16. Kennedy
Kennedy
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Past
I wait until I turn a corner in the carpeted hallway before I finally drop the mask of feigned calmness I've been wearing since I entered the meeting room.
I lean against the wall, taking deep breaths. I'm trembling, and maybe all the events of the past few days are finally hitting me.
The last fight I had with Aunt Riny and then her death.
The uncertainty about the future and the need to tell myself every morning that I'm strong and can handle whatever life throws at me.
The loneliness, because apart from Mr. Ernest, I have no one left.
And then, to top off a chaotic week, being humiliated in front of strangers, as if working in a casino wearing skimpy clothes meant I welcomed harassment.
I don't know how much time I spend there with my eyes closed, my jaw clenched to keep from crying.
I never allow myself to show weakness, but I'm far too overwhelmed to pretend. I know I can't continue working after what just happened, but I'd be a liar if I didn't confess that I'm truly terrified. After getting paid at the end of the week, I have nothing else coming, and this sudden unemployment might postpone my plans to leave New Orleans for a long time.
"Look who's relaxing instead of doing their job!"
I open my eyes, startled, and my fear increases when I see that the disgusting manager who's been harassing me, Greytak, is only inches away from my face, one arm on each side of the wall, creating a sort of trap.
I can't move without touching him.
"I'm not relaxing, just taking a moment to breathe before leaving. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go."
"Leaving already? I don't think so. Your shift is far from being over."
"What are you doing here? This isn't your area. You should be in the casino."
"And who do you think you are to tell me where I should be?" His hand comes to my neck at the same time that I see his face lowering towards mine.
I know what he wants to do, but he'll need to kill me before he forces me to kiss him.
I push his chest, but he doesn't move, so without thinking twice, I raise my knee and hit his groin with all the force I can manage.
He doubles over in pain, which gives me enough space to escape, but I underestimate his ability to recover because I take only a few steps before he grabs my arm.
I turn to face him, and I'm horrified when I see his hand raised, as if he's about to hit me.
"Do that, and I promise I'll get an army of lawyers to make sure you end up in jail for years."
I know the threat comes from the stranger who asked for whiskey without ice. I recognize his powerful voice.
Immediately, the coward lets me go, and without being able to stop myself, I run to the man who saved me and hug him because, at this moment, fear has hit me so intensely that my whole body trembles. Instinct tells me that, between the men I just left in the meeting room and the manager, my savior is the only one I can trust on this floor.
I've never touched someone spontaneously, except for my parents and Mr. Ernest, who is a natural hugger, yet I bury my face in the man's chest and let my arms wrap around his waist.
At first, his body remains inert, tense, but after a few seconds, strong arms surround me. "What's your name?"
I know he's not talking to me but to Greytak, the jerk, because his voice is directed over my head.
"I don't know why that's relevant. Kennedy and I are friends."
"That's not what it looked like."
"I'm her manager. Greytak Mills."
"In my world, you're an imbecile, Greytak Mills." He doesn't let me go, but he steps back a bit and looks at me. "What do you want to do? If you need a lawyer to report the creep, I can get one."
The warmth of his breath hits my face, and seconds pass in which I just stare at him.
I don't even remember the question he asked until he speaks again.
"Is your name Kennedy?" The way he pronounces my name, despite the impeccable English, reveals a slight foreign accent.
"Yes."
"What do you want to do, Kennedy?"
Putting that miserable man in jail is what I would like, but I can't afford to hire a lawyer. Rich people have no idea of the cost of things simply because they don't have to worry about money.
That's not true in my case.
Suddenly, I become fully aware of what I'm doing—clinging to a stranger in the hallway that was, until recently, my workplace.
Dying of embarrassment, I let go of him and take a step back. "Nothing. I just want to go home. Thank you for saving me."
Hades
Past
I want to stop her from leaving, but my instinct tells me I should let her go because the girl seems like trouble.
I watch her pass by the manager with her head held high. She was trembling when she hugged me; I noticed how scared she was. Now, however, as she passes the bastard, she looks like a queen sidestepping a rat.
"See, didn't I say we were friends? In fact, we're more than that," the wretched man says, probably feeling superior because the woman, Kennedy, didn't want to report him. "Do you think if she were really scared, she wouldn't accept your offer to get a lawyer? We've had thousands of fights like this. Kennedy likes to provoke men, and?—”
He doesn't take a second breath before I have him gripped by the collar, slamming his body against the wall. The sound of the back of his head hitting the structure feels good to me.
"No matter what a woman is or does, there's no need to defame her."
I don't ease the grip, and the man's color changes to a purplish tone.
"I . . . I'm sorry, please . . .”
I don't want to let him go. I feel like making him bleed until my fingers are raw from hitting his face, but I don't trust myself to stop once I start, so throwing his useless body against the wall again, I let him fall at my feet.