Sierra
Chapter twenty-nine
True to her word, Mrs. Butler came and checked on me throughout the morning and afternoon, always alone. She told me how Sam was chomping at the bit to come take care of her big sister and had to take the house key from her, so she couldn’t sneak down here.
I’ve made it to the bathroom, each time moving at a snail’s pace, almost pissing myself. Putting a bucket beside the couch has become appealing.
When I wasn’t asleep today, I fretted about what the hell I was going to do. I have absolutely no money now. I’m in fucking pain and look like a punching bag, and yet I still thought about going to work today.
Around three, I finally relent and send Rico a message.
Me: Hi Rico, it’s Lilac. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to make it in tonight. I’ve caught a stomach bug.
I let the phone drop softly on my stomach as I wait for a reply. When I sent the message, I couldn’t help but notice all the ones from Zander and Braxton, but I don’t have the heart or energy to read or answer them.
I don’t have to wait long before buzzing alerts me to a new message.
Rico: You were okay last night. Is it because of what happened at the end of the night?
Rico: Sick, huh? How bad is it?
Well, at least when I tell him it won’t be a lie.
Me: Honestly, I feel like someone beat the shit out of me. I can barely move.
Rico: Ok, odd way to describe, but ok, Lilac. Feel better.
Well, that went better than I expected. He wasn’t even mad.
But it still doesn’t solve my dilemma; money.
I need money, which means I need to work.
One way or another, I’ve got to rest enough so I can at least move a little bit on the stage, as well as figure out a way to cover up the bruises on my body.
Knowing that bruises always look worse before they look better, it's going to be a near-impossible job. Fuck! What the hell am I going to do?
My phone buzzes again, and I pick it up to see it’s Zander and groan. He’s calling this time. Guess he's had enough of unanswered messages. I desperately want to talk to him, to have him rush over here and comfort me, but I don’t answer. Instead, I wait for it to stop, then I turn off my phone.
Keys rattling at the front door catch my attention, and my heart rate increases as fear sets in.
Is Aunt Sarah back with that vile man? Does she think I have more money?
Because I don’t. I know after I told her where the shoebox was, she took it all.
I hadn’t even thought to split the money and put some in another hiding spot, or give it to Mrs. Butler to hold on to for me.
I could kick myself in the ass right now for not doing it.
Every time I planned to, I'd forgotten about it.
Maybe secretly, down deep, I didn't want to risk any chance of Sarah going to her apartment looking for it if she didn’t find it here.
When the door opens, I fly up. The sudden movement makes my body scream in revolt. Tripping on the blanket, I end up crashing to the floor, barely extending my arms out in time to brace the fall as much as I can. Not that it did any good. My body is at war with me, angry for causing it more pain.
“Oh my god, Sierra.” Mrs. Butler gasps, dropping the bags on the floor and rushing over to me, not even worrying about shutting the door behind her.
“I’ll be fine,” I huff out between labored breaths as I untangle myself from the blanket and gingerly crawl back onto the couch.
“I’m so sorry,” she pleads with me, as she takes the blanket and covers me back up.
“I didn’t even think to call. I made some food and was bringing it down for you, along with some canned goods I found in my cupboards that would be easy for you to open and warm up if you got hungry before I could check in on you. ”
“Please don’t apologize, I just let my anxiety get the best of me. All I could think was it was Sarah and that James guy coming back.”
“I thought about calling, but then I didn’t want to wake you if you were sleeping.” She heads over to the door and closes it, picking up the bag of food. “Are you hungry? I have some spaghetti here and it’s still hot.”
Just the sound of warm pasta has my stomach growling, and I realize I haven’t eaten anything all day. “Yes, please.”
Immediately I hear the sounds of cabinets opening and the clinking of plates before she returns to the living room, a plate of spaghetti in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
“If you haven’t already, take some more pain medicine.
I wish I had something stronger for you to take.
I know these are probably just barely touching what you’re feeling.
” Her face grimaces, hating seeing me like this.
“Here,” she hands the plate to me, pulls the coffee table closer to the couch, and sets the water on it.
“Sam has been so worried about you. I’m going to take her out for some pizza tonight at Rizoli’s.
And before you say anything, I want to do it and it won’t cost that much.
I’ll stop back in and check on you tonight when I get Sam down for bed.
” Once she’s positive I have enough food and water and don’t need anything else, she leaves, her absence plunging me into loneliness.
Cyrus
I’m heading out the door to pick Sierra up for dinner.
Fuck, I’ve been dreaming of this day since the first time I saw her at the club.
Not when she was dancing. No, she timidly sat at the bar, her eyes wide as she scanned her surroundings.
She looked like a broken bird and I knew from that moment she was going to be mine.
Every time I approached her, she seemed skittish, and I knew I would need to take it slow.
But these last couple of times taking her home, I got bolder, letting her know how I felt, and what I wanted.
When she actually accepted, I didn’t know how to act.
I was sure she was going to say no. When she didn’t, though, it gave me hope. My dreams might just become reality.
As soon as I get in my car, I get a text message from Rico. Odd since he never messages me.
Rico: Go by Lilac’s and check on her. She called in sick. Let me know what’s going on when you get there.
I’m thrown off guard for a minute. Rico has always had a strange relationship with Sierra, one he doesn’t have with the other dancers.
He watches out for her, makes sure she doesn’t get private dances with the more aggressive or asshole clients, and allows her to pretty much work her own schedule.
Where he wouldn’t care if any other dancer called out, he’s wanting her checked on.
Not that I mind. I’m there for whatever Sierra needs.
I’d give her my right kidney if she needed it.
Okay, she’s not feeling well, my perfect opportunity to take care of her. I make a quick call and order her some soup and bread, then make a pit stop at the grocery store, getting some Gatorade before picking up her food.
I wrack my brain, trying to think of what else to get her, but not knowing what’s exactly wrong, I stick with what I have for now.
The entire drive to her apartment, I feel like a nervous teenager, picking up his date and meeting the wrath of her father for the first time. My palms are sweaty and my stomach is twisted up in knots.
Pulling up to the curb, I shift the car in gear and I’m about to get out when I see an older woman, and a little girl I know is Sierra’s sister walk out of the building and head down the sidewalk, bypassing the couple making out against the light pole.
I mean, get a room. My future sister-in-law doesn’t need to see that shit.
I don’t know why, but I wait for them to make their way down the street and turn the corner before heading inside. Pulling out my phone, I check and there are no messages from Sierra, which is weird because if she’s sick, surely she would have messaged me to cancel.
Dialing her number I call, but it goes straight to voicemail. Hanging up, I head to the elevator, worried about her. I walk up to her door and listen, but I can’t hear anything from inside, and suddenly wonder if she’s even here.
Raising my hand, I knock on the metal door, softly at first, before increasing in force. The sound of glass crashing against the floor inside sends an alarm shooting through me. Pounding harder, I call out, “Sierra, it’s me, Cyrus. Are you okay? Open up.”
There’s nothing until the sounds of groaning and feet shuffling, moving closer to the door. “I’m sorry I forgot to send you a message to cancel. I’m not feeling well. We’ll have to do this another day,” she calls out. Her voice isn’t right though, it’s labored and pained.
Fucking hell, if she thinks I’m leaving here without seeing her, she’s dead wrong!
“Sierra, I'm not leaving until I see you. Open the door.” My voice is deeper, more demanding, craving her obedience.
“Please, Cyrus, just go,” she cries from the other side.
“Sierra, open the door now!” I say more forcefully. “I’ve got all night and I’m not leaving until you open it.” Biting my tongue, I don’t add that I’ll wait for her sister and the old lady to come back. That would sound creepy and really stalkerish, but I would totally do it.
I hear the click of the deadbolt as she turns it just before the door opens and I catch my first glimpse of her. My blood boils as rage builds in me and all I want is to kill the fucker who did this.
“What the fuck happened?” I shout angrily, causing her to flinch. Fuck, I need to rein my temper in a little. The last thing I want to do is scare her.
Her face is one huge bruise. Both eyes are black, and there's a gash across her forehead over a huge ass goose egg.
Gliding down the rest of what I can see of her body, there's bruising on her arms that look suspiciously like fingerprints. Her eyes are wide, and she’s gone a ghostly shade of pale as she breathes in and out rapidly.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry, babe. Here, let me help you to the couch.” Stepping inside her apartment, I shut the door behind me as I gingerly scoop her up in my arms and carry her over to the couch. “Who did this to you? Why aren’t you in the fucking hospital?”
“I don’t want to talk about it and I can’t go to the doctor.”
“Why the hell can’t you? If it’s the money, they can fucking bill you for it. You need to be checked out. Shit, I’m afraid to ask what injuries are under your nightgown that I can’t see.”
“Cyrus, please drop it. I’ll be okay. Just need a few days to rest and I’ll be good as new.” She forces a smile, but I don’t buy it. The injuries I can physically see will take far more than a few days.
“You’re right. But I’m staying here and taking care of you.
” She opens her mouth to protest, but I’m not having it.
“No, you can fight it all you want, but you can barely move, so I’m staying and you’re going to tell me what happened.
I won’t press you right now, but you’re going to. What have you been taking for pain?”
“Tylenol,” she mumbles.
Fucking christ! Tylenol, really?
“That’s it? Jesus, you must be in so much pain.” It’s then I see the broken glass on the floor, and my eyes immediately go to her feet where blood is dripping from them.
She must notice where I’m staring. “I got startled and dropped the glass. Guess I stepped on a piece.”
“Where's the broom and dustpan and where are your band-aids and antibiotic ointment?”
“Kitchen, in the pantry, and bathroom, first door on the right, in the medicine cabinet.” She groans and leans back on the pillow, hanging the foot that's bleeding off the edge of the couch.
“Don’t move from that spot until I get this shit cleaned up.” Rushing to the kitchen, I pull my phone from my back pocket and call Rico.
He answers on the first ring, “Yeah!”
“Did you know what the fuck happened to her?” I spit out softly, trying to keep my voice at a whisper, hoping she can’t hear me.
“That’s why I sent you. What the fuck’s wrong?” he yells back, the thumping bass of the music in the club growing softer, telling me he’s heading to his office.
“Someone beat the shit out of her. She’s a fucking walking bruise that refuses to go to the doctor and only has Tylenol to take for pain,” I tell him in frustration.
“Stay with her and take care of her. You’ll get paid for the night. Don’t worry about the doctor and I’ll send someone over with some pain meds for her.”
What the fuck? Have I hit the twilight zone?
The phone line goes dead. Fine by me. I wasn’t planning to leave, anyway.
Opening the pantry, I take out the broom and dustpan, opting to take care of the broken glass first before cleaning up her foot.
Once I’m done with all this, Sierra and I are going to have a long, hard conversation about what happened to her. Questions she’s going to answer whether she wants to or not.