When we left the restaurant and climbed into the rental, he asked where I lived, and I started navigating. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me but I feel panicked, a new mode popping up without warning. I still don’t want to go home but I don’t know what I’m thinking. That he’s going to take me back to the motel? And then what?
Whatever this was is ending, and now all I feel is this panic. How am I supposed to go back home and take the pain again and drown in the numbness, when I know that he exists? That somewhere he holds the key to ease and safety?
It dawns on me that itissafety. Something about him makes me feel safe. Which is outrageous because he’s a stranger. But I’ve been in less danger today with him than I’ve ever been with my father.
My hand shakes as I point for him to make a right. The final right before my house comes into view, with all its sagging siding and overgrown weeds. The sun has dipped behind the horizon, so at least it won’t be in all its depressing glory. But I’ll see it tomorrow and the thought makes me sick.
Julian is squinting and leaning over the steering wheel, having a good look at the neighborhood. He has the same disdain on his face as he had at seeing the motel and the restaurant.
“You live here?” He slows the car to a crawl.
I don’t answer, so he looks over at me and I nod.
“And when do you turn eighteen?”
I clear my dry throat. “November second.”
He nods, clenching his jaw.
I feel hopeful for a second. Maybe he will come back for me then, when I’m eighteen and not a liability. But then I deflate because this man will surely forget about me by the time he lays his head down on the standard pillows of Bridgerock’s Sunshine Motel. He’s handsome and rich and well-mannered, and while I may live in a house, I’m trailer trash and smell like dollar store body wash.
“Who’s that?” he asks and nods out my passenger window.
We’ve stopped in front of my house and Kyle is sitting on the dilapidated steps. His snap back is on backwards and the junk tattoos on his forearm are lit up under the dangling porch bulb.
He looks agitated.
“Uh…” I start but I don’t want to call Kyle my boyfriend. He’s a guy who claims me against my will.
Kyle hunches his neck out, looking directly at me until recognition flashes on his face. He’s up in an instant, shouting my name, and my heart hits my throat. He’s not going to like this—a man driving me home. It’s going to take hours of his thrusting before he feels like he’s the only one again.
I don’t want it. God, I don’t want it. I feel tears pool in my eyes, and the nice steak dinner turns to rocks in my stomach. I’m desperate, so desperate to escape it that I’m about to turn to Julian and beg him to drive when he speaks before I can.
“Stay here,” he orders, his voice hard and leaving no room for disobedience.
He’s opened his door and ducked out by the time Kyle is in front of the car.
“Who the fuck is this?” Kyle is flailing his lanky arms at Julian whilestaring at me. “You out being a fucking whore?”
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t breathe. I can’t do this. I try to suck in air but it’s too short and I’m quickly hyperventilating.
Julian slams the door, and I want to lock them so I have some minuscule bit of protection but I can’t move. I’m frozen watching the rage on Kyle’s face, my head bobbing up and down with each short breath I get.
I can’t explain this away. Kyle won’t hear it. Not with this nice rental being rubbed in his face. It’s not going to be just the thrusting. There will be punches. Probably to my already tender ribs—thanks to my dad. And I can’t. I can’t. I should have jumped. I should be with Death, safe in her arms.
“Did you touch her?” a voice booms, and I can feel it vibrate the seat beneath me. It’s Julian, his measured tone replaced with a fury I haven’t heard from him yet.
“Get the fuck—” Kyle starts but Julian towers over him, places a palm on his forehead and shoves. The veins in his forearm bulge with the flex of his muscles.
Kyle stumbles back but his thin frame is aerodynamic and he doesn’t fall.
“Motherfu—” He lunges at Julian.
“Yeah,” Julian nods. “You touched her,” he says matter-of-factually, pointing at Kyle. Julian’s arm whips back and then careens into the center of Kyle’s face. I hear a crunch and flinch.
Kyle cups his nose, blood pouring between his fingers.
“Son of a—” Kyle tries, but yet again, he’s cut off by Julian who throws a low right punch to Kyle’s side. This time, he does fall, and Julian doesn’t miss a beat, straddling him and pulling up his nice slacks to get on his knees.