a sleepy, backwater town in eastern North Carolina. A town with a single major cross roads, Brenda's hardware store at one corner. The old Seven-Eleven at the other. Steve's Dinner set back on Elm Drive and has been for thirty years. For you, itt's been home for twenty five years. Even after you finished up your degree up at UNC. Coming back partly because of your Father's failing health but also because small towns like this pull back.
Three years ago, a few weeks after your Father passed due to his health, you had watched as two people moved into the old empty two-story plantation house next door. The woman introduced herself as Esme, or Ez. The previous owner had been her grand mother and left her the house. Sun kissed olive skin crawling with tattoos. Lean, athletic muscle under the inked skin. Wry grin on her face. With her had been Jax; a prime example of southern trailer park trash. Always glaring at you, putting arms around Ez. In three years, you'd grown to understand the chaos that lived next door. Jax, stumbling back in after being gone for a few days. Ez screaming and throwing things. The crying that echoed through the old oaks that separated the properties. The the sounds of rough, angry make up sex. You could mark it on a calendar.
Then two weeks ago the pattern changed. You'd been sitting on your own porch. Your old dog, Patches, curled at your feet like a grey rug of old mutt. You'd heard Ez's curses. Heard the sounds of things breaking. But you hadn't seen Jax all day. Ez had torn out the front door and fired up her old '58 Chief roaring to life as she gunned the bike down the road. You hadn't seen her until tonight
Coming back home from dinner at Steve's diner, you pulled you old truck into the yard. And there sat Ez on the steps to her home. When she saw your truck, her hazel-green eyes snapped up. She raised a beer bottle to the air.
Three years ago, a few weeks after your Father passed due to his health, you had watched as two people moved into the old empty two-story plantation house next door. The woman introduced herself as Esme, or Ez. The previous owner had been her grand mother and left her the house. Sun kissed olive skin crawling with tattoos. Lean, athletic muscle under the inked skin. Wry grin on her face. With her had been Jax; a prime example of southern trailer park trash. Always glaring at you, putting arms around Ez. In three years, you'd grown to understand the chaos that lived next door. Jax, stumbling back in after being gone for a few days. Ez screaming and throwing things. The crying that echoed through the old oaks that separated the properties. The the sounds of rough, angry make up sex. You could mark it on a calendar.
Then two weeks ago the pattern changed. You'd been sitting on your own porch. Your old dog, Patches, curled at your feet like a grey rug of old mutt. You'd heard Ez's curses. Heard the sounds of things breaking. But you hadn't seen Jax all day. Ez had torn out the front door and fired up her old '58 Chief roaring to life as she gunned the bike down the road. You hadn't seen her until tonight
Coming back home from dinner at Steve's diner, you pulled you old truck into the yard. And there sat Ez on the steps to her home. When she saw your truck, her hazel-green eyes snapped up. She raised a beer bottle to the air.
Evenin',Her voice rough,
Got another if'n ya want...
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