Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
BAILEY
I’ve lost count of how many entries I’ve written. Time feels weird now… some days drag on forever, others disappear in a blur of legal meetings and flashbacks. Too many days I want to just stay in bed and not get up. I might do just that if it weren’t for Leon.
He keeps asking if I want to talk about what happened. I know he’s trying to help, and maybe one day I’ll tell him everything, but for now, it’s hard enough telling strangers. I guess he’ll find out if he comes to the hearings… I almost hope he won’t.
Lizet’s whole grounding stuff has been helping me more than a lot of what I’ve learned in therapy. I don’t know… I guess having something concrete to do when I start to freak out helps a hell of a lot more than just yapping on and on about my feelings.
Speaking of feelings… I need to talk about Leon.
Lately I’ve been wanting to be intimate with him again.
Or at least try? Is that messed up? That I can go from having nightmares about being touched to wanting Leon to touch me?
Sometimes I wonder if my body is broken, if King and every other man who used me, beat me, left me this way… if their mark is a permanent scar?
I wish I could talk to someone about these feelings… This desire… I guess that’s what I’d call it, as cheesy as it sounds.
The other night, when we were kissing in the kitchen, I felt everything almost like I used to, but in a way, it was stronger…
deeper. The heat, the need, that familiar ache.
For those few minutes, I felt like myself again.
But then afterward, I couldn’t stop thinking about whether it was normal to want someone that way after what I’ve been through.
Whether Leon would think less of me if he knew how much I still want him, even when I can barely handle a stranger accidentally bumping into me at the grocery store.
He’s been so patient. Too patient, maybe. Sometimes I wish he’d just lose his temper, yell at me for being difficult, give me a reason to push him away. It would be easier than this constant gentleness, this careful way everyone treats me like I might break. Is that what I need?
I know he’d do whatever I ask. That’s who he is—why I fell in love with him in the first place. He takes care of people. I should probably tell him how I’m feeling.
I applied for my old job at Burger Palace today. Joy to the world. Stepping foot in there brought me back to high school.
Leon thinks it’s too soon. I saw it in his face when I told him, even if he didn’t say it. Maybe it is too soon. But I need to feel like I can do normal things again. I need to feel like me. And hey, if I do okay here, maybe I can think about going back to school soon.
I start tonight. I didn’t tell him I’m planning to drive myself in. He’ll worry, and he’s done enough of that for a lifetime.
I close the journal and slip it back under my pillow just as someone knocks on my bedroom door.
“Come in.”
Leon pokes his head inside. His hair is messy from sleep and light stubble shadows his jawline. “Morning, beautiful. You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” I stretch and pat the side of my bed. “What time is it?”
“Almost eight.” He lays next to me, pulling my back against his chest. I hum, feeling instantly contented, especially as he folds his hands over my stomach and rubs gentle circles. “Why couldn’t you sleep? Everything okay?”
And there is it, the question him and everyone else loves to ask. I know what he means. Are you having flashbacks, or is it panic attacks? Do you need me to call someone? I should appreciate how much he cares, but sometimes it makes me feel like a patient instead of a girlfriend.
“I’m fine. Just thinking about work tonight.”
“Right. Your first shift back.” His hands still. “How are you feeling about it?”
“Good. Ready.” I force happiness into my tone. “It’ll be nice to have something to do besides sit around here or at all those stuffy offices.”
He nods against my head. “That guy still the manager? The dude who smokes way too much weed?”
“Yeah. Same old Derek. He seemed excited to have me back.”
“That’s good.” He continues his light grazing along my side, sliding close to my ribcage. God, it feels good. “What times? I can bring you in and pick you up.”
Here it is, the conversation I’ve been dreading. “I can drive myself.”
“I know you can. I just thought—”
“Leon, I need to be able to do normal things. Like driving myself to and from work.” His posture goes stiff behind me so I flip around to face him. Yup, he’s rolling his lip ring between his teeth and making that nervous face. “Lee… I’ll be fine.”
“Of course. I just worry about you being out alone at night.”
“It’s Burger Palace, not a war zone.”
The words come out sharper than I intended, and I can see him flinch slightly. I want to backtrack, give this long explanation that it’s not about him, that I’m just desperate to feel capable of something. But before I can figure out how to say it, he nods and rolls to his back.
“You’re right. I’m being overprotective.” He forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll see you when you get home. I should go hop on my computer… got a meeting in a few minutes.”
After he leaves, I sit on my bed feeling like the worst person alive. He’s trying so hard to give me space while still being supportive, and I keep snapping at him for caring too much.
The day passes in a haze of anxious energy. I must have spent over an hour dressing in my shitty black uniform pants and Burger Palace polo and throwing my hair up in the tightest ponytail I could with my choppy hair.
Looking in the mirror before I leave my bedroom is… something. I feel like a Bailey paper doll wearing the old me dress up clothes but they don’t fit the way they should because my edges are torn and frayed.
Leon’s in the kitchen when I come out, with his laptop open, working on something that involves multiple screens of code.
He looks up when I enter and his face does that thing it always does now—a quick assessment to gauge my mood, my stress level, my general state of being.
He smiles though and I can’t help my stomach from flipping.
“You look good in a striped polo shirt.”
“Thanks?” I sigh and sit in the chair next to him. “It feels weird, putting on the uniform again.”
“Yeah.” He closes the laptop. “Are you nervous?”
“A little. What if I’ve forgotten everything? What if I can’t handle it?”
“You worked there for two years. It’ll come back to you.” He reaches out to squeeze my hand. “And if it doesn’t feel right, you can always leave.”
“I’m not going to leave on my first day.”
“I know. I’m just saying you have options. Your comfort is the most important thing.”
“You really don’t think I should be doing this, do you?”
“I think you should do whatever makes you feel strong and capable,” he says carefully. “I just want you to be safe.”
“I will be. It’s just fast food.”
He nods, but I can see him holding back whatever he really wants to say. Another conversation about being careful, probably, or at least letting him drive me home. Instead, he just says, “Text me when you get there?”
“Of course.”
I grab my keys and head for the door, then turn back for one more look. Leon’s still sitting there, watching me intently.
“Leon?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For not trying to talk me out of this.”
His smile is soft and genuine. “Just promise me you’ll call if you need anything.”
“I promise.”
I’m halfway to work before I realize I’m lying.
My initial nerves subside as soon as I walk through the back employee entrance of the familiar red and yellow building.
It’s a smooth enough shift. The dinner rush keeps me busy, muscle memory taking over as I take orders, assemble burgers, and run the register.
Derek seems relieved to have experienced help, and my coworkers are mostly teenagers I don’t recognize who treat me with polite indifference that I find strangely reassuring.
By ten, it’s just Derek and me closing up. The place is a wreck and of course Derek went outside to smoke before he’ll spend an hour closing out the register… leaving me to everything else.
This is what you wanted, Bailey.
I stack chairs on tables, mop the dining room floor, and wipe down every surface until it gleams under the harsh fluorescent lights.
I clean the fryer, scrub the grill, and sanitize the prep area.
The repetitive tasks are oddly soothing.
It’s simple, mindless work that doesn’t require me to think about court dates or relationships or anything more complicated than making sure the counters are spotless.
Derek finally comes back inside, reeking of weed. He nods at me, his version of “good job” before disappearing into the office to count money and do paperwork. Which leaves me with the last task… taking out the trash.
I gather the heavy bags from the kitchen and dining area.
Three massive grease-stained bags reeking of old fries and burger juice.
It’s a simple job, nasty but easy, and I’ve done it hundreds of times before, but as I push through the back door and head across the parking lot and into the alley, my chest tightens up and my limbs get that weak feeling.
“Fuck, not now,” I groan.
You’re fine. Yes it’s dark. Yes, you’re alone. But you’ve got this.
I quicken my steps, heaving the bags higher so they don’t drag on the ground and break. The back lot is mostly empty except for a couple cars, but I know there’s still a few customers loitering in the front. Stupid teenagers mostly, with nowhere to go all summer.
When I reach the alley, I hold my breath from the stench of rotten food. The dumpster sits about twenty feet away, surrounded by shadows. There’s only one flickering light that barely illuminates the empty alley. I hate this. But fuck… I’m going to get through this night. I have to, for myself.
One step at a time, I make it to the dumpster, gagging as I toss the bags in. I make the mistake of releasing my breath and sprint out of the alley to get back to fresh, un-rancid air.
I’m still sprinting when I hear voices.
“Yo, hold up.”
I freeze, even though every instinct is telling me to run.
Three guys come around the corner from the front lot, maybe around my age, probably drunk by the way they’re moving.
They’re close enough to the employee entrance to keep me from getting back inside.
I’m essentially trapped unless I want to get any closer to them.
“Where you running?” the tallest one says, grinning. He’s wearing a backwards cap and a T-shirt with some surfing company logo on it.
Fuck. I don’t want to talk to them, but maybe it’ll help this from becoming a whole situation.
“Just finished work. Heading home.”
“This late? That sucks,” another one says. He’s shorter, stockier, with small eyes and acne. “You working alone?”
I clutch my hands into a tight fist, eyeing the distance between me and the back door. “No, my manager’s inside.”
“Cool, cool.” Baseball Cap nods like we’re having a normal conversation. “Hey, you want to hang out? We got some drinks in the car.”
My heart pounds so loud I’m sure they can hear it. I back away from them, but there’s nowhere to go. My keys are inside with my purse, all I have is my phone in my pocket. “Thanks, but I’m good. Really tired.”
The third guy looks up from his phone like he’s just catching on to what his friends are doing and steps sideways, essentially cutting off my path to the employee entrance completely. “We’re not weird or anything. ”
“Yeah, we’re just hanging out. Our boy here just broke up with his bitch of a girlfriend. It’s celebration time.” Baseball Cap says, like that’s supposed to reassure me. “We’re just looking to have some fun. I saw you inside earlier. You seem cool.”
I keep backing away. “I really need to get going. My boyfriend’s expecting me.”
“Your boyfriend?” Small Eyes grins and shoots me this look that makes my stomach churn worse than the reeking garbage. “He’s not here though, is he?”
I can tell they think making me uncomfortable this way—scared, even—is entertaining. They’re fucking giddy with it. Baseball Cap takes another step closer and the smell of beer hits me.
“You seem stressed,” he says. “We could help you relax. It’s summer, you’re young, we’re young. Live a little.”
I glance behind me and notice Derek’s beat up Honda. He never locks it, I remember that from last time I worked here.
Please.
I sprint again, reaching his car in seconds. But I don’t realize Baseball Cap is right there behind me until I’m fumbling with the handle, trying to get inside to safety.
He reaches for me, his hand grazing my shirt, and everything shatters.
I’m not in the parking lot anymore. I’m back in King’s house, hands reaching for me, voices telling me what they’re going to do, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide—
“Don’t touch me!” The words rip from my throat, raw and desperate.
I’m so loud that he jumps back, startled. So I use that moment to throw myself into his car and slam the locks. My whole body shakes as he pounds on the window. Within seconds, the other two join him. They’re laughing and talking to each other in loud drunken voices.
“What the hell?” I hear through the glass. “Crazy bitch!”
“Open the door! We’re just trying to talk!”
I can’t breathe. My vision tunnels, dark spots flicker at the edges. Derek’s car smells like weed and pine air freshener, and I’m hyperventilating so hard I might pass out. My hands shake uncontrollably as I pull my phone from my pocket.
I don’t want to call Leon. That’ll just prove that he was right. I’m not ready for this. I’m not strong or capable or—
Before I can dial a number the sound of an engine rumbling and bright light streaming into the window pull my gaze up.
Holy shit.
A motorcycle roars into the parking lot, headlight cutting through the darkness. The guys step back, suddenly looking less confident as the bike pulls up close. The engine cuts off, and through my tears and panic, I see a familiar figure swing off the bike.
Leon.