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I shrug on my jacket that’s seen better days and I make sure the heater we keep under the counter is off. This store is already an ice box and it’s not even winter yet.
While Mr. Johnson locks up in the back where his workshop is, I quickly take out my food for the day. The water in the urn is still warm, so I just pour some over the cup o’ noodles and then wait for Mr. Johnson.
He comes shuffling out of his workshop, and I open the front door so he can just keep shuffling by me. I don’t want him to slow down, because then he will find a hundred things to do and I’ll be stuck here longer.
Using my foot as a doorstop, I quickly turn the open sign so it shows closed. When we’re both out of the store, Mr. Johnson locks the door. He waves tiredly at me, before he shuffles slowly down the sidewalk. I guess I should go home, too.
Home.
There is no such place for me. I move from shady motel to even shadier motel. That’s been my life since I ran away from that hospital. I had to run, not for fear of my life, but because I had no way of paying the huge bill. I snuck out like a thief in the night.
I walk slowly and test the heat of my dinner with the tip of my finger. It’s cooled down already. I stick my finger in the cup and stir until it looks good enough to swallow. When you’ve been living off cup o’ noodles for years, you don’t chew, you just swallow so the stuff can fill your growling stomach. Chewing, now that is reserved for tacos, or pizza, or burgers … sigh.
“Hi,” I hear someone call behind me. I look over my shoulder and see Steven jogging towards me.
“Well, this sucks,” I mutter.
He catches up to me and throws his arm around my shoulders. “Where are we going?”
“We?” Oh, buddy, you have high hopes. “We aren’t going anywhere. I’m going home.”
“I’ll walk with you,” he says way too cheerfully, as if he’ll be getting lucky tonight.
“I’m fine by myself.” I shrug his arm away from my shoulders and walk faster.
“Oh, come on, babe. We had a good time the other night.”
I stop dead in my tracks and glare at him. “One night stand,” I spell the words out for him holding up one finger for emphasis. “That’s not happening again.”
He takes hold of my hand, quite a tight grip, and he starts to pull me into the street.
“I said no, asshole,” I snap, trying to yank my arm free. Alarm bells start to sound through me and nervous tension washes over me.
The cup o’ noodles spills over my hand. “You’re spilling my dinner!” I shriek at him.
He doesn’t seem to care about the loss of my food, and just keeps yanking at my hand, forcing me to move faster.
My stomach drops and for th
e first time, I actually start to doubt myself.
How well do I really know this dude?
What if he drags me to the park and rapes me? Shit!
What if he’s a serial killer? Shit!
“Okay,” I say a little breathlessly. My heart is racing wildly as panic floods my veins. “You go on ahead to the bar and I’ll meet you there. I just want to go shower the day away.” My voice is pitching. Fuck, he can hear I’m scared.
“Hell no, babe. You’re not going anywhere,” he snaps.
He drags me across the street. I hear the squealing of car tires, and by the time my senses kick into action, it’s too late.
Arms grab me from behind and a piece of cloth is shoved over my mouth and nose.
Cold fear ripples over me as I start to realize that I’m in danger.
A horrified scream tears through my throat as I’m thrown onto a hard metal surface. I hear a door slam closed and an overwhelming sense of danger floods me.
