~Tamalyn~
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” his voice mocks me.
I’m in my mother’s closet. She left twenty minutes ago for the grocery store. That’s when he came home.
“Tims,” he calls me by the nickname he always uses. It makes no sense to me, but it’s always how it’s been. “You gotta know, baby girl, I love when you play.”
My stomach churns. I’m not playing. I hate him. I hate when he touches me. I hate it all.
The door flies open and there he stands in his uniform, belt off, pants undone, and cock out. It’s thick, short, and mean.
He strokes it, wild eyes meeting mine. “Gonna have to make this fast; just on lunch.”
I turn around, wishing that somehow the wall would suck me in and hide me.
Without a word, he tears my shorts down my legs, leaving my panties in place. Then he kicks my feet apart. When he has me where he wants me, cold air hits my privates as my panties are pushed to the side.
Pain, searing, stretching, aching pain shoots through me as he enters me from behind.
“Want my cock covered in your pussy all day. Gonna feel you till I come home and make you feel me all night.”
I reach out, grabbing my mom’s clothes and wishing I had something more to balance me. I send a silent prayer he will be quick as he snakes his hand up my abdomen to reach the undersides of my breasts.
“Love when you want me to chase you, Tims. You should know there’s no place I won’t find you. Hide all you want, I’ll always be inside you now.” He thrusts harder, faster.
I gag, which forces my body backward, only making him go deeper.
Closing my eyes, I blacken my mind and remove myself.
Unfeeling, I survive.
“I’ll always find you, Tims.”
Waking up, I jump straight up. Rushing beyond my curtain, I hit the toilet and vomit until I am left dry heaving.
Sitting on the floor in front of the toilet, now spent, I wonder if it was him in Tennessee. Did he find me?
Temptation rolls through me. I want to call Tempest. I want to know she is safe, that Arika is safe. The last thing I want is for Tempest to lose anything because of me. I need to know my leaving was for a reason.
For months, I felt like I was being watched. Here and there, it would feel like someone was staring at me at work.
Blood Thirsty was steady. With a gothic vibe and style unusual in Tennessee, it brought out a different crowd. The regularly schedule for raves helped and kept business growing.
Being a large club-like atmosphere with black and neon lights, it called to the younger crowd. With the sinister feel, it was hard to know if I was being watched, noticed, or checked up on. There I couldn’t be for certain.
It was when I felt it at the grocery store, I knew something was up. The day I volunteered to chaperone a field trip with a friend and her child, that a balding man in the flannel shirt that was too clean, too pressed, kept showing up every stop we made at the zoo and the dinner with the kids, I decided enough was enough. Days passed on and I couldn’t shake the feeling everywhere I went.
I wouldn’t put Haven’s Harbor in danger. Bladen told me to follow my gut, and my instincts screamed he had found me.
I close my eyes, leaning against the wall. “How long till you find me here?” I ask the air around me.
Rather than allow myself to wallow, I tidy up my space. Then, after an afternoon nap, I doll up for the night. With a pair of ripped jeans, a tank top, and a flowy shirt that falls off one shoulder, I’m almost ready to head to work.
My blonde hair is natural, long, and wavy. Albeit, a bit stringy, it could use a trim and some better products. I leave it down and apply dark shadow to my eyes to make the blue pop.
As ready as I will ever be, I slide on my black, chunky heeled boots and make the walk to the bar since I don’t have a car. I wish I did, but it’s not a smart investment. Plus, a car means a license with a legal name, insurance, plates, and more ways to trace me.
My life is one where every move counts. One wrong move and I expose myself. Like a game of chess, it can quickly become checkmate.
I’m surprised when I arrive. Benny is there.
“Hey, Benny,” I greet, shutting the door tightly behind me.
“Damn boy; gonna be the death of me.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask. Being a bartender is sort of a therapist job where I hear more sad stories than is probably healthy. I have learned not to take it on as my own, yet listen with open ears, because sometimes all anyone wants is to be heard.
“Mandee, you miss your folks?” he randomly asks. I told him they are dead.
I nod rather than lie with words.
“Tommy’s momma, she misses her boy.” The grief in his eyes cuts deep. “We love him, no matter what. Told him that we accept his life choices.”
I blink as he continues.
“He said it’s not a choice and stormed out. He comes to work here only so I keep the money in his account. Can’t get him to come home and see his mom.”
Going around the bar, I lower the chairs from on top of the tables while Benny continues.
“We raised him like any other kid. He grew up and says he’s gay. We didn’t turn him away, Mandee. No matter what he says, we didn’t. He just took us wrong.”
“Maybe he’s sensitive and trying to sort out some things. He’ll come around. Just don’t give up on him.”
Benny’s phone rings, stopping our conversation.
“Hello?” he answers.
I continue getting prepped to open while he speaks to whoever is on the other end of the line.
“I’ll go, but Tommy, see your mom. Call her at least.” He’s silent as he intently listens to his son. “I can’t give you more money. It’s all I can do to keep this place open. Tommy, it’s yours. I give you everything we can. The bar isn’t making it, and your mom and I only have so much retirement to carry us.”
My heart thumps wildly in my chest. I might lose my job. Mentally, I start thinking of my savings. How far can I go? What will I do until I stumble upon another place like this? I can’t sit back and contribute to Benny and his wife losing everything.
Benny ends his call just as I finish readying the tables.
“Gotta go,” he says somberly. “Keep an eye on my boy, Mandee.” With those words, he departs, and my heart breaks for him.
How do good parents still have to have heartache?
Determined to have a talk with Tommy about the misunderstanding, I move about my tasks. Unfortunately, I’m unable to have a talk with Tommy because he never comes in for work. In fact, the night comes and goes with only two patrons—the tag team duo of meatheads. They arrive just as I flip the sign from closed to open.
Serving them quickly, I go to the back and send a tweet to Tempest.
@ArikaMae lonely.
I send the word with an attached link to a song about missing my girls and wishing we had a night out. I would love to have the freedoms most women do to go out for a night with their friends. I’m sure Tempest misses it, too.
Her reply is a meme with stars and not being alone for she sees the same sky I do.
It’s the simple reminder I need to press on.
I continue cleaning with nothing else to do but serve the scary men who once again are in designer suits and watching. No words other than a call for another bottle.
Time passes before I notice Willis is missing from his spot. I make a mental point to call Louise tomorrow morning to check on him. In case she isn’t feeling well, I don’t want to call at night and disturb her.
Cleaning up and locking up is easy. Then I make the walk home, wondering what happened to Tommy tonight and if the duo were there for him. Plus, an uneasy feeling hits me about Willis.
I can’t think much about it because, as I get inside my shed, Tommy comes out from behind the curtain to my bathroom.
A scream escapes me before I recognize him.
He stands in front of me in suspenders, his dress pants, a button up shirt that is no longer tucked or buttoned, and is covered in blood. His long hair is disheveled, his left eye is swollen shut, his nose looks a mess, and blood covers his chin from his busted lip.
“What happened?”
“Got myself some trouble, Mandee,” he says before falling sideways on my bed and passing out.
What the fuck do I do with him?