by A. E. Murphy
“I wouldn’t want to,” I retort. I may have asked for Wendy’s today but it’s the first time I’ve had one in a really long time. “Do I look like the kind of person who eats fast food every day?”
“I wasn’t attacking you,” he replies, his tone haughty.
“Not yet,” I mumble and rest back in my seat.
We order our food and Lane holds the large paper bag on her lap all the way back to their home where we eat. Afterwards I slink away to my room and glare at the three missed calls I have from my uncle.
I don’t bother calling him back. Instead I finish sorting through my things including my jewelry box that I keep in the center of my desk to remind me of who I am and where I came from. A nobody from a whole lot of nothing.
It’s almost five before Lane knocks on the door to my room.
“Come in,” I call and she enters with Curlyfry by her side, that usual soft smile on her pretty face. The dog jumps on my bed, making himself at home.
“I just came to let you know that there’s a plate of lasagna in the microwave ready for when you get hungry.”
“Thanks,” I utter, looking back at the desk mirror. I’ve been playing with makeup. I’m not one to lather on the highlighter but I do enjoy playing with eyeshadows and drawing on my brows.
“I’m heading out for a few hours. I go to a local book club on Fridays. We take it in turns hosting.”
I tense, knowing this is probably it.
“Can I come?” I ask, and her brows hit her hairline.
“It’s really more of a middle-aged-women thing. You wouldn’t enjoy yourself.”
Chewing on my lip, I take a comb through my hair and nod. “Okay. Have fun.”
“We can do something together tomorrow morning though. Perhaps a trip to the mall? We can look about making this room more of a home for you.”
“Okay.”
Smiling brightly, she gives me a little wave and starts to back out of the room. “You know, Stanley would probably enjoy your company while I’m gone. I know he’s a bit hard to approach but he’s a good man.”
I roll my lips together and try to keep the scowl off my face. Not a fucking chance, Stanley.
“See you,” I mutter, hoping she doesn’t ever leave.
As soon as the door closes, I get changed into my tight, body-fitting gym clothes that I used for climbing before my year in hell, my tatty old graying-white sneakers with decent grip at the bottom and then I pull on my hooded jacket.
I could walk out the front door but I doubt Stanley would let me leave, and from what I gather, he is very switched on to where people are.
My window opens with a groan that makes me cringe.
I could climb down like I planned but then the weather isn’t great. It’s about to start raining, and when it rains here, it pours.
I decide against it for now. Stanley will leave me alone today, he’s not a stupid man.
Or so I thought.
I leave the door open a crack while I play on my phone, replying to really old messages from old friends that might not have the same number anymore, and about forty minutes after Lane leaves, I hear heavy feet coming up the stairs. The dog who was lying beside me abandons me to see his master and my heart starts to race in my chest. I breathe in and out of my nose until it’s all I can hear over the sound of my heart pounding in my head.
“Go to bed,” Stanley clips at the dog and I hear his heavy paws descend the stairs.
My hands flatten against the wood of my door when I slam it shut as he gets nearer. His room is the other way, he has his own bathroom, he doesn’t need to be coming towards my room.
I should have left when I had the chance.
My head is spinning, my eyes misting over with panic.
He knocks on the door and I grab my mace spray, something I was given a while back that I’ve fortunately never had to use until now. It looks like ordinary deodorant to anybody else. This must be why they never threw it away before putting my shit in storage when I was condemned.
When he knocks again and calls my name, I yell firmly, “GO AWAY.”
I should have climbed out of the window and gone. That’s what I should have done. My breath catches in my throat each time I exhale.
“I just want to talk. We really do need to talk.” The handle pulls down and I consider his size compared to mine. I’m strong but I’m not as strong as he is. He has military training and years of self-defense. His muscles are as big as his gut.
I can’t do this.
“Leave me alone,” I shout as the door clicks open.
“You’re being difficult—” The moment the door opens wide enough for me to reach, I launch my attack with the squeeze of my finger. He screams a curse when I spray him in the face with the mace while keeping my eyes covered with my arm. Still, the spicy bitter scent of it gets up my nose.
I should have packed an emergency bag already. I used to. Why didn’t I? How could I forget my own survival guide?
With my elbow to his side, I shove him out of the way and run, sneaker-clad feet pounding against the rug. I skid around the banister of the stairs and throw myself down them.
“MALLORY!” he bellows after me as I reach the front door. “MALLORY, WA—”
I leave the door wide open and don’t look back. I run and run with no destination in mind, no money in my pockets, no phone.
Why didn’t I pack an emergency bag?
FUCK.
Why are they all the same? Why did he make me do that?
The skies open and cry on me as my stamina starts to wear thin.
I run past houses and houses and trees and cars. It all looks the fucking same.
When a cop car turns the corner in the distance, I duck into the yard of a large house and hide behind the low wall until it has passed.
I have a feeling I am who they’re looking for.
I keep going until I hit a grocery store well-lit and full of people waiting out the heavy shower, some shopping, some just goofing around.
There’s no way I’m going in there, so I rush around the back. My lungs and chest are burning so badly, my thighs ache but I don’t stop until I reach another street full of stores. I used to have way more stamina than this but I haven’t done any running or climbing in so long. I recognize a store from today and keep my head low and my hood up as I pass the clothing place that has shut already. Most of the stores have shut already.
With shaking arms and weak legs, I find an alleyway that cuts between and behind them but it’s protected by a locked gate. I could climb over but there are spikes on the top and I don’t want to risk it with how wet it is. Instead I squeeze under it, grateful that my breasts aren’t ridiculously large, though my ass takes a bit of shimmying to get through.
My clothes are drenched and filthy when I stand and, unfortunately, as I’m brushing myself off in the mouth of the alley, another cop car goes by and slows to shine a light directly on me.
We stare at each other, him with raised brows, me with wide eyes.
“STOP!” he booms at me, but of course I’m not about to do what he says, so I take off.
My hiding place is no longer a decent hiding place.
He turns on his sirens, alerting everyone else to where I’m at. I look up and down the alleyway knowing that there’s no leaving either end without getting caught.
“I guess the only way is up,” I murmur, and stretch my body quickly.
It protests but it doesn’t let me down as I climb the walls, using my entire body, legs, and arms to rise higher up the narrow-ish gap.
“What the fuck is she? Spiderman?” the cop guffaws as I reach the halfway point. “Come on, kid, get down, we just want to talk. You’re not in trouble.”
Not in trouble… HA. That’s what they all say.
More like send me back to the institution. Not a chance.
The gate is unlocked by a store owner but I’m already clinging on to the roof which is slippery as fuck. Still, I manage to pull
myself over the top and lie flat on the hard, unforgiving slate for a moment to catch my breath.
I only allow myself thirty seconds because I imagine there’s a fire escape that they can use to get up here somewhere on the building. Not that they’d follow, but I’m not taking my chances. There’s no way I’m going back there.
Backing up a few steps, I take a running leap over the alley to the clothing store side and keep going. Jumping across each narrow gap that separates the stores.
When I’m confident they aren’t sure of my whereabouts, I climb down a drain, almost completely spent, and then I start running again.
I’m so tired. I can’t keep going like this. I’ve wasted too much energy in my panic by not breathing properly and not moving my body the way I’ve trained myself. I’ve been sloppy.
I see more houses and a bowling alley in the distance, a big building, and I figure it might have a dumpster I can hide in.
The rain stops, which is a relief, but then also not because more people will come outside now. More witnesses. More people to identify me and tell the cops where I am.
“FUCK!” I yell when a cop car comes up my rear, far too fast for me to outrun.
I scale a fence, gripping it and propelling my body over the top.
I land slightly wrong and my knee buckles, making me cry out when pain radiates up my leg. I half hop, half run to the bowling alley but I know I’m done.
The people leaving the busy rink all stop and look as the cop car pulls into the lot behind me.
A body hits my back and my front hits the gravel with a painful thud. My cheek skims it and stings with an unforgiving burn. That’s going to leave a mark.
“Get off me!” I scream, bucking and thrashing as my arms are twisted behind my back. “STOP!”
“I’ve got her,” the man speaks into his radio, giving me enough time to bring my foot back and into his groin. He groans and his grip loosens enough for me to scramble away but he recovers and grabs my hair, ripping my head back.
“LET GO!” I fight to recover but I’m just done. My limbs are like lead, heavy and slow. “Please,” I beg as his knee digs into my spine and he pulls my arms behind my back.
“Pass me the cuffs,” the cop chokes, sounding pained from when I caught his nuts with my foot, I bet.
“Let fucking go. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“We’re at Bowler Mania. There’s a crowd gathering, so be quick.”
My hands are cuffed behind my back, far too tight around my wrists as a crowd gathers around us and people start taking my picture and filming the altercation.
I roar a scream of frustration. I don’t like being shackled, it’s all too familiar.
“Stop being such a fucking brat,” some guy snaps at me but I ignore him.
When the cop who pinned me drags me to my feet, I spit in his face. “Pussy.”
He wipes it on his sleeve, a scowl on his face. “You disgusting little bitch.”
The cop yanks my arms upwards making me cry out in pain and drop back onto my knees as I glare at the guy who just called me a brat.
“Nice outfit,” I say sardonically as I assess him and all his teen-boy glory. He’s bleached his hair blond which is tucked behind his ears. His black cap is backwards and makes his frozen blue eyes pop. He reminds me of the guy I saw in the Wendy’s parking lot. I wonder if he’s one and the same. “Who are you meant to be? A Justin Timberlake drag act?”
He’s probably such a panty dropper but he doesn’t impress me. I know guys like him and I know what they’re about.
His blue eyes become frostier than a glacier and his hands curl into fists by his sides.
“Presley, son,” the cop says firmly. “Take your friends away, please.”
Ah, he’s the cop’s son, of course he is.
More cars pull in, more people to watch me at such a shit time.
“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” Stanley roars, charging towards us and I cringe away, ready for him to grab me or maybe even slap me. “You were supposed to fucking LOCATE HER! Not this!”
Okay, that didn’t go as I thought it would.
“She was running, I did what I had to do to get her to stop,” the cop who pinned me explains.
“She’s just a fucking kid!”
I peer at Stanley who has bright red, bloodshot eyes which are enraged and on the cop still holding me.
“Let her go, Myers,” another cop snarls and Lane helps me onto my feet. When they uncuff me, she rubs my wrists to help the ache. I pull away. I don’t need anybody touching me right now.
“She kicked my dad in the dick,” Presley, the blond-haired panty dropper, snarls in defense of his father.
“Before or after he tackled her to the ground?” Stanley yells and I’m surprised he’s got my back at all. He glances at my bruised wrists and winces when he sees the grazes on my cheekbone from where I hit the ground. They sting like a bitch. “I’ll have your badge for this, Myers!”
Myers looks between Stanley and the sheriff and lets out a bark of laughter. I recognize the sheriff to be the guy who caught me at the alleyway.
“I was just doing my job.”
“I didn’t give this order, Myers,” the sheriff snaps as I look between them all and at the crowd.
“Let’s get you home,” Lane whispers, her arm around my shoulders, her hands rubbing my wet biceps. “Okay?”
That’s really surprising.
“I’m not going back to L.I.?”
Stanley gives me a pointed look, his eyes still very sore, his expression set. “You are never going back.”
“You.” The sheriff points at Myers. “Back to the station, my office, now.”
“Unbelievable,” Myers hisses.
Presley spits at my feet, his eyes cold and set and all his friends watch on with excited expressions.
“Bye, Timberfake,” I snap at him as Lane drags me away.
I expected anger and shouting, I expected the social worker my uncle hired to come and collect me. I didn’t expect this kindness from them both.
I didn’t expect Stanley to tell me that everything is going to be okay as he sits me at the kitchen table and warms milk in a pan.
I didn’t expect Lane to clean my face with a washcloth and rub ointment on the grazes on my face and bruises on my wrist.
Stanley stands with my pill bottle in hand and I look away. I hate taking them, they make me woozy and numb. He opens the bottle and empties it down the drain, then presses the button above the sink and we all listen to them churn and grind.
My lips part as I stare at the swollen profile of the man who I attacked with mace.
“No more,” he whispers and grips the counter edge for support. His voice has a hard gruff edge to it when he explains, “I will never put my hands on you, Mallory… sorry… Scandal. I will never hurt you in any way and I am sorry that I frightened you.”
For some reason, I believe him and my heart gets heavy in my chest.
“When you’re ready to talk to us, when you’re ready to talk to anybody, we’ll be here to listen.”
Then he leaves the room and Lane squeezes both my hands. “Let’s run you a bath, okay?”
“Why aren’t you mad?” I ask quietly. “Why aren’t I being kicked out? Why aren’t you forcing my pills down my throat?”
“We’re not giving up on you, that’s why.”
I don’t know who these people are or what they want, but this is the first time in my entire life that I haven’t been punished or shouted at for something I did.
My eyes fill with tears and my jaw locks as I try to fight them.
“Would you like a hug?” she asks, sensing my emotional state.
I shake my head.
“Maybe one day.” She helps me stand and leads me upstairs. “You soak in a bath. We will be downstairs if you need us.”
“I told you to keep her medicated! She’s clinically insane!” My uncle’s familiar drawling hiss has me rousing from
slumber. I must have dozed off after my bath, something I don’t typically allow myself to do.
“She’s fucking terrified is what she is!” Stanley bellows back.
“She’s a manipulative liar. She will ruin me; she will ruin you. I told you she belongs in an institution!”
So it wasn’t my uncle that got me out of there?
There’s a scuffle and banging, followed by the sound of a smash. I stand in my doorway and twist my fingers as I listen to them fight. I know the sounds well, having heard similar sounds many times before.
“Stay the fuck away from us all or I’ll be the one who ruins you, Eamon. Do you hear me?”
“You’re making a big mistake. That girl is trouble.”
“Get the fuck outta my house.”
I hear the door slam and look out the window as my uncle strides towards his car. Just seeing the back of him makes me feel as sick as a dog.
Speaking of dogs, I let the big beast into my room when he starts pawing my door with his claws. He’s soothing. I like having him near.
I hear something else shatter and jump an inch from the floor. My hand goes to my thundering heart.
“I should kill him,” Stanley yells and I hear the sound of footsteps crunching glass.
“We don’t know that it was him, we don’t know that it was what you think it was. It could just be trauma from her time inside. It could have been the institution. She has a darkness to her, Stanley. She could be playing us like he said.” I can’t blame Lane for looking at every angle. She could be right after all.
“You didn’t see her face, Lane. You didn’t see her fa—”
A door closes and their words are cut off.
I sit on my bed and wrap my arms around my legs. They think they know me but they don’t. They think they know my past but they definitely don’t.
I don’t want them to know. I don’t want anybody to know.
“You look beautiful, Scandal,” Lane tells me with a smile.
I give her a flat look and she giggles.
“You’re going to be great,” Stanley explains with a tender smile. His eyes still look so sore. I haven’t yet apologized for that. Likely because I’m embarrassed and I don’t want to bring it up. It should come easy, the apology is on the tip of my tongue but I just can’t say it, not to him. “Just keep your head down and stay out of trouble, join a club or two like Jefferson suggested.”
