Chapter Nine
CHAPTER NINE
CLAIRE
The comfort of Mark's apartment has spoiled me. As I sit in my van with the engine running to keep the heat on, I find myself missing the cozy bedroom I've been staying in. The thought of going back to living in my car full-time makes my stomach churn with dread. How did I manage to live like this for almost a month?
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the night ahead. My reflection in the rearview mirror stares back at me, plain but more lively than I’ve been over the last few weeks otherwise. The bright red letters on the dash count the passing minutes until I have no choice but to go inside and clock in.
The pizza parlor is mostly empty aside from an older couple sitting in the corner booth. It’s a couple hours before the dinner rush will start, which means spending too much time in this building. Nate and Randy are behind the counter, laughing loudly at some crude joke I can't quite hear. I slip past them, hoping to avoid their attention, but Jackson, my boss, spots me from his office.
"Claire, we missed you!" he calls out with an obnoxious grin. His gaze lingers on my body a little too long despite my loose clothing.
I force a small smile. "Well, I’m back."
He chuckles, but there's something in his eyes that makes my skin crawl. "I’m glad. Having you around makes the evenings here so much nicer."
I mumble a thank you and hurry to clock in, but I can feel his eyes on me the whole time. The other guys are no better, their conversations filled with vulgarities. I attempt to block out the crude conversation and keep my head down as I make my way to the counter to keep myself occupied by folding boxes and wrapping silverware.
Relief rolls through me when Randy shouts out that I’ve got a couple deliveries to make. There’s another delivery driver here, of course, but he’s too busy standing at the back door smoking cigarettes to care.
Oh well, more tips for me.
The first few deliveries go smoothly, and I even get a twenty-dollar tip at one of them, but soon enough I’m forced to return to work. While navigating the city can be stressful, especially with the subpar GPS on my cheap phone, it’s become easier with every trip, and the environment at work has become increasingly uncomfortable. I’m starting to see why I’m the only woman who works here.
The warm air envelops me as I push through the doors and make my way to the back to check for any more deliveries. It looks like our other delivery driver finally decided to make a trip, because he’s nowhere to be found and there are no pizzas for me to deliver .
Nate and Randy are deep in a conversation about some party they went to over the weekend, their boisterous laughter filling the room. I try to tune them out, but it’s no use. Some of the words they use are ones I haven’t heard before, but it’s abundantly clear they’re talking about sex.
An uncomfortable knot twists in my stomach as I try to focus on the task in front of me, and pretend to ignore them. But Jackson chooses that moment to walk up behind me, his body close enough that I can smell his too-strong cologne. My breath catches in my throat and my shoulders tense at his close proximity.
"Claire, can I talk to you for a second?"
I turn to face him, taking a small step backward, crossing my arms, and putting on a fake smile. "Sure, what do you need to talk about?"
He gestures for me to follow him to his office, and I hesitate for a moment before complying. Did I do something wrong? Am I getting fired? I thought I was doing a good job, but maybe not. It’s not like I have any work experience to base that off of.
Jackson’s office is small and cluttered. The air is thick with the scent of stale pizza and that god-awful cologne. He closes the door behind us, and panic rises in my chest.
"I wanted to talk to you about your performance," he says as he leans against his desk.
Oh no, here it goes . I inhale and brace myself for the bad news.
"You've been doing great work, and I think it's time we discuss a raise."
I blink in surprise. "Oh, um, thank you. That would be really helpful."
He smiles, but there's something in his gaze that makes me want to run. "I'm glad to hear that. But I also have to be very selective about who gets a raise, so maybe we could sweeten the deal here."
He steps closer and reaches out to graze my arm, and I flinch away instinctively. But instead of backing off, he grips my wrist and pushes me against the wall. His face is inches from mine, his breath hot on my skin, and dread weighs down on me.
"Come on, Claire," he coaxes. "I can make things really good for you here."
I'm frozen with terror, my heart pounding so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear his words. I manage to shake my head in a small, desperate movement. "No, please, I just want to do my job."
He scoffs. "Don't play hard to get, sweetheart. I know you're new to the city, but this is how things work around here."
Tears well up in my eyes as I shake my head again and struggle to find my voice. "Please, let me go."
But he doesn't listen. He reaches up with his other hand to touch my face, and I react before I can think. I shove him as hard as I can and he stumbles back, his eyes wide with shock. I may be small and meek and new to this life, but I’m not about to let this creep take advantage of me.
I reach for the door and Jackson lunges for my arm. I’m fighting against him with everything I have now, lashing out with my limbs and landing a good kick to his knee.
"You little fucking —" his words get cut off when the door to the office bursts open, and one of the cooks who I don’t interact much with—Andre—steps in.
"Jackson, the oven's not working again," he says, looking between me and our boss. "Can you take a look at it? "
Jackson's grip on my arm loosens, and he steps back. He forces out a laugh. "Yeah. Just playing around with Claire here," he says, clapping Andre on the shoulder as he walks out. "You know how new girls can be, so serious all the time."
Andre’s concern-filled eyes meet mine. "Are you okay?"
I nod, even though I'm anything but okay. I’m frozen in place, attempting to come to terms with what just happened. Once I shake myself out of my stupor, I quickly gather my things, mumble an excuse about not feeling well, and dart out the back door. Andre watches me go, but he doesn't try to stop me.
The drive back to Mark's is a blur. My hands are shaking against the steering wheel, and I can feel the bruises forming on my arm where Jackson grabbed me. The skin is already tender, serving as a reminder of just how bad that could have been. I choke back sobs as I drive, and when I pull into the parking garage, I sit there for a few minutes and give myself a moment to think while waiting for the tears to stop.
In this moment, I feel more like an outcast in this life than ever before. People are so cruel, so selfish, and I’ve only managed to escape these violent interactions due to someone else interfering—first Mark, now Andre, even though his was an unintentional intervention. How am I ever supposed to survive on my own when I can’t even manage to go a month without a man trying to hurt me? Is this just how the world is for women?
I pull the key from the ignition and make my way up to Mark's apartment. I stand outside the door and attempt to compose myself. I don't want him to see me like this, to know how weak and vulnerable I am after he’s already saved me once.
Luckily for me, I have abundant experience in pretending to be okay when I’m hurting on the inside. The life I left behind gave me plenty of practice in that. So many people have it worse than you , my father used to say. Be grateful for what you have and stop complaining . It was the go-to response when any of us children were upset by something, as if we shouldn’t be allowed to feel emotion because our problems were insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But when I pointed out that the sentiment was the same as saying we shouldn’t be happy because so many others have it better, I was still chastised for being ungrateful.
His advice never stuck with me in a way that mattered, but it did give me plenty of practice in hiding my emotions, of tamping down any feelings that threatened to overflow. I suppose now is as good of a time as any to put that practice back into place.
I take a deep breath, school my expression, and make my way inside.