Page 18 of Vicious Sentiments

“Hey, what’s happening?” Julian’s voice is close, too close. He’s turned in his seat and is leaning over the console.

I shrink against my door.

“Please. Please, don’t,” My throat constricts on the words and I squeeze my eyes shut. I hate the way I sound—desperate and scared—because it won’t matter. Pleas and tears never do anything. They fall on cruel ears and only succeed at exciting men further. They like the fear. It makes them feel more powerful, makes them more fevered and merciless.

But I can’t help myself.

“Just let me out. Just let me out,” I beg.

I promise myself that I’ll run this time. I won’t let it keep happening to me. I’ll go to a women’s shelter. I’ll make it on my own or I’ll force myself into Death’s arms.

“I’m not letting you out on the freeway,” He balks.

Through the tears I see his face is stricken, a hand hovering in the air, wanting to touch me, and my body starts shaking at the sight.

“Please,” I screech, my voice reaching pitches I haven’t used since I was fourteen. “Don’t hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t—” his voice rises. “Hailey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I wouldn’t—”

“Please.” I’m full-on sobbing, my body convulsing against the door.

“Just calm down,” he says.

But I can’t because it’s going to hurt so bad. My skin feels electric, buzzing and waiting for the impending afflictions. Maybe if I had stayed unfeeling I could be calm, take it while I floated above, but I’ve been feeling. Feeling Margo’s embrace and Marney’s naivety, feeling so much hope that despair has come back with a vengeance.

“Jesus,” Julian huffs and then he unbuckles his seat-belt. “Just hold on.”

Oh, god. Here it comes.

But then his door clicks, the sound of the passing cars flood in, and he’s getting out. He closes the door behind him and I’m in silence. He rounds to the front of the car and I think he’s going to come to my door. I jerk to the center console futilely. He’s still going to be able to get me. Is he going to drag me out by my feet?

But he stops at the hood and shoves his hands in his pockets. He’s mouthing something.

Is this better?

I suck in a shaky breath. Better? Is he not going to pull me out onto the concrete?

You’re okay.He mouths.Breathe.

I blink, tears rolling down my cheeks. What’s he doing? I glance at the other cars on the freeway speeding by and then back to him in his nice slacks and rolled-up dress sleeves, his collar whipping against his neck from the traffic.

Breathe.He mouths again, his eyes locked on mine, and I try tampering down the hyperventilating.

You’re safe.

I uncoil just an inch, shifting so the seat belt latch isn’t digging into my butt.

He nods.Good. Now deep breath.

My heart slows. My skin cools.

He takes his hands out of his pockets and leans on the hood with his elbows. He motions to himself and then to me. He’s showing that he’s out there and I’m in here.

Can’t hurt you.

I relax my muscles, sliding even further back into my seat. He nods again, a smile slowly coming to his lips. It makes it hard for me to read what he’s saying.

That a girl. Good.I think.

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