Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Donny saunters over as I’m wiping down the table left behind by the last patron. “Looks like it’s an early night tonight,” he says, “You can head home now. I still have some paperwork to sort out in my office, but I forgot my key. Give me yours so I can lock up later?”
I glance at him and then check the time. It’s only twelve thirty, but I won’t argue about getting some extra sleep.
Digging out my keys from my back pocket, I unhook the bar key and pass it to him.
“Thanks.”
I make my way through the kitchen to the back, where I find Lennard and Matteo by their lockers, pulling out their jackets. Joining them, I reach for my own.
“You’re finishing up early today, Carolina,” Lennard observes.
“Don’t jinx it,” I say, pushing through the door with them into the cold night.
“Do you want me to walk you home, carina?” Matteo offers.
“I’ll manage,” I say, walking away.
It’s cold. I can see my breath misting up under the streetlamps. But the walk is short, and soon, I’m in our apartment. I shed my jacket, placing my backpack beside it before heading to our room.
I want to check on Chiara and gather my things to get ready for bed, but when I open the door, my little sister is getting pounded from behind by a tall but scrawny guy with a mop of blond hair on his head.
“Chiara!” I yell, my hand gripping the cold metal of the doorknob so tightly that my knuckles turn white.
Chiara’s eyes widen in shock when her head snaps toward me.
A gasp escapes her lips before she lets out a horrified scream.
The boy, equally startled, freezes for a split second.
Then, in a frantic rush, he slides down next to her, their hands fumbling and tangling as they both desperately scramble for the discarded blanket to cover themselves.
For a moment, I’m rooted to the spot, my mind struggling to process what I just saw, but finally I raise my hand to shield my eyes, wishing I could erase the last few seconds from memory. “Che cazzo fai?”
“Why are you home so early?” she squeaks out in a panicked tone.
“Why am I home?” I let my hand fall and watch as Chiara pulls the blanket closer to her chest, exposing the scrawny guy I assume is Leo and his dick before he takes my fucking pillow to cover himself.
“I can’t deal with this right now,” I say, spinning on my heels to exit the room and shutting the door behind me. Then I lean against it for a moment, taking a deep breath.
Just then, I hear the front door creak open. I dart into the bathroom, leaving the door just slightly ajar. Peering through the gap, I watch Roberto stumble into the living room, promptly turning on the television with the volume up high.
I linger a minute longer before moving to the front door, grabbing my jacket and backpack, and leaving the apartment. Once in the stairwell, I dial Chiara.
“I swear I didn’t—” She begins, but I cut her off.
“Roberto just got home.” I hear her inhale sharply at my words. “Keep that boy in your room. Set an alarm for five thirty. Roberto should be asleep by then, and he can leave. Don’t risk anything. If Roberto sees him, he will hurt both of you.”
“Okay,” she whispers back with a shaky breath.
“And Chiara, we are going to talk about that shit some more later, but what were you thinking? I sleep in that bed too, porca miseria! You are going to wash those bedsheets tomorrow, twice!”
“Okay,” she whispers once more before I end the call.
I slip on my jacket and pocket my phone, heading back to the bar. But it seems Donny has already shut everything down. No lights are on, and no one responds to my knocking.
Fuck, what do I do now?
I can’t stay outside for hours. It’s too chilly, and the shelter closes its doors at night, so I can’t go to Howie either.
I head back to our apartment building, where I can wait in the stairwell.
It’s not exactly warm, but it’s definitely warmer than outside.
As I walk, a weird feeling of being watched creeps over me.
I scan my surroundings, but all I see are some people laughing in the distance and a stray cat darting across the street—nobody else in sight.
“Pull your shit together,” I mutter, but that nagging sensation just grows stronger.
I take a turn and pause, glancing over my shoulder. A shadow disappears behind a building. Fuck, I’m right in front of my place now, but if someone follows me in, I’m trapped.
So, I quicken my pace, hoping to lose him in a labyrinth of turns before doubling back to my building. Maybe it’s all in my head, and this feeling will pass soon.
Twenty minutes later, I’m still walking, heart pounding in my chest. Something deep down is screaming at me that I’m in danger.
In a move I never thought I’d make, I get out my phone and dial Clay’s number.
He picks up on the first ring. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m… I’m so sorry to—” I stammer, my voice shaking, but he cuts me off.
“Karen, what’s going on? Where are you?”
“I-I think someone’s following me. I’m too scared to go home,” I whisper.
There’s a pause, some shuffling, more rustling, then he’s back on the line. “I’m heading over. Where are you?”
“Harlem, near the 7-Eleven,” I manage to say, my voice laced with fear.
“All right, go inside. Stay on the phone and stay where the cashier can see you. I just got home, so I’ll be there in twenty.”
I make a beeline for the store, walking quickly but trying not to look too panicked. This might all be in my head, but if it’s not, better safe than sorry.
I step inside, casting a glance at the cashier’s counter where a kid, maybe eighteen, with acne-ridden skin is working.
The sound of a car door slamming and an engine roaring to life filters through the phone just as Clay asks, “You’re inside the store?”
“Yes, I’m in,” I confirm.
“Go chat with the cashier,” he orders.
“But he’s just a kid, and I don’t know what to talk about.”
“I don’t care, Karen. Ask him about the freshness of their eggs for all I care. Just get him to talk to you.”
Despite my jitters, I head toward the counter, keeping a watchful eye on the entrance. If someone was tailing me, they wouldn’t come in here, right? They’d wait for me to get back out, right?
I approach the kid, who glances up with a bored expression.
“Can I help you?” he asks, sounding anything but helpful.
“Are your eggs fresh?” I blurt out.
Clay’s laughter echoes from the phone.
“My eggs… are you hitting on me?” He looks utterly confused, and my cheeks flame red.
“No, no, never mind,” I say, retreating a step and pretending to inspect the candy bars next to the register.
“Please hurry,” I whisper into the phone.
“I’m almost there, but for the love of god, avoid asking teenagers about their eggs. That shit could end in a harassment complaint, and I’m off-duty,” he teases.
“You told me to ask him that!” I hiss back into the phone.
“I meant store eggs, not his eggs,” he replies, his voice rippling with laughter. “You’re something else, Karen.”
The store doors swing open, and I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s just an elderly lady shuffling in. My breathing must sound ragged over the phone because Clay’s voice grows serious. “You okay?”
“Please hurry,” I whisper back, my heart hammering so fast I feel it in my throat, threatening to choke me.
There is rustling and some muffled voices on his end, then another sound of a car door slamming. My gaze is fixed again on the entry. Minutes pass without him saying anything, and my nervousness grows.
“Clay?” I ask.
“I’m here,” he says, hanging up just as the doors open, and he steps inside. He’s wearing an olive-green parka and gray sweatpants. He scans the store and his gaze lands on me.
He strides over and places his hands on my shoulders, stooping down to my level. “You okay?”
I nod, biting my lip, my eyes welling up.
He came for me.
Clay wraps me in a quick hug before nudging me forward, saying to the cashier, “Remember, kid, always keep your eggs fresh.”
Outside, he guides me to a black Ford F-150 and holds open the passenger door for me. It’s quite the step up, so he grips my hips to help me climb in.
Once I’m settled, he shuts the door and jogs around to the driver’s side, sliding behind the wheel and firing up the engine. There’s silence for a beat until I break it.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He glances at me. “Wanna fill me in on what happened?”
“I came home to find my sister and her new boyfriend doing the deed… in our room,” I say.
He chokes out a laugh. “ ‘Doing the deed?’ Are you fifty? And why didn’t you just hang out in the living room or something until they were done?”
“Our uncle’s home,” I say, leaving it at that.
His expression turns serious again. “Why is that a problem?”
“Because he’s drunk.” I shrug.
His next words are heavy with what seems like suppressed anger. “Does he hurt you, Carolina?”
“He’s unpredictable when he’s drunk, and I didn’t want to risk it,” I say, choosing to omit the part about him being drunk most of the time.
He nods but doesn’t look happy or convinced. “Makes sense. And you have no idea who might have been tailing you?”
“To be honest, I could’ve just imagined it all. It was just a gut feeling… maybe I got paranoid.” I shrug. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called.”
“Always trust your gut,” he says before bursting into laughter again. “God, your sister is a handful!”
“I know.” I cringe. “But it’s partly my fault. I’m hardly ever home.”
“That’s bullshit. Sneaking out and messing around is typical teenage stuff. I did it. You probably did too,” Clay says.
I stay silent. I couldn’t afford to do teenage stuff while attending high school and juggling two jobs while caring for an eleven-year-old.
Clay swings a sharp right into a fast-food joint’s parking lot where Xander is standing.
I whip my head back to Clay, surprised. “You brought him?” I ask, shocked.
“Like I could sneak out for a booty call in the middle of the night without him tagging along.” He shrugs.