Page 4 of Raw & Vulnerable

“I, ah, don’t got one a those.”

Staring at him incredulously, Minnie types in her own card number from memory. “Why not? You should get one if you’re going to be here more.”

He gives her a sidelong look and Minnie tries to ignore the daunting way he towers over her. “Why do I need to if you can just type it in for me?”

I don’t exist to baby you,she thinks snidely.

Finishing the booking, Minnie points him to the room with short movements. She doesn’t like being used. She doesn’t like how it makes her feel. She’s not going to dignify him with an answer, this tough guy with his tattoos and scars and that sneer that heats her and scares her at the same time.

She pauses at the door of the quiet study room as he settles in. Her curiosity gets the best of her. “So. Why haven’t you been in a ‘place like this’ for so long? I’m curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat. A goody two-shoes like you should know that.”

Putting a hand on her slight hip, Minnie arches her brows at him skeptically, attempting to draw herself up. “How do you know I’m a goody two-shoes?”

“Because you’re the type of girl that runs far away from guys like me.”

Okay, well,yes. That’s very true.

He’s clearly a man of few words on the matter, so Minnie just firms her lips. Placing her hand on the doorknob, ready to close it, she has to have the last word. “You know, I rather don’t care. I was just trying to make polite conversation. Good day.”

His lips tighten and his hands clench. “I was in prison.” He says it flatly, no inflection. There’s a look in his eyes that wants a bad reaction from her. As if he’s already waiting for judgement in her gaze. Like hewantsto see the fear in her eyes.

It’s a punch in the gut and Minnie tries to not let her eyes widen in shock. Goodness, she’s never met an actual ex-convict before! Her chest tightens as she stares at him, realizing many of the tattoos on his body could possibly be prison tats.

Minnie doesn’t have a tattoo, so she really doesn’t know much about it. She’s afraid of needles. And, she thinks they’re trashy.If that’s true, then why do you want to press your tongue to the skull on his neck, huh, Minnie?

Because I must be mental at the moment,she thinks to herself.

“Oh. My.Well. Study room rentals are in hour blocks. I have to…get back to shelving books.”

When Minnie retreats to her seat at the info desk, she tries to concentrate on anything but him, trying to ease the shakiness of her hands.

She doesn’t have much luck.

Chapter 3

Like a virus, thoughts of him infect her mind later that night in bed. Against her better judgement, she finds herself inventing all sorts of horror stories about him, thinking through every terrible crime he may have committed to deserve being locked up for over a decade.

She’s very creative.

Her thoughts spiral into filth at the end of every little imaginative story she creates. Dwelling on his hands, his vicious ink, the strangely attractive sneer on his cruel lips. Mental images filtered in a gunmetal haze.

This naturally comes after she’s checked every single lock that exists in her two-story townhome. Even the windows. She checks those even though she never opens them, just to be sure. It’s a strange, obsessive feeling that curls in the back of her mind. A burning ‘what-if’ that nags at her like a horrid question with no answer. The feeling of phantom fingers along her spine, scratching at her incessantly.

Sometimes, she’s even compelled to get out of bed and jiggle the front doorknob to make sure the door can’t possibly open without being busted down. Minnie has three deadbolts that her father installed for her when she first moved out of their family home years ago.

Some might say three is excessive.

She’s got a lovely little handgun in her bedstand, collecting dust. Would she ever actually use it? Doubtful. Minnie can’t imagine hurting a rat, let alone an intruder. She knows herself well enough to know she’d probably freeze, just like she did when-

Anyway.

When all of these places are locked up, she finally locks her bedroom door, placing a chair in front of the handle. She’s not sure that it actually provides any safety, but it eases her frantic mind to see it. Her doctor suggested that she take Xanax on the rougher nights to help calm her, but Minnie doesn’t like the dull, unsharp feeling it gives her.

When she doesn’t pay attention, bad things happen. It’s easy to be taken unawares.

It takes effort to shift her mind to other things as she settles into her soft, dark sheets. It feels taboo, thinking of an ex-con in this manner when she’s already not in a proper state of mind. The forbidden aspect of it adds to the shamefaced excitement.

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