Chapter 2: Rumors, Knives, and Loyalty

Marissa hated the embarrassment. She dropped out of school—her own choice—and landed a job waitressing at the oilfield’s hotel.

She started working doubles, bussing tables, pouring coffee for roughnecks who barely noticed her. The uniform hung off her frame, the shifts dragged on forever, but Marissa just kept her head down. She sent most of her pay to the landlord, kept the lights on, and always made sure Jay had what he needed. No matter how tired she was, she’d come home and still manage a tired smile for her brother.

As she grew up, Marissa just got prettier, in a way that turned heads without her even trying. Moms around town started angling to set her up with their sons.

She’d come home with stories about awkward blind dates and well-meaning matchmakers. “Mrs. Parker wants me to meet her nephew again,” she’d groan, rolling her eyes. But honestly, you could tell she was a little flattered by the attention, even if she never took it seriously. Jay always teased her about it, and she’d just laugh it off.

But then something happened. Something that changed everything.

It was one of those heavy, rainy nights. The hotel lobby half-empty, Marissa just trying to make it through her shift. She never saw it coming. After that, nothing was ever the same—for her, or for Jay.

A deputy plant manager, drunk, cornered Marissa, pinned her down, groped her, tried to yank up her skirt, and slapped a sweaty hand over her mouth.

He stank of whiskey, breath sour and hot against her cheek. Marissa clawed at his arms, nails digging in, but he was bigger, meaner, and nobody came. Her eyes were wild with fear—if anyone had bothered to look, it would’ve haunted them for life.

The hotel manager didn’t lift a finger. Hell, he helped—pulled the blinds, locked the door, looked the other way.

Marissa realized, right then, she was on her own. The manager just fiddled with the blinds, the room thick with silence except for her ragged breathing. The air felt like it was closing in, pressing down on her chest.

Afterwards, Marissa called the cops. Both the deputy plant manager and the shift supervisor got hauled in.

She showed up at the station, bruises on her arms, tears streaked across her face, but her back straight. The officers took her statement, snapped photos, and promised—swore up and down—they’d get to the bottom of it. For a minute, it almost felt like justice might actually show up.

There was a big crackdown on workplace crime going on. If this went to court, the deputy manager could’ve gone away for life—maybe worse.

The papers were full of stories about company men getting locked up. The DA wanted to make an example out of someone. The whole town was buzzing, waiting to see who’d get burned.

But that deputy plant manager? He was the old plant manager’s son.

Suddenly, everything changed. The old man still had friends in all the right places. Nobody wanted to cross him. The rumor mill started spinning, and soon folks were whispering about payoffs and deals behind closed doors. The town split right down the middle—some believed Marissa, others kept their mouths shut.

The old plant manager showed up at Marissa’s house, fell to his knees, and begged her to let it go. He slapped himself, sobbing. “This is all my fault as a father! I oughta drag that bastard to hell myself!”

It was hard to watch—a man who used to seem untouchable, now a blubbering mess on Marissa’s porch. He kept saying he’d failed as a father, that he’d do anything to fix it. Marissa stood there, arms crossed, tears streaking her cheeks, remembering all the times he’d looked out for her and Jay. Her heart just broke all over again.

Marissa was soft-hearted. She remembered every kindness the old plant manager had ever shown her and Jay, so she dropped the charges.

She didn’t do it for him, not really. She did it because she remembered what it felt like to have someone in her corner, even for a little while. It haunted her. People said she was too soft, but I think she just wanted to hold onto any scrap of goodness she could find in a world that hadn’t given her much.

But instead of staying quiet, the story spread—and twisted. Fast.

It started as whispers at the diner, then turned to full-blown gossip at the beauty salon. People added details, twisted the facts, until the truth was buried under a pile of lies. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion—awful, unstoppable.

Suddenly, Marissa was the tease, the gold-digger, the girl who’d tried to seduce the deputy manager and sleep her way to the top.

They called her a homewrecker, a liar, a tramp. Some said she’d made it all up for a promotion. Others claimed she’d been chasing the deputy manager for months. It didn’t matter that none of it was true. Once the rumor started, it spread like wildfire.

The deputy manager—who’d acted like a monster—became the “victim” of Marissa’s supposed lies and false accusation.

He played it up perfectly—showed up at church with his wife, shook hands with the mayor, talked about forgiveness. People started to feel sorry for him, saying it was a shame his name got dragged through the mud by some girl’s wild imagination. The injustice of it all made me want to punch a wall.

Rumors are poison. They spread everywhere. Soon, Marissa was the town’s favorite target—called a whore, a slut, a liar.

You heard it everywhere—in the grocery store, at the post office, even waiting in line at the bank. People who’d never spoken to Marissa suddenly had opinions about her. The whole town decided she was fair game, and nobody bothered to ask her side.

One day, some jerk found Marissa and threw a twenty-dollar bill in her face. “Sleep with me tonight. I’ll pay. At least I won’t have to force you.”

It was cruel beyond words. Marissa just stood there, cheeks burning, fists clenched so tight her knuckles went white. She didn’t cry, didn’t shout—just stared him down until he finally turned and slunk away. But you could see the pain in her eyes, the way her shoulders drooped as she walked off.

Jay saw the whole thing.

He’d just come out of the corner store, six-pack in hand, and froze when he saw his sister get humiliated in broad daylight. Something in him just broke.

He ran to the gas station, bought two bottles of cheap beer, tracked down the guy who’d harassed Marissa, and smashed both bottles over his head—sent him straight to the ER.

It was wild, reckless, exactly what you’d expect from Jay. He didn’t care about the fallout—he just wanted that guy to pay. The crash of glass echoed down the alley, sharp and satisfying. For one second, it almost felt like justice had finally shown up.