Page 8 of Charity's Torment

“I better go. My mother set me up for another date.”

“Are you going to tell everyone that today?” Max said, walking up to the bar.

“Yes. I’m hoping it will garner sympathy, and someone will come to my rescue.” I stifled a laugh. Truthfully, I wanted them to take pity on me. Maybe I wanted them to rescue me.

Both men laughed.

“We didn’t think you were the rescuing type,” said Max.

“I’m not, but youtryto deny my mother. You’d be begging for help too.” I stood and walked away. Digging my keys from my pocket, I drove home, letting the refreshing air chill me to the bone.

“Cannoli, I’m home, you little beast.” His meow came from the beige couch where I found him sprawled out, stretching and yawning. His back was bent in an unnatural u-shape. I scratched his furry body, then went to the cupboard and fed him his wet food. It looked and smelled horrendous, but he devoured it, regardless.

Cannoli was my rescued Maine Coon that weighed approximately the same as a car. I found him eating out of a dumpster one night while I was on the job. This tiny kitten followed me around and almost revealed my hideout. Ihadto take him home. His level of persistence matched mine tenfold.

I stripped my clothes, tossed them in the hamper, and made my shower water lukewarm. Climbing inside, I relished the chill crawling over my skin. Water streamed over my face, and it brought flashes of memory of my first time. Sparks of lightning splintered the darkened sky, and thunder boomed in the distance. The man was a nobody that stuck his nose in Luca’s business and threatened to leak it to the press. Josh should have been there that night, not me. He agreed to it. He took the money, spent it on drugs, and then couldn’t fulfill his end of the job. Seeing as it was a time-sensitive matter, they gave Josh the chance to complete it or die. When they came for him, I was there, and I offered myself if they spared him. I’ll never forget the look on his blitzed face when he realized the pledge that was made for him.

I saved my brother that night but damned my soul to hell for all eternity.

My soft pink towel snagged on the rod as I pulled it down, unraveling some thread—piece of shit.

Cannoli scratched at the bathroom door, meowing incessantly. “Calm down, you little bastard.”

I wrapped my towel around my head and grabbed my pistol off the counter, bringing it with me, while the cat weaved in and out around my feet. I placed my gun in the holster attached to my nightstand and tucked my hunting knife under my pillow.

It’s ten minutes to midnight, and I’m exhausted.

Chapter 3

As I predicted, the coffee shop was so busy it was difficult to find a seat. I ordered an Americano and found a seat next to the front overlooking the door.

A man with shaggy blond hair down to his shoulders and a raggedy beard to match walked up and took a seat at my table. “Hi, Charity. I’m Chris.” He held his hand out, and I shook it.

I fabricated a smile so well you’d think I was opening a present on Christmas day. “Hi, Chris.” This man resembled a wanderer. A hippy.Mother, what the hell were you thinking?

“Your mom told me you were a beautiful young lady. It surprised me you were available.” Ugh, he sounded like a creeper. Who says that stuff?

I’ve charmed my way through worse conversations, but this was tragic. We had nothing in common. When I told him about my martial arts experience that my mother bragged about apparently, he cringed and told me I needed to learn peace and the art of talking someone down. Violence was never the answer. I wanted to spit in his drink and see if he still agreed.

“I disagree. There is a time and a place for violence. Not everyone is in their right mind to receive a reasoning voice,” I said. “For instance, a man on drugs… he can’t listen to reason. It alters his mind. If he attacks you in that mental state, you have no choice but to use violence to defend yourself. It’s why I learned and mastered it at a young age.”

“And why is that?”

“When I was eleven, I was walking home from school. A classmate attacked me and dragged me into the alleyway. He beat me to within an inch of my life and stole my backpack. All because he heard I had my birthday money with me.” Tears pricked my eyes, remembering the absolute fear I felt as someone so young and innocent. “After I recovered, I joined a self-defense group and trained. I vowed to never become a victim again.” And I’ve kept to that promise. Now I’m the lion instead of the lamb.

After I recovered in the hospital was when the craving for violence became strong. I spent many years in therapy only to go from expert to expert as they tried to correct my brain. Eventually, I learned to conceal the desire from others. They deemed me cured and sent me on my way.

“I see your point. That is a horrible experience. I’m so sorry.” He touched my hand gently, and I allowed him to keep it there. It gave off the illusion that I needed comforting.

“So, you own a coffee shop, huh?” I said, changing the direction of the conversation.

“Yeah, I do. I bought it after I finished up a backpacking trip around Europe. I needed a change of pace.” He took a sip of his tea and placed his cup gingerly on the table.

We would never work out. I couldn’t picture him and me with the same life as my parents. Hell, I didn’t see myself having that life with anyone. It was no longer in my cards. My life was unpredictable and violent. I couldn’t subject kids or someone that I loved to that way of living. Besides, once I joined, I made it an impossibility.

“I have always wanted to go to Europe.”No, I didn’t.“I would love to see the Swiss Alps. They are so beautiful.” I never understood why people thought a sizable chunk of rock was pretty or worth traveling so far to see. Ijust didn’t see the beauty in those things.

“I went skiing down the Alps. It’s a quiet place. Not like it is here in the city.”

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