Chapter 2Olivia
Olivia
“I t’s like I’m Samantha Jones from Sex and the City ,” I joke, nestling the stem of my martini glass between my fingers.
We’re nearing the end of September, and as always, our accounting responsibilities have spun into overdrive at the end of the month. The only way to gain some of our sanity back? Grab drinks at the new cocktail lounge in Newbridge Village—Whispers & Whiskey.
“I’ve actually never watched that show,” Emma admits before tasting her vodka soda.
I turn in my leather seat to face her, suspending my free palm over the ambient lamp. “Even Alex has seen an episode. This is like a crime against women.”
Her brown eyes roll while her red-tipped fingers fiddle with the cocktail straw. “You’re so damn dramatic.”
“Yes, and you two should be thanking me for always gracing you with entertainment.” I flick a finger between her and Alex, sipping my Cosmo.
A soft chuckle tumbles from Emma. “Speaking of entertainment, I’m not gossiping, but…”
I abruptly plant my drink on the marble tabletop, slapping my palms together as I lick the tartness off my lips. “Hell yes. This is why I came out tonight.”
Emma’s hand greets my arm, her head shaking through a silent laugh.
My eyes meet Alex’s through his hipster glasses, and I shrug a shoulder. “I mean, obviously I wanted to spend time with you two. But exchanging gossip was the original reason, if I’m being totally honest here,” I confess.
“Okay,” Emma interjects, her fingers tucking her dark hair behind her ear. “Rumor has it that Lisa and David were making out in the break room. Maybe even getting a little handsy .”
“Oh my god!” I exclaim, a frustrated gasp falling from my lips. “So, the rest of us are just sitting in our cubicles keeping track of boring inventory in our QuickBooks software, while Lisa and David are getting their rocks off? What the fuck?”
Emma flips her straight locks to one side, murmuring on the straw of her drink. “Pretty much.”
I huff out a breath, slumping into my cushioned seat. “Ugh, I’m so jealous.”
Alex leans his forearms on the table, his three-quarter sleeve button down stretching with the motion. “I mean, kudos to David, but damn.”
“Don’t even. Lisa thinks she’s God’s gift,” I challenge, planting a palm on the ribbed fabric over my chest. “I don’t care for it, that’s all I’m saying.”
“You can be attracted to someone and not like their personality,” he counters.
I purse my lips, angling my chin to the coffered ceiling of the room. “I don’t know, personality goes a long way with me. If I find a guy hot but he turns out to be a complete asshole, I’m pretty sure I’m instantly turned off.”
“Maybe guys are just bred differently than girls,” Alex retorts.
“Obviously,” I deadpan. Then my gaze purposely lingers on his chest.
“Guilty,” he agrees, taking a sip of his gin and tonic.
I pivot to my left, locking eyes with Emma as I gesture toward Alex. “You see, this is why we don’t invite him out.”
Her eyes humor me for a few seconds. “Can we just order food, please? I’m starving, and I don’t have time for this.”
My face scrunches in discomfort. “I’ve been really good about not eating past nine o’clock.”
“As you drink alcohol that’s drenched in calories,” Emma states. Then she’s waving a hand over the length of me, the bell sleeve of her blouse whipping with the motion. “Also, you’re five-foot-seven, fit, curvy in all the right places, and overall, just a blonde bombshell. Shut up .”
I shake my head, returning my attention back to Alex. “Why am I being spoken to like this?”
Emma pulls me in for a side hug, and my hand instantly cups the side of her face to lay a kiss on her cheek.
When I withdraw, I raise my cocktail to my mouth as I say, “I respectfully disagree with the ‘blonde bombshell’ part, but if you think there’s room for me to indulge, I will not argue. I’m hungry as shit.”
We call the waitress over, sounding off our tapas orders before asking for another round of drinks. The next hour scrolls by, and when the clock strikes twelve, the three of us transform into pumpkins.
I shrug my black shacket over my long-sleeved sweater dress, standing up with Alex and Emma to make our exit.
We weave through the tables and chairs across the mahogany wood floor when I ask, “Where are you guys parked?” The cool gust eventually wraps around us when we step onto the sidewalk. “I couldn’t find any parking on the main strip, so I parked in a random lot off Windom Street.”
Alex averts his attention to Emma with a prying wave. “Not a problem. We’ll come back for our cars.”
Emma nods before we walk along the sidewalk together. “Thanks,” I grumble, despising that I feel like a burden. “My sincerest apologies for not being an aggressive driver and hazing people for a parking spot. I’ll do better next time, I promise.”
“Apology accepted,” Alex teases.
After we say our goodbyes, I pull my Toyota Rav4 out of the parking spot. My eyes are trained in front of me as I reach over to the passenger seat, and I dig one hand in my crossbody. I’m sifting through random papers and small lotion bottles, only to realize my phone isn’t there.
My brows crinkle in confusion, and I apply pressure to the brake. As soon as I’m idled in the deserted lot, I click the overhead light on to search through my bag.
There’s small tubes and crumpled papers, but no phone.
“Ugh,” I grunt, punching the map light off.
I reoccupy the parking space from before, only to jab the push-stop button and open the car door. My Chelsea boots kiss the blacktop, a few scattered leaves crunching beneath them when I start walking off.
With my impatience wearing thin, I mindlessly enter the alleyway between the large buildings.
I catch the withered and spray-painted brick bordering either side of me, and my pace reflexively accelerates along the unmaintained path.
On instinct, I shove my hands in the pockets of my shacket, halting when my fingertips greet the plastic shell of my phone case.
Tilting my head to the dark sky, I shut my eyes as I shake my head. “Why are you so stupid sometimes, Liv?” I murmur.
I withdraw my phone completely, relief infiltrating my system. A long breath ejects from my mouth, and I tuck the device away before scrubbing my fingers through my soft curls.
When I spin around, my gaze locks on the edge of the dumpster at the end of the alleyway. My white Rav4 is just a few yards beyond it under the one and only light pole, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip.
Discomfort knocks into me, and I realize just how murky it is without that source of light.
How much I’m starved of it in this moment.
I finally tread forward, the tapping of my boots on the ground blaring against the mass silence. A quiet I hadn’t really noticed a minute ago when my mind was thwarted.
Adrenaline vibrates through me just as the nighttime sky is cloaked in a mocking, onyx shade.
My hands dive in the pockets of my shacket, my fingers curling and twisting into the fabric.
A couple of my nails nearly slice through the flannel material, but the consideration is brief.
Irrelevant as my subconscious gnaws at my bones.
The chafing of the dirt echoes within the confined lane. Almost piercingly until another sound crashes through.
“Hey, miss?”
My body violently jolts, heart leaping in my throat. I whip around to the gruff voice, the blood draining from my veins as my lungs rapidly deplete.
Just a few feet away, there is the silhouette of a man strolling toward me, his features sharpening under the raven-colored sky.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he coos. “Do you have a lighter?”
My throat clogs, ankles chained to the ground as my eyes rake over his six-foot-tall frame. He’s donning a white t-shirt with distressed jeans that fall over filthy boots. His dark hair is short and uncared for, whisking haphazardly in every direction.
“N-no,” I croak out, drinking in his tall and lanky stature. “I don’t smoke.”
His black cuticles appear when his fingers absently wipe over his scruffy chin, a deceitful smirk playing along his thin lips. I cautiously retreat backward, my heart pounding against my breastbone—every harsh thud fueling my steps.
My breathing falls shallow, his horrid presence latching onto my skin before I whirl around.
“You’re real pretty.”
His voice is pure sandpaper, grating the shell of my ear as a gasp tears from my mouth. My legs frantically march forward, but my efforts are futile when he circles around me.
I stumble a few steps back. “Please, you’re scaring me. Just leave me alone.”
He invades my space, reeking of liquor and tobacco as his dusky eyes burn into me. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you to thank someone when they compliment you?” he taunts.
My chest constricts as a tremor rocks my lips, and I peep over his broad shoulder. I manifest any glimmer of hope through distorted vision, searching for any sign of salvation.
Then he subtly shifts, thrusting one hand in his jeans pocket. My glossy eyes reluctantly meet his onyx ones—eyes that promise me everything but safety.
“I’ll give you whatever you want,” I beg weakly. “My wallet is in my car.”
“I don’t want what’s in your wallet,” he rasps, his tone lethal.
My eyes cut to the snapping of metal, his rough fingers revealing the blade of a pocketknife.
Icicles pierce my veins, frosting over my bloodstream. The chill suspends me in shock, all sound muted except for the bass of my heart crashing against my eardrum. He rolls the black handle between his long digits, and my flight response catapults my body into action.
I dart to the left, only gaining two steps before his steel arm wraps around my chest from behind. A screech exits my mouth, but it’s kidnapped when his large palm seals my cry.
The tip of the cold metal rests under my chin in his free hand. “If you make another sound, I’ll hurt you. I’ll hurt you really good. Do you understand?” he grits out, droplets of spit splattering against my cheek.
I pinch my eyes closed, wringing out tears as my chest wracks with vicious sobs. Mucus streams from my nose, soaking his bristly skin as I peel my eyes open and pray to see an angel.
Someone or something that’s going to terminate the terror of this moment.
But all that stands before me is the steel of the large dumpster.
Blocking any sliver of hope.
“Now, when I take this knife away, you’re not going to scream,” he whispers harshly, his hot breath biting my ear like the Grim Reaper himself.
My bones shrivel as I screw my eyes shut. Icy blood chips away from my veins, every fallen piece leaving my body paralyzed. A new limb immobilizing until I succumb to this brutal fate.
Rounding my body, he suspends the knife in front of my petrified stature.
The refined tip shines a wicked glint amidst the darkness, and he lays his free palm on the brick to cage me in on one side.
I desperately sag my back against the abrasive surface, the grinding of the brick providing me a pitiful comfort as I will myself to melt into it.
I pivot my head to the side, thick tears roaming down my cheeks as strands of my hair glue to my face. “Please. Please don’t do this,” I whisper desperately.
I crush my eyes closed as the tip of his blade grazes the front of my sweater dress. The metal point travels down the valley between my breasts, every inch of his journey unlatching a new tear.
Every droplet a silent prayer.
The metallic edge trails down the center of my stomach, eliciting a shiver that gradually deadens my nerve endings. It suddenly traces the hem of my sweater dress, slipping under to lift the garment higher along my thighs.
My eyes pop open, body trembling wildly as I realize this disgusting man is about to defile me behind a dumpster.
And to that, maybe death is my salvation right now.
Maybe I’d like it better there.
“Such sweet, long legs you got,” he breathes against my face.
He rests his fist with the knife on the brick wall, harshly kneading my inner thigh with his opposite palm.
His punitive touch ignites my last shred of strength.
Rage briefly replaces my fear, and I purse my lips before driving two closed fists into his firm chest. “No,” I seethe.
But his torso is solid stone.
And I surrender.
Reaching out for death’s hand, I beg it to rip me from this misery.
My mind begins to pool with black ink, laying to rest all the great memories of my life. Because after tonight, this event will reign supreme.
Or I won’t have any memories left at all.
But just as the ink consumes the last inch of my mind, it’s all vacuumed out in a swift second as I’m released from my attacker, and I fall to the ground.