by S. Ferguson
“You need to leave. My girlfriend called and wants to stop by,” he says, gruffly, before walking away from the door. I stand weakly, keeping my mouth shut. I simply don’t have the strength to deal with this further insult added to injury.
I hear the sounds of him moving around his room, probably straightening up. I clean myself up as best as I can, cringing when I see the red and pink stains on the toilet paper. I’m bleeding, but I don’t have time to think about this right now, I need to leave. I’m not in pain yet, but I know it’s coming. If I can make it to work before it gets too bad, I know Ron always keeps painkillers on hand. A lot of the guys get injuries that they can’t be seen at the hospital for. I dress, being gentle, and moving so very slowly. I walk out and Nate’s room looks like none of this just happened. He’s changed his sheets and lit a candle; the smell of flowers is overwhelming. Nate isn’t in his room, and I know I don’t want to see him again, now or ever.
I quickly exit his house, and make my way down the sidewalk, heading to Keegan’s. I’m limping slightly, the pain between my legs increasing with each step. As I walk, I try to decide how I’m going to explain this. I wish for once I had a car because a car accident seems like the only way I can explain so many injuries. If I tell Ron what happened, he’s going to be angry. I don’t know if he would go after Nate, but he’ll be angry at me for putting myself in a situation that could involve cops. The reality of the situation continues to crash down on me. I just let a guy rape me. Was that rape? Is it rape if you were there to sleep with the guy anyway? I feel so confused. It feels so wrong, but something inside me is saying, What did you think would happen? You’re only good for one thing.
I was there willingly. I just changed my mind because he started hurting me. What do I do? What am I supposed to do? No one would believe me anyway. I’ve been sleeping with Nate off and on for a few months now.
That’s because you are a whore, a worthless whore… a voice reminds me. As much as I hide the reality of who I am from everyone else, I’ll never be able to hide it from myself.
I arrive at Keegan’s much earlier than I anticipated, especially with my limp, so I decide to have a smoke by the door, and keep trying to come up with a cover story. My mind seems stuck on the pain. I’ve just put my lighter back in my pocket when Declan rounds the corner. He greets me with a smile. Then, I see the exact moment he realizes something is wrong. My last thought before he reaches me is that his face is beautiful, even when it contorts with rage.
“WHAT THE FUCK?” he roars, reaching between us and cradling my chin. Despite his anger, his touch is gentle. I almost want to lean into his hand for comfort. His reaction means my face must look worse now than it did when I left Nate’s house. Despite it being four years since I last had someone beat me, I have spent far longer dealing with bruises and injuries on a daily basis than not. I still know how to tune the pain out, and some habits don’t go away easily, especially habits that help you survive.
“It was an accident,” I try to placate him. Declan looks furious, his green eyes are blazing, his nostrils flaring and his chest is heaving. Furious Dec is a fearsome and beautiful sight to behold.
“Sure ‘it was an accident,’” he says, making air quotations.
“Look, it was an accident. I don’t want to talk about it.” I keep my tone matter of fact, only realizing after the last word leaves my mouth that’s only going to make it worse.
“A fucking accident?” Declan asks me, his face a mask of disbelief.
“Yes, let’s just leave it at that.” I drop my cigarette to the ground and stomp it out. I wince from the movement before I can catch myself.
“You’re fucking hurt!” Declan says, his voice has more concern than anger now. I can tell he isn’t going to drop this. Why oh why did he have to be the first person I ran into tonight?
Declan holds the door to Keegan’s open for me, and I limp in front of him. I hear his sharp intake of breath when he notices. He’s going to make a big deal out of this. For the second time tonight, I feel utterly powerless.
Ron is just walking out of his office…talk about the worst fucking timing. He raises an eyebrow at seeing Declan and I walk in together, but doesn’t say anything. Yet again, I see the exact moment when Ron spots my face and awkward gait. His head snaps back in my direction, and I swear I hear him growl, as he storms over to me. If furious Declan is a thing of beauty, furious Ron is terrifying. He almost looks like an avenging angel storming toward me with the lights and smoke in the bar creating a hazy glow around him. I wonder how many people have seen this same image: Ron storming toward them, his face full of anger, and it was the last thing they ever saw?
“The fuck?” he says, his voice is cold as ice. I’ve seen Ron angry quite a few times, but I’ve definitely never seen him go arctic before.
“That’s what I said,” Declan says, walking to stand next to Ron, so they’re both facing me with their arms crossed over their chests. I know they’re ganging up on me, but I’m so weak. I can’t match them, not now. I hunch my shoulders in defeat and decide to make one last, albeit futile, attempt at avoiding this conversation.
“Look, it was an accident, I’m fine. I just need some meds, and I’ll be good as new.” I give them a strained smile. I remember my split lip too late, and feel it tear open followed by a trickle of blood flowing down my chin from the re-opened wound.
The fury in Ron’s eyes doesn’t diminish in the slightest at my pathetic explanation.
“You,” he points at me. “In my office now. You’re gonna tell me who the fuck is responsible for this. Then, Jake and Greg are going to make sure his face matches yours before they cut his dick off.” With that, Ron walks off in the direction of his office and I limp my way behind him. Holy shit! This is not how I wanted tonight to go.
Ron points at one of the leather overstuffed chairs across from his desk once we’re inside and he shuts the door. I gingerly lower myself down, trying not to whimper as my lower half finally connects with the soft leather. He surprises me by taking the chair next to me, instead of his usual spot behind his desk. He takes a few deep breaths before he looks at me again.
“You can lie to anyone else you want to, but do not fucking lie to me. I know a woman who’s been raped when I see one. I won’t pretend I know what this is like for you. I’m not gonna make you go to the cops, and drag this out if you don’t want to, but you need to tell me who did this.” I open my mouth to protest, but Ron keeps talking. “You don’t have to tell me anything other than his name, but you will tell me.” He gives a deep sigh, seeming to rethink some of what he just said. “If you really want to go to the cops, we can do that, too. I’ll stay with you the whole way. It’s your choice, but one of those two is happening. Tonight.” He gives me a look that makes my heart ache. For a moment, I feel safe. I feel cared for.
Then, I remember this is just business. Ron can’t let someone get away with hurting one of his employees. It would make him look weak.
“What are you going to do if I give you his name?” I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but I want to hear him say it.
“Kill him.” Ron doesn’t hesitate. He looks me right in the eyes as he speaks.
“I…I don’t even think it was really rape. I mean I’ve been…I’ve been seeing him for a while now and things were just…they were just different this time.” I stumble through the words, trying to not tell Ron more than I need to. Every word makes scenes from earlier run through my mind. My hand drifts up to gently rub my neck as I remember Nate’s hard grip. I can almost hear his heavy breathing and grunting. I shudder involuntarily, my stomach rebels, and for a moment, I think I might be sick.
“If you have to even think about whether it was rape or not, it fucking was. I don’t care if you’re married to the motherfucker, living in a house with a white picket fence and shit. If he hurt you, if he touched you without your permission, if he keeps going when you say stop, it's fucking rape.” Ron’s tone is absolute. “Give me
his name. I promise it won’t come back on you, and I promise he’ll never touch you again.”
“You’re asking me to kill someone.” Ron opens his mouth, but I raise my hand to stop him. “I can’t give you his name knowing you’re going to kill him. Even if it is rape, like you said, I can’t just let you kill him.” My eyes are watering, and I know I’m about to start crying, again. It feels like that’s all I do anymore. I haven’t cried in front of Ron since the first night he met me. I was crying tears of joy that night, to finally have food in my stomach, and a place to sleep; it almost feels like I’ve come full circle in a twisted way.
“If you don’t want me to kill him, I can’t agree to that. I can promise that it won’t come back on you, and I promise that I would kill anyone who attacked one of mine; it's not just you. But, kiddo, you deserve revenge for this. I would bring you his head if I didn't think it would do you more harm than good to see. He’s going to pay. You’re one of us, and no one fucks with us.” Ron leans back in his chair, waiting for my answer.
I know this is the best I’ll get from Ron. Honestly, would the death of Nate really weigh on my conscious? I’m already so fucked up. It’s too late for me.
“I will give you his name.” I give in.
I know no one is letting this go, and I don’t want to go through the humiliation of being interviewed and examined by the police. I doubt they would have Ron’s view of the situation anyway. I can almost hear their laughter when I tell the police someone I’ve been sleeping with willingly for months raped me. I know from too many painful experiences that the people who are supposed to be our heroes are really the villains. There are no more heroes in this world, at least not in mine.
“Good. Now, who is this bastard?” Ron leans forward, putting his forearms on his knees.
“Nate, Nate Richardson.” I hate to admit it, but I feel a sense of relief telling Ron his name.
Ron gives me a curt nod, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and brings it to his ear.
“Jake. You with Greg? ” He goes silent for a minute. I can hear Jake talking on the other line, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. “Good,” Ron pauses, and puts his mouth over his phone before speaking to me.
“Go into my private bathroom. There’s a change of clothes in the closet. They will be big on you, but it’s better than nothing. Take a shower. Meds are in the cabinet, and take the bottle with you when you leave. I’m sending you home with Declan. You need to rest, and you can’t be alone right now, until we find this fucker.” I open my mouth to protest, but he gives me a hard look, and I close my mouth.
A few moments later, I’m standing under the hot water in Ron’s shower. The water soothes my aches and the tension in my body. I carefully wash between my legs, wincing as the soap and water burn slightly. I get a weak sense of satisfaction when I’m finished, knowing I’ve washed all of Nate off of me.
True to what he said, Ron has a closet in his bathroom full of sweats and t-shirts. I grab the smallest I can find of each and dress. I use a comb to detangle my hair and throw on the hoodie I found hanging on the back of the door. When I walk back into his office, Declan is waiting for me. He’s standing next to the leather chairs, his arms are crossed over his chest, and his legs are spread apart. He looks so big and intimidating. I never realized how tall he was before. He has to have at least a foot on my 5’4”. His muscles are bulging under his black t-shirt, his tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves where they begin and continuing down his arms to his wrists. His long dark hair is loose, flowing around his head. If I let myself focus, I could picture him as a medieval knight.
“Did Ron tell you?” My voice is quiet. I play with the hem of the hoodie I’m wearing, looking anywhere but at Declan’s face.
“He told me enough. He’s on his way to meet up with Jake and Greg.” I’m shocked Ron is leaving to handle this himself. He rarely handles anything personally anymore. I’m distracted from my thoughts by the way Declan’s tone sounds almost envious. Why would he wish he were going? He’s probably just upset that he’s stuck here babysitting me.
“What about the bar?” If Declan’s leaving with me, that means there’s no bartender.
“Quinn’s got it.” Declan eyes are searching my face.
“Look, you don’t have to stay with me. I just need to go home and sleep. Ron’s got the good stuff.” I give a weak laugh, and jiggle the bottle of pain pills I took from Ron’s cabinet that’s now in the pocket of the hoodie.
“Yeah,” Declan gives a sigh. “You do need sleep, but you’re not going home. Ron said to take you to my place in case that fucker shows at your house. It won’t take too long for word to get out that Ron’s looking for him, but it’s still going to take some time for them to track him down. If he gets wind they’re looking for him, the asshole would probably head straight for your place. The last thing you need right now is to be alone. So, we can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way, but you’re going to my place. You’re gonna rest, and I’m gonna keep an eye on you.” Declan gives me what I think is supposed to be a stern look, but all I can think about is how beautiful he is. Again. What the fuck is wrong with me? What kind of fucked up person thinks someone is beautiful so soon after what happened? I must really be some sort of whore.
“Now that you’re out, I’m gonna call a cab. You hungry? I can call and have something delivered if you want?” Declan has his phone out now, and is scrolling through it.
“I’m not hungry. I could use a drink, though.” I toss my clothes in Ron’s trashcan. I feel bad because it's a small trashcan, meant for paperwork, but I just can’t stand the idea of bringing them home or wearing them again. Part of me wishes I could burn them.
“I have vodka. That work for you?” Declan asks before speaking to the cab company.
I nod shifting from foot to foot, trying to ignore how uncomfortable standing is, while he gives the address to the dispatcher, and ends the call before sliding his phone back into his pocket.
“Alright. There’s a guy right around the corner, so it’s our lucky night. Let’s roll.” Declan walks toward me. Carefully, he reaches over and pulls the hood over my head and zips the hoodie up as far as it goes. His eyes look so full of… something that I’m scared to name, and the gesture is so tender. “You don’t wanna be outside in this cold with wet hair. You’ll get sick.” He grabs my purse from where I left it on the floor, and makes his way to Ron’s private door.
“We can’t use that. It’s for Ron’s use only,” I recite the rule I was taught when Ron hired me. I don’t know why something so trivial bothers me, but it does. There are rules in place that we have to follow. I can’t take any more chaos or disorder tonight.
“I have permission from the big guy, special circumstances and all,” Declan says before pushing the door open.
He was right about the cold air, it hits me and I start shivering uncontrollably. Declan walks straight to the cab, sitting in the alley, and opens the door for me. I slide in, wincing again as my ass hits the bench seat. Declan slides in next to me, sitting a little closer than normal, but not touching me. I get a whiff of his cologne, and it's a welcome relief from the smell of stale cigarettes that seems to be so permanent in all cabs.
The ride to Declan’s apartment is so short I would have said taking a taxi was ridiculous if I weren’t in so much pain. The relief from my shower is fading away, and exhaustion is kicking in.
I check out my surroundings while Declan pays the driver. His building looks like a typical apartment building, rows of windows with different types of blinds, and a few window boxes with dead plants in them. I also recognize the area; he’s very close to me and my park. Maybe he wasn’t following me that night. He types in a code, and the door to the building buzzes open. He opens it, and stands to the side, letting me go in first.
“My apartment is on the second floor. Can you make it up the stairs? If not, I can carry you?” He looks deep into my eyes when he asks this. I think he wan
ts to make sure I’m not lying.
“I’m okay if I take it slowly.” I make my way up the stairs, one step at a time, breathing deeply every time I have to raise a leg. Maybe I should have seen a doctor? I decide I don’t care; it’s nothing fatal, and the pain isn’t worth the further humiliation. Declan follows behind me patiently. I know he could probably have made it up in half the time, but he doesn’t look irritated.
“It’s this one.” Declan points toward the first door on the right, number thirty-two. I give a snort when I see the number.
“What’s up with the snort? My door ugly or something?” Declan asks while using his key to unlock the door.
“Would you believe that thirty-two is my lucky number?”
“Yeah, I would believe that B Girl,” Declan says, mysteriously, as I follow him into the apartment. It’s pretty small, almost the same size as my studio, but he has a bedroom with an actual door. The floors are old, damaged wood, but he has a large rug in the living room area that gives it a cozy feeling. He doesn't have a couch, but an oversized leather loveseat instead. All the colors are neutral, and his walls are bare except for a huge flat screen TV mounted to the wall in front of the loveseat.
“Alright, B Girl, did you take any pills yet?” Declan asks, walking into his kitchen and rummaging around in some cabinets. I see him open his freezer and pull out a bottle of vodka.
“Not yet, I was waiting until I could sleep. Those things always knock me out.” I slowly lower myself onto the loveseat.
“That works out perfectly because the plan is for you to pass out, so take them with this and get comfy.” Declan hands me a double shot of vodka. “That’s all you’re getting. You know, mixing pain pills with alcohol and all that jazz…” I should probably find his sarcasm and upbeat attitude irritating, but it's so refreshing. He doesn't treat me like I’m broken, or like I’m damaged, even tonight of all nights.
I down the drink and a few pills in two swallows. Feeling the burn in my throat is a welcome distraction from all the other aches and pains in my body right now.
