Chapter 7 – POSY
POSY
I think I did manage to piss Dario off. He hasn’t requested a private meeting in a week. Part of me is still riding high, but the other part is sinking back into the despondency that seems to blanket this whole town.
I can’t stay here, and I can’t afford to leave. I’m beginning to realize that almost everyone in Anvil is in the exact same situation. It’s Hotel California with unreliable internet and no liquor sales on Sunday.
TopFollower pays on a ninety day lag. By mid-summer, I’ll be able to move on, but for now, I have to pray that Nevaeh Ellis keeps her mouth shut and my hours don’t get cut at the Gas-and-Go.
I’m working late tonight, but at least it’s something to do. My boss Randy called out drunk. He told me to lock up at midnight and take the key home with me. He’ll come by for it tomorrow.
Even though it’s a Saturday night, the town is dead.
The only customers tonight have been two guys my age looking to buy energy drinks and the cheap single cigars they buy to roll blunts.
It’s good they were high as kites and incapable of doing much more than ogling my tits and snickering.
I’m alone, and the Vape Emporium next door closed at nine.
I only have a half hour until close. I pass the time taking pictures and posting them on TopFollower. A crumpled bag of chips. A dead cockroach smeared on a baseboard. I try to make it artsy.
I need a plan, but my brain refuses to cooperate. I’m stuck on that last conversation with Dario.
The asshole had a point. I should have known better than to get involved with him, and I sure as hell shouldn’t have fallen for him based on flowers, fancy dinners, and expensive gifts. Am I that shallow? I never thought I was, but what else can you call it?
If I had put the trappings aside for a minute, it would have been glaringly obvious. Dario never spoke about his past. His family. His feelings. He has no friends. No dog or cat. He works, he plays games, and he fucks me. Sometimes he reads. Nonfiction exclusively.
To a degree, I felt sorry for him. I assumed he must be lonely. I was bringing fun and laughter to his empty life. I completely ignored the fact that he is one hundred percent content with everything exactly as it is.
How did I not see? Because he treated me like a princess?
Or wasn’t it more like an exotic pet?
When he was done working, he took me out and played with me. And I lapped up the attention, didn’t I? And never once demanded anything like intimacy. I was so grateful for the crumbs he fed me from his table.
I set myself up. The red flags were flapping in the wind, and I ignored them. Again.
It’s a depressing thought, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. That chapter of my life is over. I’ve got other worries now.
I begin closing up a few minutes early, helping myself to a chocolate bar.
I’ve been living on microwave noodles and snacks from work.
By some miracle, I’ve managed to lose weight.
Probably because I spend so much time walking around town.
I can’t bear being in my apartment, especially when it rains. The damp smell is oppressive.
It doesn’t take long to cash out the register and sweep. I flick the lights. I don’t want to go home now, either. I could go to the bar, get a beer with the locals. I’ve considered it when the boredom gets really bad, but I can’t help but think I’d be inviting trouble.
All in all, Anvil is a sleepy town. The people are the same as anywhere, a mixed bag. Randy warned me to watch myself at night, but besides some half-hearted catcalls from passing cars, no one’s bothered me.
I’m not worried walking home alone in the dark. It’s only three blocks, and it’s the main drag. There are streetlights. I hoist my purse on my shoulder and head out.
It’s a beautiful night. It’s clear and cold, and the stars are out, a bright smattering bedazzling the dark outline of the mountain. I breathe in crisp air and expel the stale nastiness of the store.
I slow my steps. There’s nowhere I want to rush. In the distance, a screen door slams. A car shushes past, and then it’s quiet again.
And then a whistle cuts the silence. A shiver shoots down my spine.
It’s not a catcall. Not a warning. It’s a tune.
And then Dario’s voice echoes against the darkened buildings. My heart leaps into my throat. Driven by instinct, I bolt, rubber soles slapping the pavement.
He’s humming now, and then he sings. Soft and deep as his heavy steps pound behind me. Run, run, run—you’d better run .
I already am. I’m sprinting as fast as I can towards home, hair whipping my face, the night air burning my lungs.
A laugh rings out in the empty street. He’s close. How did he get so close?
I part my lips to scream, but then an arm snakes around my waist and a rough palm covers my mouth.
“Got you,” he says, breath hot on my ear, and for just a second, my traitor body melts into his hard chest, my fear catching fire and flaring into something else, an unbearable anticipation that crystalizes into horror as he drawls, “Now what am I going to do with you?”
I flail, kicking, bucking. I’m not a tiny woman. I throw my weight, but he’s stronger. Taller. And he’s not afraid of hurting me. He squeezes my middle until the pressure is unbearable. He’s going to crack a rib. He’s going to do worse.
I fight harder, jerking my head, trying to dislodge his hand so I can scream, so maybe someone will hear me.
And then there’s the press of cold metal against my back.
“Stop struggling.” He sounds so matter of fact. Ice cold. “If I shoot you from this angle, I’ll shatter your spine. Is that how you want to go? Bleeding out on a dirty sidewalk, your legs useless?”
He’d do it. In that moment, there’s not a doubt in my mind.
I can almost hear it in his voice, the curious musing, as if he’s picturing exactly what that would look like.
He’s a monster, and I should have never baited him.
I should have never let him lull me into believing that this thing between us was a game.
I’m dead. Maybe not in the next minute, but soon. Did I think this was chess? Winning isn’t putting me in check. It’s putting me in the ground. I go perfectly still. Raise my hands the little I can with his arm pinning them to my sides.
His grip loosens slightly, allowing me to finally expand my lungs and take a shallow breath.
“Why are you walking home alone?”
What?
The muzzle of a gun is digging into the soft flesh above my hip, and he wants to know why I’m walking home alone?
“I—I closed tonight,” I stammer.
“It’s dangerous.”
A hysterical giggle flies from my lips. Dario makes an irritated sound and nudges me forward with the gun. “Walk. At the end of the block, turn left.”
What’s left? Nothing. An empty lot. The vacant discount store. He’s going to shoot me. Leave my body in a field strewn with cigarette butts and beer bottles.
My knees go weak. I can’t propel myself forward. My legs won’t do it. I won’t walk calmly to my death.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dario tries to urge me forward with a hand on my back.
“I d-don’t want to die.” I wish I could be brave in the face of this, but my voice is broken. Desperate. The sound of it stokes my panic, makes it all too real.
Dario reaches for my arm and pulls me up short, spinning me to face him. We’re under a streetlight, and it casts every hard, unforgiving line of his perfect face into sharp relief. He’s beautiful, and he has no feeling. None at all.
He cocks his head. “I’m not going to kill you,” he says and smiles, revealing even, white teeth. “Where would be the fun in that?”
Then he shoves me forward, and when I stumble, he drags me back to my feet, prodding me forward, around the corner into the dark.
* * *
He propels me down the sidewalk cracked by weeds, and I struggle to stay on my feet. I know if I fall, he won’t ease his grip. He’ll hold on while I rip my shoulder from the socket.
He’s parked behind a vacant fast-food restaurant.
The block is silent, not a car on the road.
The nearest vehicle is in front of the house at the corner.
There’s a light on upstairs. It’s unlikely they’d hear a scream.
I’ll have to run. Dario will have to drop my arm sometime.
That’s the instant I need to make my move.
He pops the trunk of the sedan. I prime myself to bolt.
I don’t have a chance. He slams his palm into my back and sweeps my legs so I upend into the car. The carpet burns my cheek. I kick, but he’s wedged himself between my legs, and I can’t get the angle right. My heels glance off him as he works.
I’m screaming now, but he has the back of my head, and he’s shoving my face down, flattening my nose, muffling my voice. He’s panting. Muttering curses. I’m not making it easy for him.
There’s a rip, and his hand moves. I arch my back, desperately filling my lungs, but he’s using his whole upper body now to pin me down as he snatches my wrists and forces them together. He binds them behind me. Something sticky and tight. Duct tape.
He slaps a strip over my mouth and then he relaxes, his chest crushing my back, the edge of the trunk digging into my lower belly. I can feel him between my legs through my pants. He’s hard. He’s getting off on this. His breath is heavy in my ear, and not just from the struggle.
He grinds his cock against the juncture of my khakis. I hold myself rigid.
He won’t do this here. It’s too exposed.
But what do I know? He’s got me in a trunk. He’s lost all his sense, all his caution.
I don’t want this. I don’t want him to hurt me. I shake and tears spring to my eyes.
He leans closer and smooths the hair from my face.
“You’re scared,” he murmurs. “That’s understandable.”
I can’t help but moan.
“You didn’t have a chance,” he says, his voice jarringly detached. “You’re weaker.”
Then he backs off, forces my legs together, winds more tape around my ankles, and rolls me into the trunk, slamming it shut.