Page 15 of Forget Me Not

A sound stuck between a sob and a battle cry escapes me, but I know it’s no use. We walked too far back into this alleyway for anyone to be able to hear me.

All hope is lost when he steals the last of my strength and pushes himself inside me. I close my eyes while hopelessness claws at my heart.

I have no choice but to surrender myself to this fate. I’ve lost this battle, but I sure as fuck plan to never lose another one.

The asshole had his way with me that night, then called me a dirty whore and told me to get the hell out of his town. Given no choice, I left, but I made damn sure I got something from him in return.

I threw a chair through the window of his restaurant, emptied the cash register after using some condiments to write ‘your mayor is a dirty rapist’ on as many walls as possible before I fled. I didn’t even hide my face. I didn’t need to. Dallas no longer existed the moment I left that godforsaken place.

Even if Paul did leave me with something to remember him by.

Things don’t always go the way I plan, and memories like that hurt like hell. But it’s better to move forward than backward.

My phone vibrates in my clutch purse and my heart immediately jumps into a frenzy, considering only a handful of people have this number. It has to be Dex or Taryn. It’s certainly not Gladys, since I literally just walked out the door.

When I pull it out, I see that it’s not a message or a call, rather an alert from the Siren’s Call app I used to use before I arrived in this town. I downloaded it again just in case I was in a pinch for money. I take a deep breath and set aside the memories of the past, then tap on the app to see a notification from one of the members who sends me private messages on occasion.

We’ve chatted a couple times, but I’ve never actually met him. Oddly enough, he’s never booked a meetup. My first chat with him was the first real conversation I’ve had with anyone in a very long time. I quickly became invested and knew I had to put an end to it. I started to rely on his messages when I was feeling down and even went so far as to message him first once.

My mom’s words rang heavy in my ears that day, ‘never get attached to the people you encounter in this line of work’. Not that Iworkedwith him, or probably ever would now. It would be too weird. Regardless, I click on his message to read it.

HawkEye: I miss talking to you.

I bite back a smile. Knowing someone actually misses me is a novel feeling. What’s even more unique is that this man doesn’t want anything in return. He just wants to talk and get to know me.

But I never want to go back to the dark places this app took me. I’m free from the pain of my past now and I have to at least try to move on after all the work my uncle and I put into finding this new place.

Without responding, I close out of the app and put my phone in my purse.

In front of the tavern door is a couple passing a cigarette back and forth. Stepping around them, I have no choice but to inhale a cloud of smoke and cough it back out as I pull open the large wooden door.

The aroma of beer and cheap perfume hits me smack-dab in the face. It’s quite the change from the smell of coffee and frying bacon I’m used to in the mornings here. The tables have all been pushed to the far back wall, aside from a few that remain with occupants sitting in them. I can only assume the furniture has been rearranged to accommodate a dance floor. Taryn wasn’t kidding when she said this place transforms on the weekends.

There’s a man onstage on the wall opposite the bar. He taps the microphone before shouting into it. “How the hell is everyone feeling tonight?”

The crowd goes wild, clapping and chanting while raising their drinks in the air. I pause next to the door, taking it all in.

“And she comes to life on the weekends.” Taryn’s voice hits my ears and I smile at her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, unsure of whether she’s referring to my outfit, or the fact that I actually came.

“I saw that smile on your face, Rhea Brooks. Don’t even try to pretend it wasn’t there.” She grimaces. “Even if it’s since been replaced with that sour-ass expression we’re used to from you.”

“Once again,” I scoff, “insulting the staff.” I drop my arms that were crossed over my chest and make my way into the open space as the band begins playing a country rock song I’ve never heard before.

To my delight, Taryn follows me. “You know what you need? A drink.”

“Lead the way,” I tell her with a wave of my arms.

“Girrrrl,” she drags the word, “can’t you see we’re busy as hell? Make your own damn drink.”

I chortle because it’s such a Taryn thing to say. As she walks away, she hollers, “First one’s on the house. After that, you pay.”

A slender man who already appears to be three sheets to the wind throws an arm around Taryn’s shoulder, following her as she makes her way to one of the tables. “Did I hear you say drinks are on the house?” His words slur and Taryn tosses his scrawny arm off her.

“Not for you, James. In fact, I think it’s time to cut you off.”

“Bitch!” he snaps. “The fucking band hasn’t even started yet. You ain't cutting shit off.”

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