She glanced up at me with sweat beading on her brow. "Honey?"
"Go!" I insisted, pulling her to her feet. "Don't worry about me. Get home and into bed." I walked her to the back door and outside to where her car was parked. "Besides," I smiled down at her pale face, "I like you owing me."
She made a pitiful attempt to laugh, but then gagged and slapped her hand across her mouth. Before we even reached her car she had to stop and retch. I jumped back as far as I could without letting go of her. I loved Della, she was my soul sister, but if I got vomit anywhere on me I would be joining her. While I supported her through the episode, I prayed that whatever she had wasn't contagious.
When she was able to walk again we made it the rest of the way to her car and I opened the door. "Do you have any tissue or anything in there?" I asked, settling her behind the wheel.
She reached for something, a bottle of water, and took a swig. I knew what she was going to do without her saying a word, because I would have done the same thing. Once again, I stepped back so that she could spit the water onto the ground. She moaned weakly.
"Oh, God…"
"Will you make it home?" I thanked God that we only lived ten minutes from the bar. She nodded without looking at me. "Good. Call me when you get there so I'll know that you made it okay. Drive careful and I'll see you in a little bit." I closed her door and waited until she had pulled out of the lot and onto the main road.
I spun around to go back inside and then came to a dead stop, my heart in my throat when I sensed that someone was there. It was dark back behind the bar, and the dumpster made it smelly. The few parking spots were reserved for the employees, but once in a while a customer would make his way to the back of the building, usually for a drug deal or to have sex with a hooker that he'd picked up.
A shadow gradually detached itself from the back corner of the building, tall and broad and frightening, because he was moving in my direction. I was too scared to say anything, frozen into place and holding my breath, my eyes glued to the shape of the man as he eventually stepped into the dim, yellow lighting provided by the bar. As his appearance became clearer, I took in the biker attire, the clunky boots, his cut. The top half of his face was still shadowed, keeping me from seeing his eyes, but I could make out that he had rugged features and long hair. I was struck with stark terror as his face slowly came into view.
I opened my mouth to scream, but all that came out was a pitiful, choked sound of desperation.
My past had finally caught up to me.
Rebel had found me.