I hook my thumb to the frosted glass door on my right, advising I need to use the restroom. Rico’s flow of conversation continues without pause as he nods, soundlessly granting my request. Slipping into the space, I gently close the door behind me, then dash into the bathroom.
"Oh, Lord," I mumble under my breath when I enter the extravagant washroom. Such opulent surroundings shouldn’t be reserved for peeing.
After doing my business, I wash my hands and exit the restroom. I stop halfway out the door when I notice Rico is no longer sitting behind the chunky desk. He’s standing near the edge of the bed. His suit jacket has been removed, and the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt have been undone, exposing inches of his smooth, tanned torso. Unlike when I entered the bathroom, his gloriously thick hair is rustled, like he has been running his fingers through it, and his composure is a stark contrast to the man who was seated behind the desk minutes ago. I'd be lying if I said the fierceness of his gaze isn't scaring me.
“Come here, Kitten,” he demands, his voice gritty.
My feet stay planted where they are as my eyes shift between Rico and the satin-covered bed on his right.
Rico releases a deep exhalation, infusing the space with his whiskey-scented breath. “I'll never touch you against your will.”
Even frightened, just like last week, my intuition is telling me I can trust him. Although our time together has been an awkward dance routine—two steps forward, one step back—I’ve always been a willing participant.
After unclenching my fists, I slowly pace towards him. He shifts his head to the side and watches me in silence, categorizing every movement my body makes as I glide across the room. The fear clutching my heart intensifies when I see nothing but anger clouding his beautiful irises, then I remember the words I spoke to him last week.You will not spend one more day in darkness. Not while I’m by your side.
Wanting to keep my promise, I increase my speed.When I hit the edge of the bed, Rico lifts a single piece of A4 glossy paper I didn’t notice he was holding until now. I was too focused on working out a way to lighten the darkness swamping his eyes to notice anything else.
“Do you know this man?” He hands the paper to me.
My eyes widen when I take in the image. “That’s Timothy Jamison. He’s a teacher at my school.”
It’s a grainy surveillance camera image, but there's no mistaking Timothy's thick-rimmed glasses and wonky smile. I've also worked with him the past two years, so I'm confident with my assessment.
“Was this taken in Las Vegas?” I ask when I see a large bank of poker machines in the background of the highly pixelated photo.
Rico nods. I gasp in a quick breath when it dawns on me that I’m snitching on an acquaintance of mine to a man who governs Las Vegas.
Raising my eyes from the photo clutched in my hand, I ask, "Why do you want to know who Timothy is? He's a good person. He wouldn't have done anything illegal. He is a teacher at my school. He's a father. A well-respected—“
My blubbering stops when Rico says, “He’s the reason you can’t remember your trip to Vegas.”
I glare at him in shocked silence for a moment.
“What? How?” I blurt out when my shock subsides.
"He drugged you," he replies like it's everyday news.
I take a step back, dazed and confused. “Why would he do that? He wouldn’t do that. That doesn’t make any sense.”
Rico paces to a laptop sitting in the middle of the desk. After hitting the space bar, a heavy flow of chatter booms through the speakers of the laptop. I move closer to the desk when the video displayed on his monitor zooms in on a round table with a dozen people seated around it. Even having no recollection of my time in Vegas, I can tell this image is from the Teacher of the Year awards luncheon as I recognize a few faces sitting around the table, drinking wine and laughing. The most familiar face belongs to Timothy. He’s seated next to me.
Blood roars to the surface of my skin, illuminating it with a pink hue when Timothy drops a small pill into my drink as I stand from my seat to say goodbye to a lady I met at a joint school camp last year. After stirring my half-consumed wine spritzer with a butter knife from the table, Timothy slouches into his chair and joins a conversation with two gentlemen sitting on his left.
I remain completely motionless as the unethical scene unfolds before my very eyes. After bidding farewell to Darlene, I sit down next to Timothy. He smiles while gesturing his head to the half a glass of spritzer in front of me, encouraging me to finish it.
Within five minutes of consuming the laced drink, I excuse myself from the table. Even watching the video from a bird’s eye view, I can see my eyes have a little more sheen than normal and my mood is surprisingly chipper.
The camera angle shifts multiple times as it follows me through the facility the event was held at, but no matter which direction I take, Timothy is a few steps behind me in every frame. The image freezes when I exit a set of double doors.
I dart my eyes to Rico. “What happened? Did he. . .” I can’t force the words out my mouth.
“No, Kitten. He never got the chance,” he replies, staring at me with a set of angry eyes.
“How do you know that? How can you be so sure?” I rub my chest, trying to erase the pain stabbing the middle of it.
“Because this happened.”
He sits on the edge of the bed, seizes my wrist, and pulls me onto his lap. Before I have the chance to react, a hidden memory rushes to the surface of my muddled brain. . .
