Chapter 40
CHAPTER 40
A week later, I stood outside work, looking for Porter’s truck. Usually, if he couldn’t get parking in front of my building, he parked and walked over to meet me.
He was running forty-five minutes late. I checked my phone for the tenth time. No texts, no calls.
And I had already sent him multiple texts.
Me: Are you tied up?
Me: Want me to take a cab home?
Me: Should I wait here?
Me: I’m going to take a cab home, okay?
I canvassed the street, wondering what had happened. This wasn’t like Porter. He was meticulous about picking me up, making sure I was okay. He never let me out of his sight when I went out in public.
I thought his protective behavior was overboard, but now, when he wasn’t around, with no word from him, I feared that something was wrong.
Maybe his phone had died.
Maybe he’d been in a fender bender .
Maybe someone had attacked him and hurt him.
Panic made my throat tighten to the point of pain. What if something had happened to him? I wondered what to do. Should I stay here and wait? Should I go home?
What if he was lying unconscious at home, unable to move? What if someone attacked him in the garage and he was lying there bleeding to death? I needed to help him, right?
My mind was going into overdrive.
I decided I couldn’t stand, waiting around. I hailed a cab and checked for any accidents along the way home. I saw nothing, and the cab driver pulled up in front of my building.
I paid the cab and checked the garage.
Porter’s truck wasn’t parked.
He failed to pick me up.
And he had talked to Felicia two days ago.
Maybe he was with Felicia.
I squared my shoulders and went upstairs, wondering if I’d find his boxes still in my apartment. Is that how he’d eventually leave me?
Would he simply disappear one day?
My phone rang. It was Porter. “Beth, are you coming down soon?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’m at your work. Waiting for you, but I’m about to get a ticket. You need more time?”
“What are you doing there?”
“An hour ago, you sent me a text telling me you’d be an hour late.”
“I sent you no such text. In fact, I waited 45 minutes for you to pick me up. You didn’t answer my texts, so I grabbed a cab.”
“I haven’t had a chance to check my phone, I’ve been driving, but I did get the text saying you’d be late.”
“If you got a text from a woman telling you that she was running late, then you either got your texts or your women mixed up, because I didn’t send you anything like that.” I was breathing hard. I hated this. I wanted to cry. I didn’t want it to end like this. With lies. And deceit.
“Where. Are. You?”
I walked into the bedroom and kicked off my shoes. “I’m at home.”
“I need you to leave your apartment and go stand in the lobby. I’m on my way.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoffed, hating that he was going to use my fear to cover up his lies, “I’m here, and there’s no one here.”
“Beth. I need you to get the fuck out of that apartment.”
Someone grabbed me by the throat. It was a big arm, hauling me back. I screamed as my feet kicked and flailed in the air. He had a knife, and it was pressed against my throat. This was like that moment in the restaurant bathroom, only I knew the outcome would be much worse.
I was going to die here.
Of that, I was certain.
Something came over me. Something that said I wasn't going to die without a fight. Maybe it was Porter in the back of my mind, or the way his scent lingered in the air, but I felt him here, and it gave me strength.
I drew upon that strength and slammed the heel of my foot on the top of his foot. He grunted in pain. Then, with a scream that sounded borderline feral, I head-butted him back, hitting him in the nose.
I caught him off guard, and I stepped wide, catching him off balance. The knife waved dangerously in the air. I kicked him in the nuts and felt something warm burn my side.
My fingers clawed at his eyes, scratching, gouging, working to blind him. He howled in pain, staggering back. Someone was screaming, so loud, it was hurting my ears.
Was that me?
Was that sound actually coming out of me?
I jumped with all my weight back onto his foot and clawed down his face. His arms came up in self-defense, and one hand grabbed me by the throat. I was a wildcat. Kicking. Kicking. Kicking. Knees up. Scratching.
He bent over. I must have connected with his balls.
And then he tipped back, his face a bloody mess. “You’re a crazy fucking bitch.”
I glanced down. There was blood. So much fucking blood. Where was it all coming from?
“I’m just getting warmed up, asshole,” I wavered towards him.
“Fuck you.” He disappeared out of the bedroom.
I fell to my knees, looking down at my dress. A growing stain, so bright, so red, was spreading across my yellow dress.
Too much blood.
I held my side, looking around the room. Something was ringing. I could see the light of my phone. I felt so weak. So tired. I crawled to my phone and swiped to answer.
“Porter?” I wheezed.
“Oh, fuck, Beth,” Porter sounded so intense. So angry.
“Hey,” I said, falling onto my back, looking at the ceiling of my bedroom. I was pretty sure I was in shock. “Some guy attacked me in my bedroom. With a knife.”
“The police and ambulance are on their way.” Panic laced his voice, and so much emotion I couldn’t decipher accompanied it. “Okay? Hang on.”
I heard a horn blaring. “Get the fuck out of my way,” he yelled.
“Don’t get into an accident,” I said slowly.
“Baby, I’m on my way. I’m three minutes out.”
His horn blared some more.
“I fought,” I said, fighting the blackness that was closing in on my vision. “I fought so hard, but nothing slowed down. It all sped up. Why didn’t it slow down?”
“Sweetheart,” his breath was harsh in my ear, “tell me you’re okay.”
I raised my head and peered at my stomach. My dress was drenched in blood. “I think he stabbed me. I think I’m dying. ”
“No, fuck that. You’re not dying, okay? You fucking stay alive. That’s an order!”
“I thought you were with Felicia,” I whispered. “I thought you were leaving me, but maybe I’m the one leaving.”
“Beth! Beth, baby, stay on the phone with me, okay? No one is leaving anyone.”
“I did something stupid.” I laid my head back, fighting to stay awake. “I broke the last rule. I don’t think of you as a friend. I think I like you. A lot. Which is so stupid of me, and I feel embarrassed, but since this might be our last conversation, I wanted you to know.” I started to cry. “I want you to be happy.”
“Beth,” he yelled in my ear. “If you leave me, I’m not going to be happy, so stay the fuck alive.”
I tried to keep the phone by my ear, but I felt weak. I blinked, and then darkness came over me.