by M. N. Forgy
Inside the lobby, lights from the crystal chandeliers display a beautiful glow against the polished floor.
“Um, Mr. DeAngelo, should I call a doctor?”
My eyes snap to Henry, the doorman who is standing behind the desk. His dark blue bellhop suit fitting him well, matching his blue eyes. He looks at me with worry on his face, the wrinkled on his forehead proving so. During the day, Jannet works the desk. She’s a sassy black woman with a pear-shaped body, always has her nose in a book. She’s completely oblivious to whom walks through here, unlike Henry.
“No, Henry, I have it under control,” I tell him.
He follows me to the elevator, looking me and the woman over. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, can you have my car parked though? And Henry?” I step inside the elevator and he comes to a full stop just outside.
“Yes, sir?”
“You didn’t see us,” I tell him with a threatening tone, raising an eyebrow.
He nods frantically. His hands fidgeting just as the doors shut.
“Jesus,” I whisper under my breath. I might seem like steel on the outside, but inside, I’m not any stronger than a tower of cards. I’m waiting for the slightest breeze to knock me off my feet.
Inside my apartment, I head for the guest room and lay her on the made-up queen-size bed. Her head resting on the white pillow, dirt flakes off her locks marking the sheets. She’s filthy.
Taking a step back, I look her over, her long hair in her face. I still haven’t seen her fully. Reaching out to slip the hair from her face, I get mere inches away from her skin before I freeze, recoiling my hand back to my chest. The thought of touching her, skin contact alone making my fingertips burn. Turning away from her, I open the closet and find a button-up shirt. I pull it off the hook and lay it on the end of the bed, and grab some sweats from the dresser drawer. They’ll be way too big for her, but it’s better than what she has on. Maybe when she wakes, she can shower and change.
Carefully walking to the door, I stop one more time to look at the damsel in my apartment, curious what her life must have been like to land her in such a situation. I don’t know the first clue what to do with her. Maybe I should give her some money and set her on her way after breakfast? Sighing, I step out. I don’t fucking know.
Having enough for one night, I decide to head to my room. The feeling of betrayal and frustration of my father causes me to undress with force. I kick off my shoes, then my pants, jacket, until I reach my holster and my gun on the nightstand, then I unbutton my shirt and toss it behind me. My clothes leaving a trail behind me on the bedroom floor, I climb into my own bed wearing nothing but my briefs. Staring up at the ceiling fan, my arms under my head, I think about the girl in just the other room. How old is she? Should I be sleeping with a stranger in the house? Worst case, she’ll wake up and run, which I offered her in the first place. Her leaving would be for the best. Surely she has family, or friends that are missing her. Yawning, exhaustion making my lids feel heavy, I roll over onto my side. In the morning, I’m calling Kieran and telling him I’m out. More than likely he’ll offer me a position under him, or he’ll tell me to run. Kieran has a crew to protect him from our father, I don’t. Leaving will be a disrespect my father will take personally and he’ll get his wish he’s wanted since the day he’s laid eyes on me. He’ll finally have an excuse to kill me.
The Girl
The foreign softness from underneath me has me stirring awake. Frantically, I push myself up with my hands and find myself in a dark room. I’m on a bed, a very nice bed judging by the soft material underneath me. I instantly feel guilty for being on it as dirty as I am. When I was a kid, I lived in an orphanage for years and they had us scrub our hands and feet with a brush until they were red and raw before bed. Despite how clean they wanted us to be, it smelled like a hospital, unlike here where it smells of clean laundry. I inch my legs off the bed until my feet hit cool floor, wooden planks beneath my toes sending goosebumps up my legs. Where am I? I remember the older man saying sold. So I had to have been bought, but I was given to a younger man like a damn gift. My eyes fill with tears as I think about belonging to someone, I slightly remember the man I was given to despite the dark. He was tall, he wore a suit that fit him so well I could see just how strong he was. But he was angry, I remember that. Only I couldn’t really hear him from the other girls crying inside the van to make out why. Maybe he’s not happy with the way I look, or didn’t want me. Nobody wants me.
Jesus, will he play out his darkest fantasies with me, making me his personal play doll? Will he resell me? Kill me? A sob escapes my lips and I carefully press my hand to my mouth to stifle my sobs. I need to hold it together, he put me in here without restraints, right? That’s got to be a good sign. My eyes land on some folded clothes at the end of the bed, I run my fingers across them but I don’t change. If I smell of sour body odor, maybe he won’t touch me. Hopefully. Crossing the room, I notice the bedroom door is open, curiosity gets the best of me and I peek through the ajar crack, my heart beating so hard in my chest I anxiously feel the need to pee. It’s dark and quiet out there. I don’t see anyone, or hear anything. I push the door open a couple of inches and then freeze, nervous my little movement might have been heard and someone is coming. Nothing.
I push it open farther and wander into the hall, there’re dim lights installed into the lower wall guiding me until the front door is right in front of me. I stop. It’s dark-colored with a peephole in the middle. Light slipping through the cracks like a beacon of light inviting me to come forth, whispers of freedom just on the other side making my nails curl into my palms. My eyes fall to the silver knob, my feet moving on their own accord until my fingers are inches away. I still, my fingers splayed open as they hover over the knob. I shouldn’t go out there. I don’t know where I am. I have no money, or shoes at that. I know what’s in here, him; but out there is uncertain. What if the keepers are just outside this door waiting to track me down and put me back into a cage? Where would I go? I have nobody to run to. My right foot takes a gentle step back, before I am quickly shuffling away from the door which now resembles something from a horror movie, a closet harboring demons on the other side rather than my escape to freedom.
Turning around, my hands to my chest I find a kitchen. Curiously I look around. Lights on the stove tell me it’s four in the morning, the green glow giving off enough light to show bare counters and an empty sink. Hmm, there're no vases of flowers, colors of pink; or any sign of a woman here. So the guy must be single… unless he has two places; two lives. Running my hand across the countertop, they come into contact with a notepad and pen. My hand itches to grasp the pen and doodle, it’s been forever since I’ve had something as simple as paper and pencils.
Flipping through the pages I find they’re all blank, why does he have it? For looks? The man I saw tonight doesn’t look like one that would write down a reminder he needs milk. Leaving it behind, I go farther into the mysterious house until I come into a room that has only a chair. It looks masculine, made of leather and fine wood, sitting confidently in front of a panel of windows as if a majesty sits upon it looking about his city and peasants. A man bred from an angry king sits here. Passing the chair, I look out the window. Buildings with twinkly lights, cars that drive below without a single knowledge that a stolen woman stares at them from above. I swallow hard, my hand pressing onto the glass. My biggest fear is on the other side of it, others see it as a landscape of endless dreams, I see it as a land of evil and unsaid possibilities. I’d rather hide inside this dark apartment then step foot out there. Then again, I don’t know what lurks in here, not really. My ADD getting the best of me, I turn away from the glass and tread into a room to the left. My eyes adjusted to the dark, I can tell it’s a bedroom, and I feel his presence. Like walking into a predator’s den knowing a killer animal awaits on the inside. He’s in here, I can feel him. Biting my lip, I wonder if I should turn around, but what would I do? Leave? Hide?
I could kill him right now. For the first time in a long time, I have the power. The urge to pick it up and press it to his head is electric, but I have never held a gun before. I don’t know the first thing about it. Is it loaded? Where’s the safety?
He sighs, and I quickly pull my hand away from the gun and watch him. He shifts in his sleep, dark hair falling into his closed eyes, his jaw is sharp, and cheeks of stubble make him look less scary and more handsome. I have the odd sensation to want to touch him, as if something is pulling me toward him instead of away. My fingers splayed open, I reach for him, wanting to touch his plush looking lips, to feel him without his knowing. I know it’s risky, I’m being stupid for even being in here but for the first time in my life I don’t have someone looking over my shoulder and I want to see and feel things I never have. Right now, I have the control to do whatever I want. He sighs again, and I freeze, retracting my hand and holding a scared breath that I woke him.
My heart falls into the pit of my stomach when I see his eyes open, staring back at me with a dark expression. Quickly, I grab the gun and press it into his forehead, my hand trembling as terror fuels my impulsive decision.
I don’t know what I’m doing! I should have run!
He sits up, his eyes locked on mine and unfazed by the gun pressed to his head, he reaches for the drawer on his nightstand, pulling it open, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one.
“Well? Are you going to do it?” he asks, his tone cool and bored.
I don’t answer, I can’t. My tongue suddenly feels like a dead fish in my mouth. Who says that? Is he suicidal? Why isn’t he trying to take it from me? Or scared I might shoot him? He stands, the gun now aiming at his head as he stands much taller. I take a step back, my breathing becoming so labored I feel light-headed. He keeps walking toward me, forcing me backward until eventually my back hits a wall. Fear making my hand shake and my breath quivering, I instantly regret not opening the front door and running into the unknown.
His head tilts to the side, his jaw ticcing with frustration.
His hard, tattooed chest bumps against mine and before the contact can take my breath away, he roughly snatches me by the hair, my scalp burning from the rough grab, terror strikes through me and my finger pulls the trigger of the gun back, but it’s hard and doesn’t move; the safety’s on. Shit! His fingers tangled in my dirty hair cause flakes of dirt to flutter down in between us, both of us watching them land on his chest. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, both from being disgusting and not able to shoot him. Taking his hand from my muddy strands, he calmly opens his palm, revealing a coat of dust against his glowing skin.
Gripping the gun, I raise it into the air ready to smash his face in, but he suddenly jerks me away from the wall and throws me over his shoulder, my hand dropping the gun to the floor in the process. He turns us around and the sound of a door being shoved open can be heard before lights are turned on. I see a counter, a sink, a gray bathmat. I’m in a bathroom. The sound of a shower curtain sliding across a metal rod vibrates through my body, the squeaking pitch of the water being turned on making me look over my shoulder only to find a showerhead spraying beads of water into a bathtub.
He loosens his grip and topples me into the shower, freezing cold water bites into my flesh and I scream out with surprise. He grabs the shower head down and sprays it in my face. I spit and sputter, trying to breathe as it goes everywhere at once. My eyes, nose, and mouth. I can’t breathe or see, I turn away from him, practically crawling up the wall to get away from him. Bottles of shampoo and body wash go flying into the tub and across the room as my hand swipes across the ledge. Head down, I take a deep breath and look under my hair at him, he takes a drag from his cigarette, the other hand holding the showerhead.
“I tried to be a nice guy, but you want me to be the bad guy, huh? I’ll be an asshole for you!” He sneers, spraying the water onto my back.
Fuck, it’s so cold it feels like a million knives stabbing into my flesh, the thin dress doing little to protect my skin. Breathing heavily, I look down at the water, rivulets of muck swirling around my feet and into the drain. He did tell me to run, he said I could be free but that doesn’t make him a nice guy. Many men in my life tell me the lies of sweet freedom only to chase me down, or mockingly laugh in my face. I’m a naïve person, not a stupid one. I suck on my lip, trying to drink in some of the water. I don’t know when the last time I had anything to drink, but the cold water tastes so good, I keep suckling and sipping trying to ignore the arctic ice numbing my skin. The cheap dress is soaked and heavy, causing it to slip down my shoulders and into the crook of my arms.
Romeo
In my room, I grab some sweats from the dresser and shuffle them on, my hair in my eyes, I swipe it out of the way to look at the bathroom door that harbors the pain in the ass I took home mere hours ago. I was hoping she’d fucking leave, why is she here? Exhaling a sharp breath, I pick the gun up off the floor and turn the safety off, placing it in the back of my waistband. She tried to shoot me. I didn’t expect that. She tries that shit again and I’ll be the one pulling the trigger, and the safety won’t be on.
And even after I offered her clean clothes, she still had on that damn dress, which is soaked now. I go to the guest room and grab the clothes I set out for her still sitting at the end of the bed and put them on the bathroom counter, steam from the shower and the smell of my body soap filling the space, before shutting the door.
I run my hand down my face. What the hell do I do with her? Should I offer her some money? Surely she has family or friends she wants to get back to.
Not sure what to do, I sit on the end of my bed and stare at the door, waiting for her to come out so I can ask her what she wants.
Thirty minutes pass before the sound of the water shuts off. Her shadow slips back and forth across the bottom of the door, and I hear drawers opening and shutting as she goes through my things. My neck tenses. I’ve never let anyone go through my house, let alone my things. What the fuck is she looking for? I stand, beginning to pace.
I flick the light on in the bedroom and cross my arms; waiting. I swear if she doesn’t come out in the next three minutes—
The knob turns, and the door slowly opens, revealing a girl I don’t recognize. She’s a woman, not some girl. Instead of muddy brown hair, it’s long and beautifully blonde. Her diamond shape face clean, her nose small but cute. She bites on her bottom lip which sticks out farther than her top, her right foot anxiously sliding back and forth over her left as she looks down, her hands clasped in front of her. She’s gorgeous cleaned up. Of course my clothes are way too big for her. My shirt hangs off her shoulder showing the start of her breast, the bottoms barely on her hips even though she double tied the drawstrings.
“Um…” I clear my throat, a little caught off guard here. “I’m sorry about the clothes, it’s all I have.”
/> She doesn’t respond. I’m baffled that this beauty of a woman had the balls to point my own gun at me. It goes to show how unpredictable people are.
“What’s your name? Do you have someone you want me to call?”
She looks up at me, big wide eyes that remind me of an animation character looking back at me. They’re so fucking green. She blinks but doesn’t respond.
Jesus Christ. My body temperature begins to rise, nerves making the cord in my neck strain.
“I can give you some money and you can go. You should go.” I nod assuredly, my brows pinched together. Again she just stares at me, not saying a damn word. It dawns on me that maybe I should call someone. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here. Hell, this is more interaction I’ve had with a female my whole life. Leaning over my bed, my movement makes her jump and I freeze.
“Just grabbing my phone,” I inform her, snatching it off the charger, she watches me closely. Unlocking it, I oddly think about calling my mother. I look up at the unnamed woman, if anyone could use motherly instinct right now, it’s her. But Mom will ask questions, wanting to know where she came from and that means I’ll have to explain my father. Fuck that. I pull open my brother Kieran and text him.
Get your ass over here, bring Leona.
Why
Just trust me.
He doesn’t reply back, but I know he’ll come.