Stephanie
“Ms. Turner, wake up.”
I sit up and papers fitfully un-stick themselves from my face and flutter to the floor.
I blink the sleep out of my eyes. Sabrina’s a fuzzy, concerned-looking outline.
“What time is it?”
She places her hand on my back. “Nine o’clock. We just opened. The doors were unlocked when I got here. But everything’s fine. I checked. Also, I’ve set up my register, and cleaned up the front area. So you can keep sleeping, if you want. Oh, and Frank called, and he’ll be in today, but only part time. He’s not feeling well.”
I blink. My wrist angrily throbs at me.
“Thank you, Sabrina.”
She pauses a second.
“Are you ok, Ms. Turner?”
“I’m fine. I just got caught up in work. That’s all.”
She nods, but I know she knows I’m full of it and is just too polite to a say anything.
I take a few aspirin from my purse, swallow them dry and choke back a cough as the chalky pills slide down my throat.
Sabrina stays where she is, still looking at me.
“You can talk to me, you know. If you want.”
“Honestly, I’m fine.”
“I know. It’s just, well, I’m here if you need me.”
There are paper imprints on my face and I smell stale from spending the night in a concrete box. I look like shit and I am definitely not fine.
But I’m not going to say it out loud.
Saying it means that I’m just one step closer to admitting I’m trapped and scared out of my mind and I have no idea what I’m going to do.
Instead, I deflect.
“What time did Frank say he was going to be in?”
She looks up at the old round clock on the wall.
“He said he’d be in around nine-thirty.”
I nod.
My plan for the day is starting to take shape in my head. Frank will be in soon, he and Sabrina are more than capable of running the shop on their own for a while, and they both know to call me if anything important comes up. That gives me some time to actually get home, clean myself up, and get my shit together.
“You and Frank keep an eye on the store for a while, ok?” I say. I’m out of the office before Sabrina has even has her reply out of her mouth.
I drive home with the radio blasting — half to keep me awake and half to distract me
My dad’s home — my childhood home — is just a couple miles away from the store in a quiet residential part of Arroyo Falls. It’s a neighborhood filled with blue-collar families, craftsman homes, and California bungalows.
I’m nearly there before I see him.
Even then, I don’t see him so much as feel him.
There’s a dark sedan with tinted windows sitting the driveway next to my dad’s old Buick and the sight of it sends the bottom dropping out of my stomach.
I pull over and I stare straight ahead, listening to the frantic beating of my heart.
I know what’s happening in my home. My father’s dealing with the consequences of our failure to pay up last night. We’re sinking deeper.
And as much as I want to do something about it, I can’t.
For the life of me, I can’t go forward. I can’t go home.
While that man’s there, it’s not my home.
I am weak.
I am alone.
I turn around and I drive without thinking.
Eventually, I pull into that little tumble-down building in the bad part of town with the faded “Reyes Boxing” sign out front.
I grab my gym bag, still sitting in the back seat where I threw it yesterday.
I march past Ana Maria without saying a word. In the cramped quarters that pass for the women’s locker room, I change.
I tape up my wrists, binding my hand into a fist, gritting my teeth against the pain.
My heart is thudding.
Every time I shut my eyes, I see his face.
He’s in my home right now.
He’s pushing my father closer to the inevitable. Someday soon, just like he and his thugs tell me every time they see me, he’s going to come for me. Money won’t be enough to satisfy them. Kicking and screaming, they’re going to take me and rip the humanity out of me and turn me into some quaking shell of myself.
I slip the gloves on my hands. I tighten the straps.
I may not know what I’m doing, but I’m going to learn.
I might not be able to win, but I’m sure as hell going to make them pay.