Page 82 of Dark Knight

I pick up the bags and continue on, shaking my head at myself. I really need to get a grip. I also need to remember that, even though our sessions have generally turned into us fooling around with no clothes on, Romero has taught me a few more moves in case I ever do find myself in a bad situation. I am not helpless. I am not the girl I was when we first came here. I barely remember her, come to think of it. I can’t say I miss her.

The bags are getting a little heavier with every step by the time I reach the corner, and as I’m turning off Main Street, I do the sort of thing people do all the time without thinking about it: I look down the street, back toward where I came from.

My insides go icy when I see him again, this time three doors behind me, lingering in the doorway to the pet shop.

All right, this is not a coincidence. It never was. This man is definitely following me, and I don’t need to know why to know he’s bad news. Right away, I pick up my pace because what’s the point anymore? I’m tired of playing games. I know he’s following me, and he probably knows I know.

Think, damn it! But I can’t think with all the screaming panic in my head. Remember, he taught you what to do. Sure, but I was horny and barely paying attention. And it’s one thing to learn how to defend yourself, but another thing to remember all the steps at the moment. I’m supposed to… What? What am I supposed to do?

I can’t lead him back to the house, that’s for sure. Romero would probably kill him. Maybe it would be worth it. But what if Romero couldn’t get close enough? I doubt the guy is dumb enough to follow me into the house, right? So what could Romero do? No, that won’t work. My eyes dart back and forth, searching for… What? What am I trying to find? I don’t know. Help, but from who? From where?

We’re still a couple of blocks away from the house by the time I approach a garage next door to a mechanic. Typically, the doors are open so people passing by can see the mechanics working, but now they’re closed, and there’s no light coming from the windows. I throw a quick look behind me to make sure the guy hasn’t rounded the corner yet, then duck into the narrow opening between the two buildings. The brick walls are tall enough to cast deep shadows and rob me of the sun’s warmth.

He’ll probably pass by, or maybe he’ll stop once he looks down the street and doesn’t see me. He can go back where he came from, wherever that is.

I’m only telling myself what I want to believe. If the guy is after me, he’s not going to stop. Tears threaten to fill my eyes, but I blink them back, gritting my teeth in anger at myself. I’m not going to fall apart. Not now. Not ever again.

There is so little traffic on a Friday morning, which means I can hear what’s happening without passing cars drowning it out. And that’s why I hear him coming with those heavy boots crunching leaves under them. Closer, closer. In a brief moment of clarity, I set the bags on the ground in case I need to run – or fight. What do I do if it comes to that?

My heart goes from racing painfully to stopping when I see him slowly ambling on the sidewalk. At first, he doesn’t notice me pressed against the wall – he looks around, removes his sunglasses, and stands with his hands on his hips when he stops only feet from where I’m watching.

Keep going, keep going, I plead silently, holding my breath, afraid to move. Now, there’s no way of misinterpreting things. He’s not out on a walk. Looking for me.

I never knew until now how quickly fear can flip on its head. How your heart can go from pounding in terror to racing in anticipation.

Fuck this guy, whoever he is. He’s not going to make me cower in a dark alley and pray to be left alone. I did enough of that already. Crouching in a corner of the bathroom while the man I thought I loved pounded on the door and demanded I come out. Lying perfectly still in bed, afraid I would wake him up. Staring at my phone, knowing it wouldn’t take more than a quick phone call to put an end to everything — and refusing to do it, being that I refused to give up that easily. I refused to admit I didn’t have control of the situation.

No more of that.

“Hey.” I barely sound like myself. He jumps a little and his head whips around. His glasses are off, but his eyes are still shaded by the brim of his cap. “Why are you following me? What do you want?”

He sputters a little, like I took him by surprise. “Let me explain.”

I don’t know what surprises me more: the fact that he wants to explain himself or the fact that he moves toward me, where I am still glued to the brick at my back. I might be able to put on a good front when he’s standing over there and I’m over here, but when he’s close enough for me to smell his strong, spicy cologne, it’s a whole other story. Everything in me seizes all at once — limbs, heart, lungs, brain. This is it. This is when he… what? Takes me away? Maybe he’ll kill me the way Jeff thinks I killed Kristoff. Because at the end of the day, that’s what it’s all about. That’s what he believes. And that’s why he sent this guy to find me.

No. The word rings out loud and clear in my head, pushing past the pounding of my heart and the way every part of me wants to run before he can put a hand on me. No, I won’t let him. No, he’s not going to hurt me.

The shadow of the buildings falls over him and I back away with my heart in my throat. I can’t take my eyes off him.

Which means I stumble backward over the grocery bags, losing my balance and falling against the wall before sliding halfway down and landing in a crouch near a foul-smelling puddle that may or may not be piss.

I’m fuzzy, startled, and the way his hand closes around my right wrist doesn’t help. No, no, he will not hurt me, I’m not going to let him.

What did Romero teach me?

It’s like he’s here, watching, instructing me. Whispering in my ear. I have to use his body weight against him. I have to take him by surprise.

It’s like I’m moving on autopilot as I push myself to my feet and pivot on my right foot, bringing him closer by pulling him along with me before driving my left elbow into his face with all the strength I can manage. The sound of bones cracking is triumphant, and a rush of pure heat races through me. I want to scream, I want the world to know what I did.

Like magic, he lets go of me since he needs to cover his spurting nose. “What the fuck?” His voice is thick and I know why. I broke his nose. I broke his goddamn nose! He falls back against the wall, and blood drips over his fingers.

It’s not enough. He needs to pay. He needs to know who he’s fucking with. No one is ever going to hurt me again.

I draw my foot back to kick him. I’m not going to stop until he’s nothing but raw meat.

“Tatum! No!”

I must be imagining this. Romero appears out of nowhere, putting himself between us. “What are you doing?” he asks, taking me by the arms. He’s breathing heavy. “Stop. Enough. Calm down.”

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