chapter twenty-nine #2
My stomach grumbles, so I click Save, email my work to Georgia, and head out of the building, dialing Riley’s number as I brave my trek home in darkness.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says as the call connects, his voice gifting me the first feeling of joy I’ve had all day. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just had a busy first day back.”
“That bad, huh?”
“You could say that.”
A cab horn blasts beside me, so I press the phone closer to my ear.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“Walking to the subway.”
“At this time of night?”
“Don’t worry, country boy. I’m used to it. This city girl can take care of herself.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I picture him gripping his hair.
“Be careful. You’ll snap it.”
“What?”
“Your hair.”
He chuckles, but there isn’t much humor in his tone.
“If it makes you feel better, I’m not the only one who works late in this city. There are plenty of people about. And anyway, I’d much rather hear about your day. Are you back in the workshop?”
“I am.”
“I bet you’re relieved.”
“I am.”
“Are you at home?”
“I am.”
“Are you just going to keep saying I am?”
“I am.”
I sigh. “Riley.”
“Riles.”
Taking the stairs to the subway, a blast of wind blows my coat apart as I descend underground, so I secure the tie and hug my bag tighter. “I might lose reception soon, so stop with the I-ams. How was your reunion with your family?”
“It was good. Poppy loved her presents.”
I smile. “I’m sure she did.”
“They’re all looking forward to meeting you.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting them too. And seeing your shop.”
“What about me?”
Stopping just shy of the edge of the station platform, I pace a few steps. “That goes without saying.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“It does!” I playfully roll my eyes. “But if you must hear, then yes, I’m looking forward to seeing you too.”
He chuckles. “Not as much as I am you.”
My heart skips a beat, then skips another for an entirely different reason when a drunk man hollers something nonsensical and stumbles toward me. Turning my back, I stroll in the opposite direction, closer to less inebriated commuters.
“What was that?” Riley demands.
“Nothing. Just some guy.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Trying to stand upright but failing.”
“Riles, I don’t like—”
“My train is here,” I say as a beam of light illuminates the tunnel. “Gotta go.”
“Keep talking to me.”
“I can’t. It will cut out.”
“Then talk until it does.”
“Riley, stop worrying. I’m fine—”
“I repaired a stool from the nineteenth century today,” he blurts.
“You did? Wow! That’s impressive.” The train pulls to a stop, so I step clear of the doors and enter the front car before taking a seat. “Your day was more exciting than mine. All I repaired were sentences.”
“Both are equally important, sweetheart. What else did you do?”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“What’s that?”
“Keeping me talking.”
“It’s working, isn’t it?”
I chew the inside of my cheek. “It is, but it’s going to cut out any sec—”
The line goes dead as the train pulls away, so I type Riley a quick message, explaining that I’ll call him when I get home, then I slip my cell into my pocket.
Although unnecessary, his concern for my well-being tugs my heartstrings.
He cares, deeply, without chauvinism. A champion for women yet also a protector.
It’s a desirable balance and one I take pleasure in, because I can still be me and fight for me without fear of misogynistic oppression.
Yawning, I recoil somewhat when a man takes the seat beside me despite the plethora of unoccupied rows of seats in the car. I frown at him and huff, irritated, then go to move away when he grabs my arm, his fingers painfully digging into my muscles as he holds me still.
“Give me your bag,” he hisses, barely above a whisper.
“Wha—”
“Do it! Now!” He leans closer and presses something hard into my side, just below my ribcage. “Or I’ll blow that pretty head of yours off.”
Dread freezes me solid, a single breath too distressing to take as I stare dead ahead, my heart manic within my chest.
“No sudden movements, and keep your mouth shut,” he hisses again, his breath stale and pungent.
Bile rises to my throat, and I force my trembling hands to release my bag from my shoulder.
“Hurry the fuck up.”
“O-Okay,” I choke out. “P-Please don’t hurt me.”
He snatches it and tucks it into his jacket. “Don’t fucking move. And don’t say another word.”
Terrified, I blink back tears and nod, desperate to stay as still and as quiet as possible.
“Look down,” he demands as the train slows to pull to a stop. “If you try anything, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Closing my eyes, I pray to God, to Mom… to anybody listening.
Please! I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.
I have so much to live for now: a life with Riley, to make Mom proud, to make me proud. And all of it could be ripped away with the single pull of a trigger. A subtle movement. A split-second decision.
Head spinning, I try to calm my breathing for fear of passing out, so I open my eyes and take a deep breath, the pain in my arm subsiding, the seat beside me… empty.
What? Where is he?
I frantically scan the car as the doors close, and the train pulls away, my eyes catching sight of him on the platform, casually ambling by the window as if he’s just any other commuter.
“Oh my God!” I say on an exhale, a sob ripping from my throat.
Cowering, my shoulders wrack uncontrollably as I release every ounce of fear I’d suppressed.
You’re alive, Riley. Breathe. Just breathe.
“Uh… are you okay?” a woman asks.
Wiping my face, I look up to where she’s standing beside me with a man, both of them stumbling as the brakes on the train release. “Y-Yes. I mean no. I was just robbed at gunpoint.”
She immediately sits opposite me. “Are you hurt?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Thank goodness,” she says, glancing up at the man with her.
I nod, continuing to take deep breaths.
“Is he still here, on the train?” the man asks, eyes sweeping the car.
“N-No. He just left.”
They both relax a little, and I wish I could do the same, my entire body quaking.
“What’s your name?” the woman asks.
“R-Riley.”
“I’m Nya, and this is Perry.”
I wipe my cheeks. “H-Hi.”
“Jesus! You’re trembling.” She scoots to the seat beside me and wraps her arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay. You’re safe now, Riley. We’ll get off with you at the next stop and call 911.”
Sliding my hand into my pocket, I retrieve my cell and clutch it tight. “I still have this. He didn’t know—” I burst into tears again. “I thought he was going to kill me, or… or force me off the train with him.”
“Thank the Lord he didn’t,” she says, gently rubbing my arm.
A chill runs the length of my spine, and my body turns rigid. “He has my keys. And my address. What if…? What if he’s there when I—”
“Try not to worry about that. We’ll call the police as soon as we can. They’ll keep you safe.”
“Y-Yes. Thank you.”
“And you can change the locks, right?”
Nodding, I draw in another deep breath, exhale, and wipe my face again.
After the train stops at the next station, we get off, and Nya and Perry stay with me while I dial 911 and am met by two officers who take my details and then escort me home. They check that my apartment is secure and wait until the locksmith arrives.
I text Riley, blatantly lying when I tell him I’m fine but too tired to talk.
I can’t speak to him; I’ll burst into tears if I do, and then I’ll have to come clean and admit what happened.
Knowing him, he’ll be furious, and worried, and he’ll somehow blame himself despite none of it being his fault, nor mine for that matter.
It is what it is, and it can’t be reversed.
Cradling my coffee in my hands, I settle on my sofa, eyes trained to the front door, ears wired to every noise beyond it. Never in my thirty-two years of living in the city have I been this scared and unsettled. So unsafe and unprotected. So lost and misplaced.
A door slams out in the corridor, startling me. I jolt forward and spill my coffee, my heart hammering in my chest.
Damn it, Riley. This is crazy. You’re safe. This is your home. He can’t get in. He can’t hurt you.
Setting my mug on the table, I pluck a few tissues from the box Mom always had readily available and pat my pants leg. Then I turn on the TV, needing a distraction, my restless fingers fidgeting as they settle on my wrist, seeking comfort from Riley’s bracelet.
I jerk my hand up when I skim nothing but skin, my bracelet gone.
No! No, no, nooo!
“Fuck you!” I scream at the door. “That was my bracelet, my bag, my….”
Screaming again, I snatch my laptop from the table, open it, and cancel my credit cards. I also order a new ID and finally open my mail, including the letter from Mom’s solicitor.
Shaking out the contents from the envelope, another smaller envelope with Mom’s handwriting falls into my lap. My breath catches, and I stare at it for a moment before picking it up and tearing it open.
My dearest Smiley Riley,
I’m so sorry, darling. I wanted nothing more than to stay with you in this world and watch you achieve your dreams, but I know in my heart of hearts that you will, because you’ve always been a fighter. My little warrior. My determined, resilient daughter.
Tears pool in my eyes, and I scoff. “Resilient? Jesus, Mom. I feel anything but resilient right now.”
Plucking another tissue, I blow my nose and keep reading.
Stay strong, Riley, but please open your heart and mind to everything the world has to offer, not just Georgia. You’re so talented, and you have so much to give.
It’s my hope that after your cruise, and as you sit down and read this, you’ve discovered there’s more to life than constantly giving to her.
I don’t want that for you anymore. You’ve fought for too long and given her too much, so…
now’s the time for me to give to you. For me to take care of your fight.