Page 27 of Bone Dust

It’s what works best for me.

I exit the shower and as I towel myself dry, I think about the things I’ve lacked for most of my life and the things I value most. I’d never considered anyone but me in the carefully configured framework of my days. The intentional linear regimen has worked for me thus far. No one else entered the mix.

Until Savannah.

Wrestling with my thoughts, I toss the towel in the hamper and lie naked on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My endorphin-soaked brain is sated, and the evidence of my imaginary fuck session’s been swallowed down the drain. I wish I could scrub my thoughts as well as I wash the dirt off my body, but mental images of Savannah jumpstart my emotions, and make me want things I’ve never had. Maybe, just once, I could ask her out for coffee—No.

No!

Instantly, I strangle the thought, suffocating it before it takes another breath. I know what’s good for me. She defines the word “normal” and that word fits nowhere in my life. So, no matter how I feel, or what I want to do with her, the answer is a hard fuck no.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Savannah

Though I’ve tried not to let it affect me, Drake’s call still has me slightly unnerved. A few times I’ve looked over my shoulder because the lingering sound of his snide tone put me on edge. I shouldn’t allow him rent-free space in my head but I’m only human and I have someone else to consider I hold dear enough to die for—Gigi.

A lump forms in my throat as I think of her. The mere thought of something happening to Gigi chokes me up. No matter what I have to do, I’ll keep her safe from him. He’s a chameleon, a master of manipulation, and he has a knack for reading the room so he can fit in. His words are sweet, but his actions sour any relationship that’s more than superficial. He was sweet. He was kind. He said he loved me.

He lied.

I’ll never forget the night we broke up. Tired of being caught in a cycle of vicious emotions, I’d had enough. I told him we were through, and he smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile, more like the leer of a shark. He asked me if he could give me a kiss goodbye. I’d kissed him a hundred times and, since I’d lost any emotional connection to him, I agreed. It started sweet but soon grew forceful. He pinned me, yanked up my skirt, and held me captive, ripping my hair as he brutally forced himself inside of me. The more I tried to fight him, the more violent he became, tearing tender flesh as he drilled himself inside of me. I fought. I begged. He ignored me. But instead of crying, rage festered inside of me. I told him I was going to go to the police. He said “Go ahead. They won’t do anything.”

I went home and cleaned myself up. I lay in bed. The rape was horrible, but the implication that he could get away with it left me curled up in my bed, numb, and confused. Was he right?

He continued to call me repeatedly and my father grew suspicious. Dad knew something happened, so I told him Drake threatened to hurt me. He took me to the police and insisted on a restraining order. I blink back tears remembering that time in my life, now thankful that I never told him the truth. Two weeks later, my parents were dead.

The pain and trauma from that time haunts me but the strain in my voice fits the song. As I finish Roy Orbison’s “Crying”, tears blur my vision, but I’m met with a round of applause. As I catch my breath, I address the audience one final time before ending the evening.

“Thanks for coming out tonight. My name’s Savannah Grace and I’ll be back next week.”

As the bar fills with chatter and laughter, I begin the familiar task of gathering my purse and guitar. I’m not afraid of him but am mentally preparing for the possibility of an encounter and, though my thoughts are scattered, I need some sort of strategy. Should I tell Sam or play the waiting game?

For now, I shake off troublesome thoughts as I toss my hair back and head to the exit leading to the parking lot.

“Night, Sam. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I call over to him.

He nods. “Give my girl a kiss for me.”

“Will do.”

I toss a wave as I exit the building. Once outside, I smile. The parking lot is nearly full, and I pause to take in the scene. As much as Sam’s helped me achieve a dream, I’ve also helped him achieve his. A warm, satisfied feeling wraps around me. This is his vision and it’s coming true.

“Cough.”

The sound makes me snap to attention, and anxiety pools within me, instantly capturing my thoughts. I stop, listen, and place my finger in position on the container of pepper spray on my key ring until I’m confident in continuing to my car.

Every step I take leaves an imprint in the digital world and as I look at the security camera overlooking the lot, I remember how adept Drake Caruso is at navigating the dark corners of the internet. I can’t help but wonder what he’s learned about me. His reputation for stalking isn’t unfounded—he’s well-connected and has access to resources most people can only dream of. Drake’s father is a powerful figure, with a seemingly reputable commercial sanitation business as a front. Rumors swirl about a nefarious shadow operation and Drake hinted at his involvement in clandestine dealings. His sanitation business looks legitimate enough. He boasted of lunches and dinners with prominent, affluent individuals, solidifying his walk from college graduation to a position as his dad’s right-hand man and eventual successor. My heart races at the thought of him spying on me.

Snatching a look over my shoulder, I continue to my car. For peace of mind tonight I need the comfort of home, a big bowl of freshly popped popcorn, and singing every word of “Under the Sea” with my best little girlfriend as we watch The Little Mermaid for, what seems like, the millionth time.

As I press the key fob, the horn honks, and the doors unlock with a satisfying click. I barely have time to wrap my fingers around the handle when a sudden noise, once again, pierces the quiet night.

The sound is a gunshot to my rattled nerves. My body tenses as if preparing for attack. Survival instincts kick into gear and I scramble to get in the car.

Fumbling for the door handle, I finally manage to pull it open and slide inside the car. My hand automatically reaches for the steering wheel, using it as an anchor as I sink into the seat. Just as I'm about to slam the door shut and speed away from, what in my mind could be a potentially dangerous situation, the sound again catches my attention. It's faint at first, but then it grows louder and more urgent. Is that ... a moan?

It sounds like someone is hurt.

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