He slides to a seat, legs akimbo in front of him.
And the first trickle of blood drips down past his ear.
More comes soon. The trickle becomes a torrent. Blood, hot and sticky, marring his face like warpaint.
He looks at me in shock and fury. Still not quite processing what happened, where all his pain is coming from.
I rush to Sara, who wraps her arms around me. She’s shaking violently. Her body feels small and vulnerable against the swell of my belly.
I glance towards Eagle Tattoo, whose eyes are glazed over in shock, awareness fading in and out as he tries to cling to consciousness.
His eyes are trained on me, not Sara. It sends a chill straight through my spin. Then he loses the fight to stay awake, and his head lolls forward. Behind him on the bare concrete wall is a smear of blood.
“Oh, my God,” Sara gasps over and over again. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God…”
I steer her further down the corridor, towards the door that leads to the back alley of the restaurant.
As we stumble out into the cool night air, I feel my lungs expand to take in as much oxygen as I can. But it still doesn’t relieve me.
“I… Is he… dead?” Sara asks.
“Fuck,” I say. I’m still in disbelief at everything that just happened. “Fuck… what have I done?”
“You saved me,” Sara says, looking at me with gratitude. “You could have been seriously hurt, Em… I mean, Esme.”
I look down at my hands, expecting to see blood. But there’s none. I’m untainted by the assault. So is Sara. Physically, at least.
Of course, emotionally and mentally, we will carry the scars of this night for years to come.
I try to shake off my panic. “Are you okay?”
She looks down at her body as though she expects to see her evidence of her fear and trauma. “I… I don’t know… he… touched me…”
Her resolve breaks. She sobs, her words dissolving into something strangled and inarticulate.
I move forward and grab both her hands in mine. “It’s okay,” I reassure her. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“That’s never happened to me before… I feel so—”
“Violated? Stripped bare? Emotionally raw?” I offer.
She meets my gaze as tears pool in her too-blue eyes.
Fuck, her eyes are so much like his.
“Yes,” she says emphatically. “That’s exactly how I feel.”
“I know how that is,” I tell her. “It’s happened to me. A long time ago, but I still remember.”
I can feel the trauma of that night at The Siren float to the surface, but I tamp it back down. If I give in to the emotion now, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to remove myself from its clutches.
I need to keep a clear mind. Especially now. I can break down later. When I am safe.
If I’m ever safe again.
“I have to go,” I say.
Sara squeezes my hands. “No.”
I shake my head. “I can’t stay, Sara,” I say. “I just assaulted a man. He might be dead for all we know and it’s only a matter of time before he’s discovered in that hallway.”
“I’ll tell them why you did it,” Sara says instantly. “We can call the police. I’ll tell them he tried to rape me and you were only defending me.”
I stare at her, wondering if there was ever a time when I was that naïve.
“No, Sara,” I say as gently as I can. “They’ll never believe us. It’s our word against his and no one ever believes women.”
“But—”
“Did he get inside you?” I ask bluntly.
“What?” Sara gasps. She recoils from the words.
“Did he put his penis inside you?”
She shudders. “No.”
“Then there’s no evidence of a rape,” I finish. “And even if there was, he can easily claim that it was consensual.”
“Esme—”
“There are no cameras on this side of the restaurant,” I point out. “Even if the police press charges, they’ll be dropped. Mafia guys like that have strings they can and will pull.”
“No. No. Esme, there has to be another way.”
“He could be dead, Sara,” I repeat. “It might be our word against a dead man. And not just any dead man. A mafia boss. Some kind of higher up at least. He might be the head honcho; he might be one of the under bosses. It doesn’t really matter.”
Translation: we’re fucked.
I don’t say it quite like that, but the implication still stands between us.
“What are you gonna do?” Sara asks desperately. “Where are you gonna go?”
“I’ll be fine,” I reply, mostly to stave off her questions.
They’re questions I don’t have answers for.
“Go back in there,” I tell her. “Pretend like you’ve just discovered his body. You’re shaky and panicked, so that’ll work in your favor.”
“Esme,” Sara begs, squeezing my hand. “Don’t leave.”
I don’t want to leave, but I have to.
“This is your home!”
I laugh bitterly. I was a fool to think I could settle anywhere for long.
I have no home.
I grab Sara’s shoulders and force her to look at me. “Go on,” I order her. “I’ll be fine.”
“But—”
“Now.”
I push her back towards the door. She moves forward even as she looks back over her shoulder at me.
“Esme...” She begins as if she wants to say something. Then she trails off, at a loss for words.
I give her a reassuring smile and shoo her inside. But the moment she disappears through the door, my smile drops.
Oh God, what have I done?
I’ve blown up my life—again. And now, I don’t have the luxury of time to plan my escape.
I walk out of the alleyway, trying to maintain a calm pace, but I speed up instinctively the moment I clear the restaurant. I head down the street.
But instead of hailing a cab, I just keep walking.
The motion helps with my flustered thoughts. I’m hoping I can have a plan put together by the time I reach my apartment.
I thought I left this kind of life, these kind of worries in my rearview mirror. But somehow, it always manages
