When she walks back into the room, holding my camera, she says in a flirty voice, “What kind of pictures do you have stored on this?” She slips back into bed, still naked, and I take the camera from her that I left out earlier today when I was taking pictures of one of Mel’s friends. “You photograph people?”
“Mainly.”
“Really?” she responds with a hint of excitement.
“Really,” I say.
I’ve always loved art, and photography is something I started tinkering with while I was in college. I don’t do a whole lot of it, but what little I do, I enjoy. It’s nice to have something to focus on every now and then.
Rolling onto her stomach, she peers up at me and whispers, “Photograph me.”
I step out of the bed and find my boxers slung across the room. Pulling them on, I walk back to where she’s lying and focus on her back. She has a curvy figure, which enhances the sway of her spine. I zoom in and start shooting. She has no idea what I’m photographing when I stop snapping and look up to see her giving seductive looks into the camera. I don’t want her face, just the line of her back.
After I get my shots, I instruct, “Sit up and face away from me.”
She does, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. I swipe the hair off of her shoulder and bring it around to her other shoulder. I then get a few shots of the contour of her neck. I’m close, and when I move to the side of her, she shifts to kiss me. There’s something to it. Something I’m not feeling.
Quickly pulling back, I say, “You shouldn’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not that guy.”
“I don’t believe that,” she whispers, and it’s now that I see the shift. I see the strings. “You’ve had me in your bed for weeks now,” she says.
I don’t want to make her feel like crap, but I don’t want to lie either. “This isn’t my bed.”
When she shakes her head, confused, I clarify, “My bed is upstairs.”
“Oh.” Her brows dip slightly, and I can see the letdown.
Gavin warned me about Gina, but I blew it off. He found out from her friend, Ashley, that we were getting together regularly. He told me that Ashley said that she wasn’t interested in anything casual with me. I blew it off ‘cause Gina has never led me to believe otherwise. Until right now.
“I thought we were on the same page here,” I say.
“No. We are.”
“You sure? I’m not into hurting people, but I’m not into feeling either. So if that’s what you’re—”
“No,” she says, cutting me off. “I just misread you for a second, that’s all. No strings.”
Her words aren’t the least bit convincing. I see right through her, and wonder why she would put up with me for a hopeless shot at something more.
“I should probably go,” she says as she starts putting her clothes back on.
When she’s dressed, she makes her way out of the room, down the hall, and to the front door. Grabbing on to her arm, I turn her to face me. “Hey. I just need to be clear with you that this is all it will ever be.”
“It’s clear,” she responds.
“Good.”
After she leaves, I start to grow more uncomfortable with the situation. I shouldn’t have kept calling her. I thought I was upfront but wonder if I was just leading her on. I stew around, thinking about how to remedy this situation, when my phone buzzes with a text.
Can I see you tomorrow?
Shit. She couldn’t even wait an hour. Yeah, I’ve gotta cut this off. Looking at the time, I can’t believe it’s still so early. Not that our escapades last any longer than they have to. She likes it fast and rough, which works perfectly for me since that’s all I like. But shit has to come to a stop. Sooner than later. The last thing I need is a clinger.
***
It’s been a few days since Gina was here last, but tonight she stopped by unannounced, saying she had a stressful day at work and just wanted to vent. She spent the whole time bitching about some chick she works with that’s friends with some other chick Gina used to be friends with. Shallow shit. Shit I couldn’t care less about. But the fact that she thinks coming over here and talking to me about this crap is okay is all I need to know. She’s getting attached, and it’s time to cut it off. The calls, the texting—it has to stop.
I grab my keys and decide to head up to the bar to get some work done and to get my mind off of the situation I’ve created with Gina. When I walk in, it’s packed. A good thing for a Monday night. Today was the first day of classes at UW, so business will pick up as it usually does after the summer. I look over to Mel, but she’s too tied up with customers to notice me. I make my way through the crowd to the back stairs.
I stop in Michael’s office to pick up some paperwork from him. When I go into my office, I look at the schedule he set up and start working on inventory orders. Time passes, and I’m deep into paperwork. We’re closed, and I can hear the bar girls downstairs, laughing loudly as they clean up.
“Bad news, man,” Max says as he walks into my office.
Looking up from my desk, I lean back in my chair, tired, and ask, “What is it?”
“The band that was scheduled for this Saturday night cancelled.”
Throwing my pen across the desk, irritated, I gripe, “What do you mean they cancelled? They’ve been on the books for weeks.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t take the call, but we’ve gotta fill that slot in the next couple of days. Classes at U-Dub started today, so this weekend is gonna be busy as hell.”
“Shit!” I pause for a second, frustrated as fuck. “It’s too late to do anything about it tonight. I’ll make some calls tomorrow and try to get another band booked. Oh, hey, if those fuckers call back, tell them to find another bar to play.”
“Right, boss. You heading out soon? It’s past midnight already.”
“Yeah, in a little bit. I need to finish this paperwork and I’ll be gone. Go ahead and go.”
“See you tomorrow, man.”
“See ya.”
Time passes as I try working on the inventory supply sheet that I need to get in to our liquor distributor, but my mind is elsewhere. I really need to call Gina and tell her it’s over.
A clatter outside snaps me out of my thoughts. I look down at my watch to see it’s nearing one in the morning. Shit. When I start packing my things up to head home, I hear more commotion from outside. I shake my head, knowing it’s probably just some drunk guys heading back home from a party. People are always cutting through the back alley.
I start locking everything up and make my way downstairs to the back door. “Crap,” I mutter to myself, realizing I left my cell in my office. Walking back up the stairs to my office, I grab my phone off my desk.
I hear screaming.
A girl screaming.
Chapter Five
“Fuck!”
Bolting out of my office, I haul ass downstairs to the back door and out to the small employee parking lot in the alley.
“God, please! Stop!” a girl shrieks.
Before my mind can process what I’m seeing—naked girl, guy’s hand between her legs, girl thrashing, screaming—the bastard smashes his fist into her face.
Adrenaline fires through my body, and I run. Yanking the guy off her, I start slamming my fist into his face over and over. I completely lose control of myself and relentlessly whale on him. I’m gone. My knuckles start to burn as the flesh begins to split open. He manages to get a few swift hits to my jaw and ribs, which allows him a quick moment to work out of my grip and flee.
Before I can charge after the guy, I catch a glimpse of the girl. It doesn’t take but a second for me to refocus. She lies there, unconscious, bare, with her clothes ripped off of her. My stomach convulses at the image before me. I slowly approach her—scared—and kneel down next to her. Terrified to touch her, I take off my shirt and cover her naked, battered body. Her face is covered in blood and dirt, skin scrape
d off on one side and the other is already swelling from where the fucker’s fist landed. Her knees are ripped open and covered in gravel. The blood between her thighs tells me exactly what that piece of shit did to her. My heart thuds hard in my chest, and my gut is in knots.
I pat my pockets for my cell, but it’s not on me. I must have dropped it as I ran out here. Not wanting to leave her, I look around and spot her purse. I lean over and grab it in search of her phone. When I find it, I swipe the screen and dial 911.
My voice is shaky as I try to talk to the dispatcher. My thoughts are all over the place, and I stumble as I try to answer all of her questions. When she tells me that the police and EMTs are on their way, we disconnect. I slip the phone back into her gold purse and slowly zip it up as I stare at her. I don’t want to look, but I can’t stop.
As I sit next to her, she lies there, breathing peacefully. Whatever is running through her head right now has to be a million times better than the hell she’s going to wake up to.
What the fuck just happened? I watch her. I don’t know what else to do. She is so small, and when I look at her tiny hands, her nails are shredded. Shit. She fought. She had to have fought hard. The thought nearly makes me vomit, and when I shift my eyes away from her hands, I notice a little tattoo. An outline of a heart—simple black ink—on her lower hip that’s still exposed. Sliding the shirt over a little to cover it, I finally hear the sirens in the distance.
“Thank God,” I whisper.
The sound grows louder the closer they get, and when the red and blue lights strobe across the parking lot, I reluctantly stand to my feet, but don’t move away from her until the EMTs approach.
“Sir, can you step over here?” an officer asks.
We walk over to the rear of his vehicle. He pulls out a clipboard from the car and opens the top of it, retrieving a few forms.
“I need to get your statement,” he says while he organizes the papers under the clip. “You’re the one that called 911, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” I answer before turning my head to see them sliding the girl onto a backboard, strapping her down. She’s now covered in a large blanket, and it’s at this moment that I feel. Pain. Sadness. Anguish. It wells up and floods my eyes. I don’t even know this girl, but I hurt for her.
“Where are they taking her?” I ask the officer.
“You know her?”
“No.” I turn back and watch as they slide her into the back of the ambulance. Another EMT is collecting the scraps of her clothes that remain on the ground.
“Can you tell me what happened?” the officer asks.
“I don’t know,” I mumble. I can’t seem to get my head straight. What just happened?
“Take your time. It’s important that we get a detailed account of everything that occurred. Everything you saw.”
“Is she gonna be okay?” I ask as the ambulance drives off.
“Do you need to sit down, sir?” I faintly hear the officer as he speaks. Pressure on my arm shifts my focus when I realize he has his hand on me, guiding me to sit in the front passenger seat of his vehicle. The door shuts, and I lean my head back against the seat. I watch him walk in slow motion around the front of the car. He sits in the driver’s seat next to me.
“Start from the beginning.”
***
“He raped her,” I choke out.
“My God.”
“He beat the shit out of her, Mom. I can’t close my eyes without seeing it,” I tell her. “I couldn’t sleep at all last night. I just laid in my bed, replaying it over and over.”
“Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me anything. It feels weird . . . to see that and not know.”
“Are you okay?”
“How am I supposed to answer that? What do I say?”
“Say how you feel,” she tells me with worry and concern.
“I feel sick. What he did to her . . . what I saw . . .”
“I hate that I’m not there.”
“It’s okay, Mom. I don’t really wanna talk anymore; I just needed to tell you. I needed to tell someone.”
“I’m so sorry that you had to see something like that,” she says.
I’ve seen so much shit in my life. Too much to ever forget. You can’t rid your mind of images that burn themselves into who you are. I’ve had to watch my mother getting the life knocked out of her at the hands of my father more times than I ever want to remember. But I also have her sounds etched in me. Her painful, pleading screams.
And now . . . now I have this girl. This unknown. A Jane Doe. Blanks that will never be filled.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you better,” I confess.
Guilt.
“Ryan, don’t.”
The knot in my throat makes my words painful to say, but I force them out. My confession. “I was right there. I heard the noise out back. If only I would have gone out there. Fuck, why didn’t I go out there sooner?”
“How could you have known?”
“I could have stopped it. Prevented it. But instead, I ignored it.” The whole time I knew there was someone back there, and I ignored it. I sat in my office while that girl fought so hard she had no nails left. “What have I done?” I breathe out, suddenly feeling the weight of the responsibility I now hold.
“You didn’t do anything,” she tries assuring me.
She’s right. I didn’t do anything. Nothing. I close my eyes, and I see it. The blood between her legs. The image I know will forever be with me. I toss the phone aside and rush to the bathroom, vomiting. Expelling the toxins, but not the images. Those remain.
***
Needing to move, needing to get out of the house, I drive up to work. I park out front and head straight to my office, shutting the door behind me. Fuck. Why am I here?
There’s a knock on the door, and when I say, “Come in,” Max walks in.
“Everything all right, boss?”
“Shut the door,” I tell him, and he does.
“What’s going on?”
I didn’t get any sleep last night, and I feel like shit. I know I look it, and by the expression on his face, I know he sees it.
Folding my hands, I lean forward on my desk. “Something really fucked up happened here last night after you left.”
He walks over and takes a seat in the chair.
“A girl was raped out back,” I tell him.
“Christ,” he breathes as he drops his head.
I don’t say anything else. I’m not sure I can. We both sit there in silence as seconds pass by.
I finally speak the words that have me so fucked up. “I saw her.”
“The girl?”
“I heard her screaming, and when I went out there, he was on her.” I spin around in my chair and stare out the window that overlooks the street in front of the bar as it rains.
“I want cameras installed back there,” I tell him.
“I’m on it,” he responds. “You okay?”
Still facing the window, I admit, “I don’t know, man. That shit was fucked up.”
“Did the police come?”
When I turn back around to face him, I answer, “Yeah. I gave my statement, and they took her to the hospital.”
“Was she okay?”
“I don’t know. He beat her pretty badly. She was unconscious.”
“And the guy?”
“Don’t know. I had him for a moment, but I couldn’t keep him in my grip. I couldn’t leave the girl though, so he fled.” I take a minute before telling him, “I don’t want the girls walking to their cars alone. You and Chase need to be with them when they leave. Got it?”
“Of course.” He takes a moment before asking, “You sure you want to be up here?”
Looking up at him, I let him know, “I can’t be home. I need a distraction.”
“I hear ya,” he says then switches the topic, which I’m thankful for. “I talked with Chase earlier today, and he says he knows
of a band that’s gotten pretty popular lately. If you’re tied up, I can get Michael to see about getting them booked for Saturday.”
“Nah, I’ll take care of it. Is he here?”
“Yeah, I’ll send him up,” he says as he stands and starts walking out. When he gets to the door, he turns back and says, “I’m here, man. If you ever . . .”
“Thanks.” His friendship is genuine. It always has been. I might not be a man of many words, but I stop him before he walks out and tell him, “I really appreciate it,” because I feel like he should know.
He gives a nod, accepting my words, and turns to head downstairs.
I spend the next few hours reviewing the financials and going over payroll. It’s Michael’s responsibility, but I absorb myself in it for the distraction. I speak with Chase, and I am able to contact one of the guys from the band he suggested and get them booked.
Filing some papers away, I notice the sky darkening. Somehow the day has passed, and I still feel like I’m on autopilot.
“God, please! Stop!”
I shake my head, trying to wash out the shrill of her voice. The panic.
There’s a soft knock on the door, and before I can say anything, it slowly opens.
“What are you doing here?” I ask when I see Gina step in and close the door behind her.
This is the last thing I need to deal with right now.
“I never heard from you last night.”
“I wasn’t feeling well,” I tell her. “Look, things are getting a little weird, and honestly, I’m just not feeling right about what we have going on.” I should have told her this the other day, but I know that I can’t keep having her come around, thinking that this has any value in it.
She sits down and questions, “What do you mean?”
Getting up from my chair, I walk around to the front of my desk and lean back against it in front of her. I need to lay it out there honestly for her so that there isn’t any confusion.
“I’m starting to feel like what’s going on between us is exactly what I try to avoid. It isn’t working for me, and I’d feel like an ass if I led you to think otherwise.”
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