15. Bindi
FIFTEEN
BINDI
I push through the emergency exit of the club and out into the Miami streets. The sticky, warm air clings to my skin as I pull up my strap and wipe the tears from my eyes. I pass by a bodega with a buzzing neon sign, bathing the deserted sidewalk in a pink glow.
Anthony’s ghost brushes against me, his fingerprints bruising my arms from where they dug deep.
Nausea rolls through me and I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, hoping it helps settle my stomach.
But it doesn’t. The darkness only makes it worse.
The images of Anthony flare behind my eyelids.
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek and force my eyes open.
Keep walking, Binx. One foot in front of the other. Stay underneath the jaundiced streetlights until you find another home. You’ve been here before.
For all I know, Anthony jumped in his car, circling these blocks trying to hunt me down.
Don’t you fucking dare fall apart.
My thoughts are spiraling, ping-ponging between terror and fury. Hot tears blur my vision, but I blink them back angrily. I won’t break down here on the street where he can still find me.
He tried to rape me. He had never been so forceful before. If Cassidy hadn’t stormed into the VIP room in time he would have completely taken advantage of me. Why didn’t I just let Cassidy kill the motherfucker? Maybe then the sense of fear would have dissipated by now.
Anthony isn’t the type to just slink away—to cower. He had rage in his eyes as Cassidy was beating the shit out of him. He will come back for me. He won’t just let go.
My mouth is as dry as ash. I glance over my shoulder for the hundredth time but there’s nothing but an empty sidewalk, a link of silent, parked cars, and the distant halo of a traffic light cycling through colors.
I’m alone.
Alone. But not safe. My body is coming down from an adrenaline high that got me out of that VIP room. A hiccuping sob pushes past my throat, and I grit my teeth, swallowing it down.
Up ahead, a streetlamp sputters, then goes out. The corner plunges into darkness. I freeze, my pulse hammering in my ears. It’s so, so dark.
I shouldn’t have walked. Why the hell don’t I just call an Uber?
Any sane Uber driver would take one look at me and know I’m nothing but trouble.
Maybe I should call Cassidy now. My hand fumbles for my phone in my skirt pocket. I pull it out and stare at the screen. Then I realize, I don’t even have Cassidy’s number to call him, even if I wanted to.
I shove the phone away
There’s an echo of footsteps behind me, causing my heart to leap into my throat, choking me. Oh god, he found me—he’s right behind me. I whip around, stumbling back a step. “No!” I gasp, the word tearing out of me before I can stop it .
Twenty feet away from me, a figure on the sidewalk stops short. I realize then that it’s a man in a hoodie, his mouth agape, hands raised in surrender. He’s just some stranger walking home from who-knows-where.
Not Anthony.
“Woah, lady . . . you okay?” he calls out, eyeing me like I’m crazy.
I don’t answer—I can’t. My throat has closed up and for a second everything tilts, the buildings and the sky trading places.
I squeeze my eyes shut, steadying myself with a hand on a parking meter.
When I open them again, the man is giving me a wide berth, hurriedly crossing the street to get away from the wild-eyed woman in torn clothes muttering to herself.
Fine.
Good.
I’d rather be seen as a lunatic than a victim.
I force myself to start walking again, faster now, half stumbling as panic nips at my heels.
The taste of bile rises in my mouth. I focus on the concrete in front of me, the scuff of my flats on the pavement, the rhythm of steps—left, right, left, right.
Just keep moving. I’m mumbling under my breath without realizing it, some cracked mantra of “Okay, okay, okay” in time with my strides.
If I stop, I’ll break. If I break, he wins.
By the time I reach Jordyn’s building, I’m dizzy with fear and exhaustion.
It’s a sleek high-rise with mirrored glass and a minimalist facade that’s always made me think of a giant USB drive stuck into the ground.
Right now, it looks like salvation. I fumble at the front door—my shaky hands can barely manage the keypad.
On the third try, I hear the lock click open.
I slip inside and shut the door quickly behind me.
The lobby is quiet, sans the night guard watching videos on his phone and snort giggling. He barely even looks at me.
I ride it up to the penthouse floor, and catch a glimpse of myself in the polished steel walls. There’s a streak of something on my cheek—mascara? blood? My pale skin looks even more ashen, eyes red-rimmed and wild. A bruise is blooming along my collarbone where my blouse is ripped open
My stomach gives a queasy lurch at the sight and I look away, focusing on the floor numbers blinking by.
12 . . . 13 . . . 14 . . .
When the doors slide open, I hurry down the hall to Jordyn’s apartment.
My fingers tremble so badly I almost mistype the door code.
Finally, I get the door unlocked. I slip into the dark and slam the door shut behind me.
Click. I turn the deadbolt, then slide the chain latch in place with shaking hands.
The only light is a faint blue glow from the microwave clock in the kitchen down the hall.
I stand there in the entryway for a long moment, back pressed against the solid wood door, and let out a shuddering breath.
The silence of the apartment wraps around me, and my ears ring in the absence of noise.
All at once, the emotions I’ve been holding at bay come crashing over me. A strangled sob bursts out of my throat. I slap a hand over my mouth as if I can shove it back in, but it’s too late.
I’m not going to scream. I bite down on my knuckles instead, hard enough that I taste blood. Hot tears are pouring down my cheeks now, unstoppable. Each gasp of breath comes out as a whine. I press the heels of my hands to my eyes until I see sparks, trying to dam the tears, but nothing works.
Pull it together, Bindi. My inner voice trembles.
I can’t fall apart here—not yet. I need to .
. . I need to do something. Through my sobs, I become aware of how gross I feel—sticky with sweat, the reek of fear and him clinging to me.
My hair is matted to my face and my clothes.
God, I want these clothes off now. They feel contaminated, like they’re coated in Anthony’s touch .
I claw at my blouse, yanking it off, popping the last few intact buttons.
I tear the whole thing from my body and fling it across the foyer.
My bra follows, then my skirt—every article of my “work” clothes that he touched or even looked at.
I leave a crumpled heap of fabric on the marble floor. Good riddance.
Stumbling to the bathroom, I nearly trip over my own feet in the dark.
I crank the shower handle all the way too hot and the rain head spurts to life, steaming almost instantly.
Without waiting, I step under the spray, still in my panties, not caring that the water is scalding.
The shock of the heat against my skin is a small relief—it gives me something sharp and clear to feel that isn’t fear.
Water drums on my head and shoulders, so hot that my skin flushes.
It stings, but I tilt my face up into it, letting it scald away the disgusting slickness of sweat and tears.
I grab Jordyn’s body wash and lather it on a loofah, scrubbing every inch of me with a fury that borders on violence.
My normally creamy, pale skin is turning red under the assault, but I can’t stop.
I scrub my arms where Anthony’s fingers dug in until new pain overlays the ugly memory. I rake the loofah over my collarbone where a bruise is forming, as if I can erase it. But the marks he left aren’t just on the surface—they’re etched far beneath.
No amount of soap will wash away the feeling of his hands squeezing, pinning, groping . . .
I slap the loofah against the shower wall as my lungs hitch, and suddenly I’m crying again, huge racking sobs that hurt my ribs.
The sound echoes weirdly in the tiled shower, mixing with the rush of water.
I press my forehead to the cool marble wall, water pelting the back of my neck, and let it out.
I cry until my throat is raw and no more sounds come, and still the tears keep mixing with the water on my face.
I’m so tired . . . so wrung out I can hardly move .
The hot water is beginning to run lukewarm and the skin on my arms is an angry pink from all my scrubbing. I force myself to twist the handle off, and the deluge stops.
In my reflection, I see my eyes are swollen and aching from crying.
In the bedroom, I tug open the top drawer of Jordyn’s dresser. My fingers close around a soft, oversized T-shirt, and I pull it over my damp body, letting the towel drop.
The shirt falls to mid-thigh on me, enveloping me in cotton.
It’s not exactly a hug, but it’s the next best thing.
I run a hand through my wet hair, detangling it as best I can, and then drag myself toward the king-sized bed. The sheets are clean and cool against my legs as I crawl in. I leave the lamp on the nightstand on.
Every time I blink, I see Anthony.
I curl up on my side, pulling Jordyn’s comforter up to my chin. My body is bone-tired, but when I close my eyes my mind won’t shut up. The quiet of the penthouse leaves too much room for the thoughts to swarm in: What if he comes after me? What if he finds out where I am?
Eventually, the sheets warm up around me, and under the layers of Jordyn’s shirt and the comforter, I start to feel a tiny bit less exposed. I’m still shaking, a fine tremor I can’t control, but exhaustion is creeping in, dulling the edges of my fear.
I’m so tired.
Every muscle in my body aches, and my eyes burn. I realize I’m staring, unfocused, at the lamp. I roll back over and curl into a ball, clutching the comforter.
You’re safe , I tell myself.
Safe for now.
The word safe echoes in my head, a lullaby and a lie all at once.
But it soothes me enough that finally my mind begins to shut down.