Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Hettie often dreams of her family. The smell of stale American Spirits fills her nose, and she hears the old John Wayne movies that Papaw never turned off. Mama pushes the door open, her hands filled with grocery bags that she yells for the kids to take. Hettie’s in her room, smoking out of the open window.

The alarm goes off, and Hettie reluctantly rolls over. She pushes herself up and hits the clock, finally seeing that it’s 4 in the afternoon. Time for breakfast, she thinks as she puts on her robe and walks barefoot to the kitchen. After putting on the coffee, she slides the screen door open and steps onto the porch. The wood is damp under her feet, with raindrops still falling from the trees that surround her trailer. Loretta, her cat, slips out behind her and rubs against Hettie’s legs. She picks the cat up and nuzzles her into herself, keeping each other warm in the cool air. They go back inside and eat their respective breakfasts. Hettie lets Loretta eat on the counter close to her, as they’re often each other's only company. She checks the time, and realizes it's time to start getting ready. Hettie doesn’t have to be there until 7, but she likes to take her time getting ready, and it’s a long drive after all. She likes being far from town, and especially likes being far from the bar. No one can find her up here unless they already know she’s here, or a lost hiker comes wandering onto her property.

Hettie is back in her room, Loretta sleeping on the bed as incense smoke swirls around her. Later, she’ll be complimented on the musk it leaves on her skin–so strong that Hettie doesn’t even wear perfume. She does anyway, because it’s hot and sweaty in the bar and someone’s got to be the best smelling there. She sharpens her black eyeliner pencil, swiping it on and smudging it to bring out her bright blue eyes. On top of that goes lots of glitter eyeshadow, followed by pink blush and glossy lips. She doesn’t always look like this, but she’s found that bikers will drink more the trashier she looks. And that’s exactly what she likes. She chooses one of her usual skin-tight outfits before kissing Loretta goodbye, grabbing her purse–realizing she doesn’t have enough cigarettes to get through the night, and walks out the door.

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Logan is standing outside of his motel room. In front of him, the sign reflects a yellow hue into the puddles, and the mist rises off the mountain across the road. He didn’t know it was supposed to rain all day, it’s not like he actually checks his phone–that would mean seeing the hundreds of missed calls he’s been ignoring. Calls from people who think they know him, but they know a version of Logan that hasn’t been him in a long time. He wants to keep it that way, which is why he’s in a shitty motel in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, Appalachia. He’s never really been to this part of the country, until recently. It’s quiet and old here, and at times he feels as old as the mountains themselves. But he’s restless, nowhere is quiet enough. Every New York plate he sees sends shivers down his spine, as he thinks they’re after him. And maybe they are. He takes a swig from the bottle of whiskey he holds in his hand, almost empty. He shouldn’t be surprised–he knows how much he drinks, but that means taking a trip to town to stock up. He’s not quite ready to check out the local bar, his ribs are still sore from the previous town. He tucks his dog tags into his flannel and grabs his leather jacket. He passed a Dollar General on his way in, and thinks he can find his way back. He starts up his Harley beneath him, and heads out. It’s drizzling now and he isn’t wearing a helmet—a deadly combo for anyone besides him. He wishes that wasn’t the case, that he could die like a normal person.

Within 5 minutes, he’s pulling into the parking lot. It’s small, but he still chooses the spot furthest from the store. The oppressive, fluorescent lighting hits him immediately as he walks through the door and he squints as his eyes adjust. He walks to the back of the store, and is immediately disappointed in the selection. He lets out a sigh, grabbing a cheap six pack before looking for a bottle of whiskey. Fuck it, he thought to himself, and he grabs another bottle. Logan makes his way up front, and grabs a spot at the back of the line. At the front is a young woman, her long hair falling out of her braids and into her face as she rummages through her purse. Her long, silver adorned fingers hand the cashier money as he gives her two packs of American Spirits in return. She shoves them in her purse, and wishes him a good night, addressing him by name. The line moves forward, and Logan watches her through the window. She gets in the truck parked near the door. It’s an old seventh generation F150, clearly lovingly cared for. Logan noticed it on his way in, he used to have one just like it back in the 80s. She looked up as the truck turned on, making eye contact through the window with Logan. He looks away and notices his cheeks getting hot—that doesn’t normally happen.

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Hettie is still thinking about the scruffy biker that she saw earlier. She knows just about everyone here, but the bikers come and go. He hasn’t been in her bar yet, otherwise she’d remember that face. Something about him is different, she thinks to herself.

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Within 6 hours, Logan has finished every bottle of alcohol he bought earlier. It’s only midnight, and he wants more—even if it doesn’t do anything. He tries to recall the Dollar General hours, and if he remembers correctly, they closed 2 hours ago. He can’t take it anymore, and decides to go exploring.

It stopped raining, but the streetlights still sparkle on the wet asphalt. There’s a warm breeze hitting his bare skin, it’s a nice change from the cold up north where he’s from. Within a few minutes he is pulling up to what appears to be the only bar in town. Nearly every spot out front is taken, mostly by motorcycles, so he rides around back. He slows down—the truck from earlier. She’s here. He feels…nervous? He almost turns his bike around, but something tells him to stay. Of course, there’s an open spot right next to her truck, and he takes it. He takes a deep breath before shutting off his bike and walking around front, looking at all the very expensive, outrageous bikes that are sitting there. Already he can tell he doesn’t belong here. Too late to turn back now, he thinks as he walks through the door.

It’s a completely different world inside the bar compared to outside. It smells of leather and cigarettes, filled with neon lights and old bar signs. David Allan Coe blasts through the speakers, only just covering the noise of everyone crammed in the main bar area. Logan does a quick scan, not sure if he’s looking for trouble or if he’s looking for her. She’s behind the bar, pouring a glass of beer. He watches her, the biker she’s serving has a $10 bill in his hand that she takes, folds up, and puts in her bra. Logan can’t see the man’s face, but he definitely knows what he’s thinking. It’s at this moment that she sees him too, and she smirks. Her attention goes back to the biker, who has more cash for her. Logan walks up to the bar, and manages to find a stool a few seats down from the band. He’s far enough to get her attention and keep it, but the man likes to hear himself talk.

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The man Hettie has been thinking about all night is sitting at her bar, but she can’t get away from the biker in front of her. He’s piss drunk, and can smell the alcohol on his breath no matter how far away she stands. Normally this is her ideal customer, especially since he’s already given her half his cash. She puts down the glass of beer in front of him which distracts him long enough for her to slip away.

“Hey stranger, was wondering when you’d stop by,” she says to the man now in front of her.
“You remember me,” he responds, raising an eyebrow.
“Of course I do, and I remember you blushing when I caught you staring at me back at the Dollar General.” She can see his cheeks going red again, and giggles at him.
“What’s your name?”
“Hettie.”
“You from here?”
“Born and raised. I grew up just a few blocks from the bar actually, it used to be my papaw’s before my uncle took over.”

Before the man can say anything else, there’s a loud whistle. “Excuse me,” Hettie says and rolls her eyes. It’s the biker from a few minutes ago, he’s done with his drink and wants more. More beer, more her. “Hey baby,” he says smiling, “why don’t you get me another one.” She spots the money in his hand, and immediately complies. With the drink in one hand, she reaches for the cash. Before she even knows what’s happening, he’s knocked the drink out of her hand and is leaning over the bar grabbing her. She tries to fight back, but his drunken power is too much for her, and she feels his hands move up and down her body. He’s pulled off of her, and as soon as she’s free, she runs outside.

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Logan is standing over the drunken man, who’s passed out on the floor. He had grabbed the man off Hettie, and he swung at Logan, missing completely. Logan delivered a single punch to the side of his head, and he was down. Logan turns around and grabs the man’s belongings that are still on the bar, tossing them on the floor around him. He storms out, looking for Hettie. She’s standing outside smoking a cigarette, and a large bald man has his arm around her. It must be her uncle, Logan thinks, and he walks up to them. The man lets go of Hettie, giving her a pat on the back before going back inside. Neither of them say anything, Hettie doesn’t even make eye contact.

“Are you okay?”
She shrugs, “worse things have happened.”
“Well, I’m sorry anyways.”
“You want to get out of here?” She throws her cigarette down and scrapes it out with her boot.

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Hettie and Logan sit across each other in a booth in the back corner of the nearby Waffle House. They sit in silence, but the restaurant is loud around them even though it’s after midnight. Hettie can sense that the man is annoyed. “It’s always like this,” she says, trying to offer some solace. He grunts in response, still on edge.

“I never got your name.”
“It’s Logan.”
“Well thank you Logan. Where you from?”
“Nowhere in particular.”
“Come on, you must’ve been born somewhere.”
“Canada.”
“Hmm, I don’t strike you as Canadian.”

They’re interrupted by the tiny waitress who comes to take their order. Hettie orders a chocolate chip waffle, plain hash browns, and a chocolate milk—Logan chuckles at how juvenile it is. It’s his turn, and he realizes he didn’t even bother looking at the menu. He quickly scans and lands on a sirloin and egg breakfast with a coffee.

Hettie immediately starts up again, “what brings you to East Tennessee?” Logan shrugs, “it’s a long story.”
“Well I’ve got time.”
Clearly he didn’t, because he didn’t respond. They continued to sit in silence until their food was brought to them.

“Did I make you mad or something?”
Logan looked at Hettie, “no, I just don’t want to fucking talk about it.”
“Well I didn’t say you had to. Excuse me for trying to make conversation.”
“Why don’t you mind your business and I’ll mind mine. God, are you always so nosy?”
“What the fuck is your problem? Earlier today you were kicking your feet and giggling over me, and now you want nothing to do with me. It’s not my fucking fault that you came to my town and my bar. You’re just like every other biker that comes through here. You act like you own the place, and treat us like we ain’t nothing but stupid hillbillies.”

Hettie stood up, pushing the table away as she slid out of the booth. Her hand reached to her bra, and slammed down cash on the table–it was the money from the man in the bar. She stormed through the restaurant and out into the hallway leading to the bathroom. Logan watched her as she disappeared. Logan let out a sigh, this is how things usually went. He finished his coffee and took the money Hettie left on the table, replacing it with his own money, and stood up.

Logan stood outside the door to the women’s bathroom, where he could hear muffled crying. He knows he’s an ass, but he’s usually able to control it–especially around a pretty lady. He knocked on the door, and it unlocked. He stepped in, locking the door again behind him.

“Look I’m real s–” he began to say, before Hettie pushed him against the wall. “You’re an ass just like the rest of them,” she said, inches from Logan’s face. “I know I am,” he responded, keeping eye contact. It was then that she kissed him. She pulled away, smirking as Logan gave her a confused look, and started towards the door. He grabbed her arm, whipping her around to face him again. He kissed her this time, and his hands started exploring her body. He started just on top of her clothes, and kept it modest–touching her back and neck. He couldn’t help it, and he pulled down the front of her shirt and bra, exposing her boobs. It was her turn to feel him up, and she immediately went to undo Logan’s belt and pants. She palmed Logan’s dick, which was becoming increasingly hard beneath her hand. He moved to kissing her neck and bit it, to which Hettie let out a gentle yelp. He stopped and spun her around, positioning her so she was resting on the sink. She watched him in the mirror and he pulled her jeans and panties down, and he spat in his hand and rubbed it on himself. He slipped his cock inside of her with a grunt. One hand went to grab her hair, while the other held onto her hip as he thrusted. They both watched themselves in the mirror, and Hettie let out a smile and a moan. She was now pushing up against him, making Logan go deeper inside her with each thrust. He sped up as he was about to cum, and before he even could realize it, he was cumming inside her. He slowly pulled himself out of her, his semen dripping out onto her thighs. He grabbed a paper towel and cleaned her up before taking care of himself. She pulled up her panties and jeans as she stood up, and adjusted her shirt. “See you later, baby,” she said, practically prancing out of the bathroom. When he was alone, Logan splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. “What the fuck did you just do,” he said to himself.