Page 7 of Sweet Surrender

Still, though, I can tell she’s like a scared little rabbit on the lookout for predators. When Frankie needed to be walked just after dinner, I told her that I’d go with her. She locked her door diligently and I watched as she adjusted the keys between her fingers. Even with me by her side, she was afraid.

Those moments endeared me to her even more. I kept my eyes peeled for danger, but we only saw a few people pulling into the parking lot or walking out to their cars. No one even bothered a glance in our direction.

“Can I admit something to you, Mitchell?” Kaitlyn asks before I get off the couch and head for the door.

She could tell me that she’s a murderer with a dozen bodies in her closet and I wouldn’t judge her. I’d try to figure out how to help her dispose of them and come to terms with her bloodlust, but I wouldn’t judge her. Kaitlyn calls to an inner protective daddy inside of me that just wants to keep his baby girl safe. “You can admit anything,” I reassure her.

Kaitlyn chews anxiously on her bottom lip as she tries to find the right words to say. I see her reject half a dozen ideas as she worries about whether she’s going to sound too vulnerable or clingy. But eventually, she sighs and lands on, “I’m scared to go to bed.”

I could tell her that it’s all going to be alright and she’ll be fine, but I know that’s not what she needs right now. Instead, I grab her hand tentatively and pull her to her feet. “Is it okay if I tuck you in before I leave? I can lock the door behind me,” I promise.

Her eyes drift toward the door where there is a deadbolt, a door lock, and a chain that can be attached for added safety. Then she looks to the kitchen and pulls away from me. I let her leave because her autonomy is important. After being held captive by those two boys and feeling like she might lose her life or her innocence, she needs to know that nothing will ever keep her captive again.

Kaitlyn rifles through one of the drawers while I slowly make my way over to see if I can help her. After a few seconds, her left hand emerges with a key. “Would you use this?” She asks as she turns to face me. “I would prefer if the deadbolt were locked when you left. But I’d really like it if you tucked me in.”

She’s fragile, like a child, and nothing makes me happier than to give her the safety and security she needs right now. I take the key from her and place it in my breast pocket. “Absolutely. I want you to feel safe while I’m gone.” I don’t mention that her sudden attachment to me and handing over her key to a virtual stranger is verging heavily on concerning behavior. If I were someone more nefarious, I would take advantage of her in this state. But I’m just a man who wants to see her regain her power from the men that stole it from her.

She leads me to the bedroom and once again I avert my eyes while she changes. The oversized t-shirt she put on after the bath was alluring knowing that she only had a pair of panties on beneath. Kaitlyn decided to skip the sweats after the bath and though she covered her legs with a blanket through most of the evening, I knew what was underneath.

Now she strips down to her panties and climbs beneath the covers. I watch her ankles disappear from the ground and hear the rustling of her blankets as she makes herself cozy. Under that blanket is a nearly naked, gorgeous woman, and once again, it occurs to me that I’m too nice of a guy to do anything about it.

I walk over to her and sit on the side of the bed, making sure she’s secure beneath the blankets. “Remember, call me any time, day or night.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Kaitlyn says the second I close my mouth. “It can’t be normal to take care of someone like you’re taking care of me.”

It might not be normal for her, but it’s second nature for me. When my mom was diagnosed with depression and anxiety disorder after my father left, taking care of her was just part of my daily tasks. Make dinner. Do the laundry. Wash the dishes. Make sure mom ate something before getting her into a shower. Do my homework. Go to bed.

“I don’t know how to explain it, but I hope you know that I’m doing this because I want to. I want to be here with you and make sure you’re okay. I think beneath all that fear and hesitation those boys brought out in you is a vibrant young woman.” I pause long enough to bend down and press my lips to her forehead. “I want to meet her. Hopefully, soon.”

Kaitlyn gives me a watery smile as if at any second she might burst into tears. “Today was one of the worst days of my life, but somehow, you helped me survive it.”

I’ve heard that from people before. No one ever calls the cops because they’re having a great day and they want to share it with us.

I give Kaitlyn a smile that’s more whole than her own before I dig the key out of my breast pocket and tell her that I’ll lock the door behind me. As I stand up, I’m replaced by Frankie. She drops her head on Kaitlyn’s stomach and stares up at her owner with those caring, beautiful blue eyes. “Good night, Kaitlyn. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

She places a hand on Frankie’s fur and nods her head at me. “Good night, Mitchell.”

8

KAITLYN

The blonde is back. I open my eyes and look at the window just a few feet away and see him standing there. He has the backpack on and wears a lascivious smile that makes my insides shrivel up. “The cop is gone now,” he taunts, “it’s time to have fun.”

He slowly walks toward me and I look around for Frankie, but she’s nowhere to be found. I can’t move or run or escape; I am paralyzed in bed. Blondie grabs the bedspread and rips it back. “Naked and waiting for me, just like a good little girl.”

I’m jolted awake by the presence of Frankie. She leaps onto the bed beside me and makes herself comfortable. The moon is high in the sky and in the living room, I can hear the television recounting a sports game that I missed. The bed is soaked in sweat and my hair is pressed to my face.

I raise my watch and the face turns on, alerting me to the time. 3:47 am. It’s the same time as last night and the night before.

I drag myself out of bed and grab my essentials: my phone and a canister of pepper spray. I take them both to the bathroom with me where I lock the door and turn on the light. I’m momentarily blinded by the fluorescent lights and I shield my eyes as I sink to the floor with my safety guards.

While getting used to the brightness of the room, I shoot off a text to Mitchell. It’s been three days since the attempted robbery and he’s been just as gentle with me as he was the first day I met him. Even when he receives long-winded messages from me at 4:00 am prattling on about my latest nightmare, he responds kindly. He shows up before my shift at work and arrives when his shift at the station is over. He is the kindest man I’ve ever known.

It happened again. But this time the blonde was in my bedroom. He was standing by the windowsill and said that the cop was gone. I woke up a few minutes later covered in sweat. It made me miss you.

I send the message and then put the phone upside down on the bathroom counter. Now that I am no longer feverish from my nightmare, the sweat cooling on my body has chilled me to the bone. I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand it and watch the steam fill the room. As I strip off my panties, I step into the stream and let the hot water boil my skin.

I know what’s happening to me. I realized it within a day of the robbery. I started by googling how to keep myself safe and investing in all the items that my friends would. I bought a stun gun online with expedited shipping. I bought a six-pack of pepper spray even though I’ve never used it once in my life. But now I have a canister in my car, on my bedside table, in my kitchen, and sitting right by the front door.

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