Page 15 of Don't Speak
The rest of the shift is uneventful. The drinks were flowing, and the music was blaring. Dean mostly kept his distance from me, only asking mundane questions from time to time. The whole shift, I couldn’t help but think of the rather large member in his pants and what I’d like to do with it. I take this thought all the way home with me, scrubbing the bar smell off me and crawling into bed before drifting off into what I hope is a nightmareless sleep.
I know one thing is for certain. I absolutely want to fuck this man.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ten years old
I walk through the front door, my dad having just dropped me off. It was his weekend, and even though I always have a ton of fun when I’m with him, I’m happy to be home. I miss my mom and my dogs.
It’s late, so I make sure to open the door quietly, just in case my mom is asleep on the couch. I told her when I was on the way, so she knew I was coming home. Closing the door behind me, I walk to the living room to check and see if anyone isawake. There’s no sign of anyone, so I make myself a snack and sit down on the couch. I remember watching my favorite movie on the VHS player before I left, and I want to watch it again before bed.
Suddenly, my parents’ door opens, and the last person I want to see walks out. Dressed in nothing but boxers, my stepdad makes his way to the kitchen and grabs himself a beer. Expecting my mom to walk out shortly after, I go ahead and turn on my movie—Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island.
Only… what pops up on the TV is not my movie.
What is this?
What are they doing?
I don’t like this. This isn’t right.
I try to get up to take out the movie, but he stops me. “Leave it.”
No. Not again. I know this all too well.
Every scream raging inside of me dies in my throat. Why won’t my mother just get up and walk out here?
She must be drunk again. He only does this when he knows he won’t get caught.
“Give me your hand,” he demands, uncaring of the streams of tears rolling down my face, his threats playing on constant repeat from all the other times. “Shh. Don’t speak.”
I do as he says, drifting to a place in my mind I know all too well. A place I feel safe. No one can hurt me here. My life is not supposed to be like this.
Wiping my hand and himself with a tissue once he’s finished, I’m finally released from the monster’s grip, running off to my room and shutting myself in the closet, and the familiar comfort of the darkness embraces me with open arms. The tears fall uncontrollably until, finally, I drift into a sleep I wish would be permanent.
CHAPTER TWENTY
My eyes shoot open, the bright light shining in. I immediately shut them, trying to forget the nightmare that plagued me this time.I’m safe. I’m at home.You’re not there, Nikki. He can’t hurt you.I lay still for a moment, fighting back the tears forming in my eyes. No one prepares you for having to relive your trauma throughout your adult years. You would think suffering through it once would be enough, but no. Having the constant reminders is torture.
Grounding myself again, I throw my legs over the bed and sit up. Simba looks at me from the closed door. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, buddy.” Opening the door, he prances over to his foodbowl, awaiting my arrival. Once I’ve taken care of his demands, I run through my morning routine. Life is pretty mundane when you only work, come home, have one friend to hang out with, and then go to work again, but I like it. I like the routine. It keeps me sane.
I’m off today, so I figured I’d run into town to try out a new little coffee shop and check out the local bookstore. I usually don’t go anywhere, preferring the comfort of home to people, but I feel like I need to get out.
I take a quick shower, throw on a pair of ripped jeans and my Medusa crop top, and put on some green Vans. Grabbing the keys to my car, I head out, locking the door behind me. Suddenly, the hairs on my arms stand, and the feeling of being watched is back again. I look around but don’t see anything. I shake the feeling, chalking it up to paranoia. I get into my car and slide into the seat, shutting the door as I put my key into the ignition.
“Bring Me to Life” by Evanescence blares through the speakers. I jump, quickly turning the volume dial down. I amnotthe same person I was last night. I put the car in reverse and back out of the driveway, heading to what I hope to be a relaxing day.
About 20 minutes later, I’m pulling into Thanks-a-Latte Cafè. It just opened a few days ago, and I’ve really been wanting to try it. I’ve heard good things from the girls at work. Amelia is working today. Otherwise, I would have invited her.
Getting out of my car, I walk toward the front door, opening it to the robust smell of freshly brewed coffee. It smellsdivine.I look up at the menu, which is a series of screens with options to choose from, ranging from espresso to frappès, to mochas, and more. I go with what I know since I’m not a coffee connoisseur by any means. Walking up to the barista, she asks, “Welcome to Thanks-a-Latte Cafè. What can I make for you?
“I’ll have an iced white chocolate mocha, please. A size medium,” I reply.
She tells me my total, and I scan my card. A few minutes later, they call my name for the order, and I grab my cup, walk over to a table, and sit down. I put in my AirPods, opting to just sit back and hang out for a few while I enjoy my coffee. I can’t help but watch the people as they come and go. Some walk in with smiles on their faces, and others look like they’re having a rough morning. A man in a suit sits in the corner, lost in what I assume is a business call, judging by the briefcase sitting by his leg. A young woman sits alone in a booth, typing away on her computer. A few others are sitting around a table, watching social media videos, and sharing the funny ones with each other. I can’t help but wonder if they’ve experienced any hardships in life. I used to be resentful of people who never had to endure what I had to. I always used to think it was unfair that I was subject to abuse as a child while my peers around me grew up with a loving family. Anormalfamily.Why was I given the life I had while everyone else had it much better? What did I do to deserve it?
Noticing that I’m starting to tear up, I change my thoughts to those of Dean. Remembering how hard he was makes my whole face change from one of sorrow to one of desire. Quickly, though, my mind starts working against me again, and I start questioning everything once more.How could you think he could ever want to be with you? No one in their right mind would ever want someone like you. No one wants a broken woman. No one wants a woman with trauma. No one wants a woman with emotional damage. He could get something better in a heartbeat. You have too much baggage. You’re not good enough for anyone. No one will ever choose you. If she didn’t choose you, no one will.
Realizing I’m not in the best mental state, I grab my coffee from the table and head back out to my car. I think the bookstore is exactly what I need right now.
