4. Maggie
4
Maggie
L ater that evening, I find myself trekking down River Street arm in arm with Natya as we make our way to one of the bars. After spending the past two hours gorging on bar food and frozen daiquiris, everyone was ready to go dancing. Cause what doesn’t scream dancing like greasy fried food and sugary sweet frozen liquor?
Even though I limited myself to only one drink, being the lightweight I am, I already feel a little buzz.
A loud techno pop greets us at the door as we stop to show our IDs and pay the cover. Before we are even fully inside, I can already tell this place is going to be packed.
Sure enough, I was right. As we push our way through the throngs of sweaty bodies, we luck out when we see a couple getting up from one of the high-top tables that surround the large, open dance floor. We rush over to snag it, agreeing that the two of us will stay back and defend our claim, while Susannah and Gael go the bar to get everyone drinks.
Even though this place is not really my scene, I find myself having fun. I’m glad I chose to come out tonight. I can already feel myself loosening up, although that could just be from the alcohol. Whatever the reason, I am enjoying myself. I’m not sure I even realized how much I missed being able to have a normal night out until now.
“I’m glad I came out tonight,” I say to Natya, voicing my thoughts aloud.
“Me too. You don’t get out enough. You are too young to be staying in every night with your pretty nose in a book. Now, if only we can find you a man,” she yells into my ear, trying to be heard over the music. I can’t help but smile fondly as I think of Jane pretty much saying the same thing to me earlier.
“Hey! I like my books,” I say, feigning outrage. “Plus, what can I say? My book boyfriends have never let me down, and they always leave me satisfied, something I certainly cannot say about my actual past boyfriends.”
“Oh shit!” she says as she barks out a booming laugh that has several heads turning in our direction. Her amusement is so infectious, that I can’t help but join in. I don’t know if it’s the laughter, the music, or just being out with my friends, but something in my chest unwinds, and I feel more like myself than I have in weeks.
“What’s so funny?” Susannah asks as she appears back at the table.
“Oh, you know, just talking about Maggie’s sex life,” Natya answers, as she swipes at the tears under her eyes .
“What sex life?” Gael asks dryly. “I don’t think she has even been with anyone since Chad, and we all know that was well over a year ago,” he continues, and inwardly, I cringe already knowing what’s coming next.
“Please tell me he’s joking!” Natya exclaims in outrage, her face scrunching up like someone just told her I kidnap babies and sell them on the black market. I mean, a year without sex is not that unheard of… right?
When I don’t respond, she must take my silence as answer enough, because she palms her face before turning to me with pity in her light brown eyes.
“Mags, honey, that is actually sad,” she says.
“Yeah, babe. You really need to get laid. And I mean a good lay. Because I seriously doubt that douchebag ex of yours even knows what a clit is, let alone where to find it. I don’t even sleep with women, and I’m sure I know more about female anatomy then he does.”
I spew water as I almost choke at his words. I mean—he’s not lying.
He really didn’t.
Chad was my first long term relationship, if you consider nine months long.
We had been together for about six months before we finally slept together for the first time. Of course, we had done other things, but…not that.
My first experience was—let’s just say not great, and it took a while before I felt comfortable being intimate in that way. He said he was fine with waiting, but as time went on, he got pushier .
He would make little snide comments, calling me a tease, even going so far as to questioning my loyalty and accusing me of cheating on him.
Eventually, he gave me an ultimatum: either I sleep with him, or he would find someone else who would. In hindsight, I can see it for the manipulation tactic that it was, but at the time I was young and na?ve. I thought I was in love, and I didn’t want to lose him, so I gave in. I can’t say it was entirely bad, but it wasn’t good either.
In the end, it didn’t even matter, because a few months later, I found out he was already sleeping with someone else anyway. Of course, I broke it off once I found out.
When I heard he immediately started dating someone new, I’m not going to lie, I was crushed. Even though I didn’t want him anymore, knowing he moved on so quickly made me feel…sort of worthless. Disposable. Like, I never even mattered to him.
“Okay—so new mission. Find Maggie a man,” Susannah says, clapping her hands together with excitement, her eyes bright and a little glassy. How much has she had to drink?
“No, guys, trust me. I’m fine. Thanks though.” A man is honestly the last thing I need right now. Not only do I not have time to date—between my job and Jane, my free time is severely lacking—I have zero desire to open myself up that way to another person. In my experience, dating only leads to heartbreak and disappointment.
“If you’re sure…Ohh—I love this song. Who wants to da nce?” Susannah says, throwing her hands up in the air before rushing off to the dance floor, Gael and Natya following behind her.
Natya looks back at me. “You coming?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not really a dancer,” I say, standing. “Actually…I think I’m gonna head out.” Suddenly, my mood has turned sour, and all I want right now is a hot bath and my bed.
“By yourself?” she asks. I nod.
“You want me to come with you?” she offers, but I decline waving her off.
“No. I’m good. I’ll just call a ride share. You guys stay, have fun.” She looks as me questioningly.
“Are you sure? How much have you had to drink?” she asks in that momma bear voice of hers that makes me smile. Her fierce protectiveness is one of the things I love most about her, something we both have in common.
“Just the one daiquiri hours ago—promise.”
I give her a hug goodbye and only after reassuring her that I am 1. not drunk and 2. perfectly capable of walking myself to a cab does she finally relent and let me go.
I stand there watching the three of them as they laugh and dance with each other, envious of how wonderfully carefree and happy they are, confident in a way I could never be.
Some guy comes up behind Susannah, putting his hand on the small of her waist and they begin sway to the beat. As they roll their hips and grind against each other to the sultry bass beat, I feel a stirring low in my belly, an ache for something…but for what, I don’t quite know .
Forcing my eyes away, I turn and exit the club, stepping out into the brisk night air, letting it cool my overheated skin. Taking my phone out, I open the ride-share app, relieved when I find a car nearby. I place the order before sliding my phone back into my purse.
It’s as I am walking through the tunnel, almost to the stairway that leads back up to the main road, that that familiar prickle starts on my nape again, and I get the sense I’m being followed. But just like every time before, when I look, there is no one there.
I do a quick once over, searching my surroundings, but nothing seems off. It’s quiet for a Friday night, but the streets are far from deserted. There are a few groups scattered about further up the road, but no one close to me.
I’m probably just being paranoid, but my gut is screaming at me to get out of there, and I am never one to ignore that shit.
Now eager to get back to the safety of my home, I pick up my pace. My low-slung heels clack against the brick pavement, the sound echoing loudly off the arched walls.
Rounding the corner quickly, I come up short when a dark figure steps directly onto my path, and though I try to stop, I’m not quite fast enough, and I slam into them.
“Oh—I’m so sorry,” I apologize, taking a step back to try and put a little space between us, but they don’t allow it. Instead, a meaty hand reaches out, grabbing hold of my bicep, forcing me to press close against them.
“Hey—” I start to push them away, my hands against their chest, but I stop when the feel of something cold and hard pokes into my right side.
“Don’t move. Scream or try to run, and I will blow a hole straight through you,” a sinister male voice speaks low into my ear.
My chest turns to ice, and I stiffen. My mind is yelling at me, demanding me to scream, run, anything to get away from this man, but something holds me back.
It’s the way he said it—almost as if it was a dare, like he wishes I would try, if only to have an excuse to shoot me.
“Very good,” he croons, and I shrink in on myself at his praise, something oily slithering through my chest.
He stills when we hear light footsteps on the cobblestones close by, the sound of soft female laughter carrying to us on the wind.
My attacker spins me around, pushing me up against the brick wall now positioned at my back. He covers my body with his, and I’m sure to the couple passing by, we look like two lovers caught up in a romantic embrace. Little do they know, I am over here trying not to gag at the smell of stale sweat and musk that cling to his clothes.
“Shh…” he breathes into my neck, and a small squeak escapes when he moves into me further. I shudder with revulsion, choking back the bile that rises in my throat as the full length of him presses against my front.
“Quiet, or I will shoot that lovely couple over there instead. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Without moving my head, my eyes dart to my right to see a middle-aged couple holding hands, love evident in their eyes. I shake my head. No, of course I don’t want that.
I watch as they pass by before disappearing into a pub across the road.
Once we are alone again, he finally steps back, and I get my first good look at him. The man is big; not in height—because he is actually not much taller than me—but in sheer mass.
His dark, soulless eyes regard me with sheer disdain, as if I am little more than an inconvenience to him, and I can’t help but wonder what I could have done to warrant such hatred from this stranger.
“Now here’s what we’re going to do. You and I are gonna walk up these stairs. You are not to scream or try to run. If you do, I will splatter your brains all over the concrete. Understand?”
I nod shakily.
“Good girl. Let’s go,” he says, turning me around and positioning the gun at the small of my back.
When I go to walk, my heel gets stuck, caught in the grooves between the uneven cobblestones.
I fall, landing hard on my knees.
“Get up!” he commands, snatching me under one arm as he tries to haul me to my feet. And I try. I swear, I try, but my legs are shaking so violently, they refuse to cooperate, something that obviously pisses him off. The next thing I know, he rears back his boot-clad foot and lands a heavy blow to my ribs .
“I said get up, you stupid bitch,” he hisses at me.
Pain erupts in my side, and I can no longer hold back my vomit. A mix of sickly-sweet strawberry mixer and rum spews from my mouth, splattering on the stones, splashing all over myself and the toes of my attacker’s shoes.
“You filthy wh—” he starts, and out of the corner of my eye, I see his foot rear back again.
I curl into myself, arms wrapping around my middle in hopes to protect my sore ribs from the blow that never comes. Instead, I hear a series of grunts and thuds and then…nothing.
When I finally gather enough courage to open my eyes, I see my attacker incapacitated on the ground, a second man towering over him.
The newcomer gives him one last swift kick to the gut before turning to face me. The first thing I notice is that this man is tall, like really tall.
From my current position on the ground, I have to crane my neck all the way back to even get a glimpse of his face.
The second is that he is hot as fuck.
Dressed in an all-black suit with slicked back, deep golden blonde hair and captivating smoky gray eyes, he looks like an angel of death here to lay claim to my soul.
There is this super intense energy radiating off him. Yet, for some odd reason, I’m not afraid of him.
If anything, I find myself…enthralled and oddly drawn to him, which makes absolutely no sense.
Here I am, kneeling on the cold, hard ground after having just been violently attacked, and all my irrational brain can come up with is that I would willingly follow this man to Hell if only he asked.
This must be shock because seriously— how fucked up is that ?