Emily
After around ten days, Barry and Patrick let up—a tiny bit. They still rag on me, make fun of me, accuse me, bully me, insult me, but far less frequently.
I sink back into my normal routine, which is basically a coin with work on one side and the apartment on the other, interspersed here and there with attending underworld events with Patrick. Fights, clubs, deals. I never want to go, but I’m all too familiar with Patrick’s particular brand of persuasiveness and I have no desire to have it used on me. He hasn’t hit me in a few days and I count that as a victory.
One night, I can’t sleep and as I lie there, listening to the sounds of the night and the far louder, far more annoying sounds of Barry and Patrick, I learn something about Barry.
Patrick tells the story to another of his friends in hushed whispers when Barry’s in the bathroom. I know it’s true because Patrick sounds scared, a rare thing. Apparently, they were at a night club when Barry saw this woman he wanted. Instead of going over there and asking her to dance, for a drink, he swaggered over and shoved his hand up between her legs, under her skirt, and inside of her. The girl was furious, but not as furious as her fiancé. When the fiancé showed, Barry took out a knuckle-duster and beat the man to death. To death, I think, shivering despite the blankets. “It was crazy,” Patrick says, voice stunned. “Just crazy.”
Lately, I’ve been falling asleep every night with the image of Jude in my mind. But tonight, I fall asleep watching Barry beat a man to death for no other reason than that man wanted to defend his fiancé. How is this my life? I ask myself. I work in a bakery. I keep to myself.
I’m still asking myself that same question when I leave for work the next morning. Mrs. Montgomery gives me a smile and hands me my apron. Everybody at the bakery is nice to me; I think some of them suspect that my home life isn’t all roses and picnics.
We’re about halfway through the day—serving customers, clearing tables, washing dishes, and of course baking—when Barry swaggers in. He pushes past a man and a woman, ignoring them when they protest, and claims a table in the corner. He drops down with a heavy thud and then lets out a laugh which has the whole place turning to him. He doesn’t care, just glares back.
Not here, I think. Not now.
Mrs. Montgomery is about to go around the counter and approach him. I touch her arm. “I’ll do it, Mrs. M.” I swallow, hating what I’m about to admit. “I know him.”
“Oh, okay, dear.” Pity etches into Mrs. M’s features.
I ignore it and approach Barry. He lolls in his chair, rocking back and forth. When his gaze snaps up to me, I know he’s on some sort of drugs. His eyes are shot with red and his lips are watery. “I was right!” he cries. “I knew you worked here!”
There are around ten people in the bakery, sitting at tables or standing in line. Professional types, students, a man in a suit in the corner, typing at a laptop. I wave Barry quiet. The bakery is my safe place, the place I can get away from everything.
He ignores my waving hand and gargles out a laugh. “I’ve been looking for you.” He grins up at me. “Isn’t that nice, Emily? I’ve been looking all over the place for you. Who would’ve thought my long journey would lead me here?” He rambles on for some time. I wait for him to finish and then step forward.
“You can’t be here,” I say quietly, heart hammering in my ears. “This is my place of work, Barry. You can’t cause a scene here.” I sort through excuses. I can’t just tell him I hate him and he’s embarrassing me. I settle on one I think might work. “Patrick wouldn’t like it. Do you understand? He relies on this income for half the rent. He would be very angry if he found out-”
“He doesn’t need your money.” Barry wipes sweat from his forehead and then suddenly sits up, resting his forearms on his knees. “He doesn’t need shit from you. You’re a wasted girl, Emily. The only man that’ll ever want you is me. So why don’t you start showing a little gratitude?”
Gratitude? Gratitude for what, you psychopath?
Before I can reply, he darts forward, grabs me by the waist, and pulls me into his lap. He moves quickly, far quicker than I ever would’ve given him credit for. I squirm, trying to get free, but he holds me close to him. With a real sense of horror, I realize that he’s hard. His stiff penis presses into me, and I try not to gag. Mrs. M calls over the counter, but nobody intervenes. I hear somebody say they’re calling the police. I keep squirming, but his grip is like iron on me.
He whispers in my ear: “I’ve always wanted you, ever since you were a little girl. But of course you already knew that, didn’t you? And did you ever show me any love, Emily? Did you ever open yourself to me? No, you’re too laa-dee-daa do that, aren’t you? Well, here we go. Can you feel it? Can you feel how much I want you?”
“Let go.” I rasp out a breath. “Please, just let me—”
He moves so fast I don’t know what’s happened until it’s over.
Afterward, when I’m standing with my back pressed against the counter, I go back in my mind and reconstruct it. Jude bursts into the bakery. He must’ve seen me by chance, or perhaps he’s had somebody keeping an eye on me. Whatever it is, he charges in, and as Barry whispers sickening words into my ear, he grabs the man’s head and slams it so hard against the table that the wood snaps.
Now, Jude stands over him, chest heaving, fists clenched. Barry lies, unconscious, on the floor.
Jude takes my hand and announces to the bakery: “Emily is mine now. She is under my protection. If anybody lays a hand on her, ever, they will pay.”
He speaks with a killer’s calm. With a mob hitman’s calm.
“Come on.”
He doesn’t give me much of a choice as he leads me out of the bakery, down the street, and into his car. I know I should be tugging at his hand, telling him I don’t need protection, but the fact is, I’m happy to see him. Stunned, too. Only once when I’m sitting beside him as we drive through New York, I find my voice. “Where are we going?” I ask.
“Your place,” he answers.
“Why?”
“’Cause there’s no way in hell I’m leaving you with these pricks for another day. And you’ll need clothes.”
“What if I don’t want to go with you?”
“Do you?”
I don’t answer. I can’t answer. The idea of being whisked away from Patrick has not occurred to me since I was very young and very naïve. Little girl Emily dreamt of it often, a knight in shining armor swooping down and saving me from my brother. But not lately. Somewhere between childhood and adolescence I learnt a cold truth. There is no such thing as a hero.
We climb up the stairs of my apartment building. I unlock the door and we go into the apartment. Luckily, Patrick is out.
“Pack your things,” Jude says. His face is stern. His voice is steady and calm. “I’m getting you out of here.”
A strange sensation comes over me, something between threatened and protected. I don’t think Jude would hurt me, but I don’t think he’d let me stay here, either. As I go around the apartment, stuffing clothes into a duffle bag, I glance at him. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, torn blue jeans, and boots. His tattoos are on full display and he watches me with a steady gaze. I don’t think anything could shake this man.
When I’m packed, he takes my hand again. He doesn’t hurt me, but he holds me tight as he leads me down the stairs and back to his car.
He just slammed Barry’s head, I think. He just slammed it like it was no big deal. Barry. Sadistic, psychopathic, drug-addicted Barry!
We don’t say much in the car, and then in what seems like a few moments we’re in his apartment. I drop the duffle bag on his bed and turn to him.
He watches me for a long time. Then his expression softens, but only a fraction. “I just want you safe,” he says. “You can shower. You can sleep. You can read. You can order in food. Anything you need to relax. I’ll be in the living room if you need me. I’m done for the day.”
As he turns to leave, I can’t help but look at his arms. Ripped, huge, pressing muscle. I realize I have to add another emotion to protected and threatened. Lust. Hot, burning lust. Lust like I’ve never felt.
I drop onto the bed, thinking: What just happened?