Page 7 of Brutal Promise

“This is me by the park…great day for a walk,” I speak loudly so that strangers walking by can hear me. But this is New York City, and no one pays attention. I notice the man in the hoodie slows his pace and ducks his head.

Fuck.

He confirms my worst nightmare. I post the video to one of my social media accounts in case I disappear in the following three blocks and send it to Alena.

I textThis dude is following me. Do you know why?

Dots appear, then her reply,Fuck, I’ll meet you downstairs.

My breathing is more like a chugging freight train, heavy and laboring with terror by the time I reach the door. Oddly, we both peek at the street again, and the man is gone. Alena hugs me to her.

“Whew, that was so weird,” I say, embracing the comfort of her arms. I’m shaking.

“Are you sure he was following you or….”

“I’m wondering if he wants you,” I reply as we squeeze into the elevator.

Her eyes loom across the small space like flying salad plates.

“Oh, shit.” Her face turns pale now that she’s connecting the dots.

“There’s a reason you’re in a secure building and near a park, with lots of pathways and traffic,” I add.

“I never thought much of it. Dad picked the flat.”

“Is something going on with your dad?” It’s the only logical conclusion. My hand shakes as we get off on our floor, and by the time I open our door, Alena is texting her dad. I drop the food in the kitchen and head to my bedroom. I sit in front of my sewing machine, fussing with fabrics until my heart rate returns to normal.

My mind is cluttered, wandering. I’m in shock. What if I was taken? What if someone wants me to get to Alena?

When I'm anxious, working with my hands helps me stop fidgeting and transports me back to when I was seven and learned my mother wasn’t coming home. It started shortly after that, the fidgeting and the heaviness in my chest. I can’t dismiss the thoughts of what could have happened and those thoughts racing through my mind. Then my mind drifts into what might happen in the future. Then it’s a train ride of doomsday thoughts going to dark places.

Over the years, I’ve learned to stop the thoughts from getting away from me. Using my creativity is one way I escape the ugliness of the world. I want to think, in some small way, my talent makes the world more beautiful. My time is better spent being productive than rehashing the past or dwelling on misfortunes I can’t control.

I might not be able to change the past, but I’m trying to control my future. Mom didn’t want me to live in New York City, and my aunt protested my move. I refuse to be a slave to the past. Mom’s not here, and she’d want me to pursue my dreams. She loved it when we’d play dress up, and I’d add accessories to our outfits. I wonder what she would do with her life if she were still alive.

I head to the kitchen to prepare our dinner, and Alena joins me.

“Dad said no one should have a beef with me or you. But he’ll investigate it. I’m not sure if he believed me.” Her face is quizzical. “Why would someone want me?”

“Because your dad is someone of importance. Who knows? Could be a million reasons.”

She sits in our tiny nook in the kitchen and waits for me to dig into the paninis I pressed. She has a device for making them, and they come out perfect. I don’t know what she’d get as a gift for a wedding. She has everything. I’m being silly. I rememberThe Godfatherand realize she’ll be handed oodles of cash.

She’s wearing faded skinny jeans and a white blouse that ties at her navel. Her mouth wraps around the sandwich. She takes a bite, chews, and swallows. “These are delicious, thank you.” She swallows her diet soft drink and seems to have dismissed my near brush with death.

Maybe this has happened to her before. I’m afraid to ask, but if she isn’t worried, maybe her dad has security on us. Perhaps I’m delusional. I shrug it off, but I can’t forget the waves of panic that gripped me as I walked faster to make sure I reached the safety of our building. I’m fortunate she was home and opened the door for me. Who knows what would have happened if I had to take a minute to punch in my code?

Alena thanked me for making lunch and volunteered to clean the kitchen. I return to my room and hold the dress briefly, wishing my mother was here. I hold it before me and move in front of my full-length mirror. The long sleeves are lacy, and my skin will show through the open areas in the sleeves, which are elegant and tastefully sexy. I love the dress and can’t wait to get my first assignment on creating something incredible and get paid for my labor. In the corner of my room is a free-standing rack with a man’s suit and dresses I created for my senior project. Money was tight, and school kept me busy, so I didn’t make many items for myself. Now, I wish I had made something with the nightclub in mind. I’m sure there’s a market for affordable dresses without the high price tags.

I wonder if I’ll get noticed in this dress. No man has ever given me the kind of attention Alena receives. Her male friends will carry on conversations with me, even bat their eyes at me and tell me funny stories to entertain me, but I see through it. They pass the time in a club before it gets late and then launch the sales pitch for me to go back to their place. I know they want sex. I don’t believe love happens in an instant. Maybe for a man, but for me, not so much. I can’t say I’m not envious of how men look at Alena with hunger in their eyes. She’s known most of these men for years. It’s one thing the mafia offers, and ironically, it’s the one thing I don’t have. Family. They have stories from their youth. They know each other’s faults and love each other no matter how many arguments they’ve had over the years.

I believe love exists. Otherwise, my mother wouldn’t have been so sad without my father. I sigh as I swirl around with the dress held to me. I’ll go out tonight because I love to dance and it will help me forget about this afternoon. Maybe I’ll meet a mature man who makes me dizzy with desire. I’m tired of the toys in my dresser drawer, and maybe tonight, with this dress, I’ll get lucky and find someone who captures my attention. Why not? What’s the harm in a hookup? I’m giving myself a pass to have sex, and I hope I pick a man who knows what he’s doing.

“Do you want me to do your eyes?” Alena hollers from her vanity.

“Sure, just no fake eyelashes. I don’t want to look like Cleopatra.”

“You’re always so dra-ma-tic,” she annunciates the worddramaticto mock me.

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