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“Dane,” I say, and my mouth is open but no words are coming out. I take my hands back to my side of the table. I look around at the mint-green tile and the bored-looking guards and the women here visiting their boyfriends and husbands and fathers, and then back to my boyfriend. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time, seeing what a user he is, and how he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me or anyone. I don’t want anything more to do with him. I swear it’s like some kind of magic, like the jail has this special lighting system that allows you to see people like they really are, and not how you’re dreaming them up to be, you see what I mean?
“No fucking way,” I tell him. “You want me to wind up in here with you? Are you kidding me?”
“Babe,” he starts. I see him thinking hard, trying to figure out what angle will work on me. But I’m standing up. I’m done.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” I say. “I’m leaving.”
“What? Nicky, don’t go! It’s horrible in here! Can’t you make bail for me? Come on, at least get me out of this place!”
The jail magic is still working. I look at him and I don’t see what he could be, if he cleaned himself up and got off drugs. I see what he is. And there is no fucking way I want that.
No.
“It’s over, Dane.” I take a deep breath and the smell assaults me and makes it even clearer that I’m doing the right thing.
All I’ve ever wanted is to make really good food for people, and to have love in my life. I don’t need to be rich, I don’t want to be famous, I just want my job to be satisfying and to have some loving arms to come home to. I may never get those things, but it is crystal fucking clear that Dane takes me away from them, not towards them.
So as I stumble back through the hallway to the blessed fresh air and cold outside, I thank god for the nauseating mint-green tile and the sickening reek of the City Jail for making me see what’s been right in front of my face.
5
ON THE BUS ride home my head is spinning. I’ve never broken up with a guy in my whole life and it’s sort of flipping me out. I don’t mean I’m second-guessing myself: I’m done with Dane and I’m as sure about that as I’ve ever been about anything. But there’s another part of me that’s wondering if I’ll ever find any love, or if it’s just my destiny to be alone. I’m not sure I’m ready to face that. So—it hurts even though it was my choice. It hurts even though I’m losing someone I hope I never see again.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I get off the bus two stops too soon, but I don’t mind the walk. It’s just gotten dark and the wind is up, so I walk along with my coat buttoned all the way up and my arms tight across my chest, wishing I’d worn a hat and a scarf, and kind of dreading how my apartment is going to seem empty when I get there.
I’m about a block from my building when I feel an iron grip on my neck. Fingers are digging into my throat and it’s hard to breathe.
I wrench my head to the side and the fingers loosen. “Get the fuck off me!” I scream. But the guy gets his arm across my chest and starts pulling me backwards. I’m off balance and can’t get my feet under me, I’m yelling as loud as I can, adrenaline surging through my body. The dude is dragging me towards an alley and I know once I’m back there, the chance of anyone helping goes to around zero.
“Leave me alone!” I scream. “Let me go!”
But no one comes. People don’t give a fuck.
I keep trying to catch him off balance, to surprise him enough to get away, but he’s strong and I don’t even come close. I try something else.
“Hey, what do you want? You want money? You can have my wallet. Just let me go. I won’t call the cops, I swear.” Of course I’m thinking I’m gonna call Matthew the second I can, but hey, I can lie to this shitbag, right?
“Heeeeelllp!”
“Shut up,” he says. We’re deep in the alley now, it’s dark and filthy and at this point I’m just hoping he doesn’t kill me.
He has one hand on my upper arm and he’s squeezing it so hard I’m almost crying. With the other hand he tears my coat open and feels my breasts, roughly moving his hand over them, over my clothes. I try to get him to look at me but he’s not looking anywhere near my face.
Then he’s gripping both my arms. “Take ’em off,” he growls at me, and then squeezes my arms so hard I swear the bones are going to snap.
“Fuck you,” I say to him. I’m not taking off my pants, no fucking way, not even if I die here in this alley.
“Gonna cut you, bitch—take down your pants!” And one hand lets go of my arm and comes back with a knife. He holds it at my throat and I can feel the cold metal on my skin.
I’m about to die. I’m terrified but also strangely calm. Time gets all stretched out and the seconds tick by with all this space in between them. All I know is that I am not taking down my pants. Not going down without a fight.
I knee him hard in the balls and he crumples up with a yell but does not let go of my arm. He’s snarling at me, it’s not even words, and all my anger at Dane and at myself comes surging through my body and I knee him again when he finally straightens up, and this time he goes down, dragging me with him. I start screaming for all I’m worth but it’s not like I think it will do any good—he’s still gripping my arms and now he’s rolling up on top of me and his weight feels like it’s pressing the last breath out of me. He takes one hand and slaps it over my mouth and with the other he’s fumbling with my zipper.
I’m waiting to feel the cold blade on me somewhere. He’s got his hand down my panties now.
I close my eyes, unable to move, unable to kick, nothing left but the hope that when he’s done, he’ll leave me alone and not kill me for the fun of it.
And then I hear a roar and the weight lifts off me. I spring up, trying to see in the dark what the hell is going on. Somebody has come to help, a huge guy, and in about three seconds he’s got the dude on the ground with a knee in his chest. The dude is shouting at him and the huge guy smacks him across the mouth.
It’s Matthew.
Before I can even take that in, he’s telling the guy his rights as he puts the cuffs on him.
“Stay with me,” he says to me, and for once, I want to do what he tells me.
He pulls the dude out to the sidewalk where there’s more light. Matthew is wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and I see a gun sticking out of the waistband in back.
“Asshat,” I say to the dude who assaulted me. He’s all quiet now, he’s no match for Matthew and he knows it. Matthew’s on his cell calling for someone to come pick the guy up and take him in. Dude’s gonna love the City Jail, is what I’m thinking.
“What’re you doing, walking alone at night in this neighborhood?” Matthew asks me, his tone all angry.
“It’s where I live!” I cross my arms, still getting some pleasure out of how the dude is in cuffs, totally humiliated by my stepbrother.
