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Obviously they know I’m lying but they don’t press and I’m grateful that they don’t. I take a deep breath, making my way into the ladies. To my relief there’s nobody in there and I stagger and sit down on the round chaise lounge.
There’s so much sweet perfume in the air and usually I wouldn’t have a problem with it but now it almost chokes me.
Swallowing, I put my head between my legs to get some of the circulation going but it only makes me nauseous. I have to get a grip. I can’t walk around acting like this. Maybe I should go home, go to bed and then call my boss and tell him I’m taking a week off or something.
Inhaling, I clutch the seat with my hands to steady myself and I slowly get up. I can do this. It’s not that big of a deal, it’s just my nerves playing with me. Walking over to the sink, I wash my hands, splash my face and take a couple of ice cold slurps.
It refreshes me and I feel slightly better. At least I feel good enough to make it home on my own, without needing to be carried out by my friends.
Hopefully the water will dilute some of the alcohol and I look up and my eyes greet me in the mirror. I look like a mess and I feel like one too. Grazing my lips with my teeth, I notice a tremble in my heart and unable to stop myself I pull the collar of my shirt to the side and grimace.
It’s so ugly. The scar.
It’s scarlet and thin and wide and right below my collarbone, looking like a line of blood against my pale skin. Closing my eyes, I’m flooded with memories. The way he yanked me up from the floor where I was trying to find shelter and held a knife against my throat.
He hissed in my ear that he would kill me if I tried anything. I thought I was going to die, my whole life passed right before my eyes as we staggered over to the vault. He yelled at me to open it, yelled that I needed to hurry or he was going to fuck me up.
I tried my best, I tried so hard to hurry but my fingers trembled too much. That’s when he cut me. Cut me for being slow and then he started cussing and firing bullets everywhere. I fell to the ground to not get hit. I thought that he was going to kill me but when I looked up the cops were already busting into the bank.
Someone had managed to press the alarm.
The robber tried to escape but they caught him. He’s in prison now. He won’t ever be able to hurt anyone anymore. But I don’t know if I’ll ever forget what it felt like when someone is playing with your life. It did a number on me that’s for sure.
I used to feel like I was on my way to flourishing. Now I feel more like weed or something. Wilted, scared and above all vulnerable.
I used to feel safe. Now I don’t feel safe anymore and it has made me realize how much I took that feeling for granted and safe to say...I’m desperate to get that feeling back.
My face turns to the side when a woman wearing a tight leopard dress walks in and her thin brows knot at the sight of me.
“Are you okay, honey?” she asks. “You sick? Did you drink too much?”
“Think I did,” I reply, wondering why she suddenly seems to be duplicating and I blink when a pressure forms in my head. This is bad. I need to get out.
“It’s the tequila isn’t it?” she calls after me when I sway out of the ladies. I definitely don’t feel good. My very own cocktail consisting of alcohol and jitteriness is taking jabs at me.
Glancing toward the corner, I notice that Katie and Jess still seem to be having a good time. I should go over there, tell them I’m leaving but I don’t want them to offer to take me home or start fussing over me.
They deserve to have a good night.
Moving towards the exit, I stumble into the back alley and I place my hand on my chest, taking several deep breaths. The fumes from the street enter my nose and I let out a cough. I’m not sure if I should be walking home. I should probably call an Uber.
Searching for my purse, I try to fish my phone out but my fingers are unfocused. My motor skills are laughable and the alcohol was supposed to calm me down but instead it just gave more fire to my anxiousness.
My shoulder scrapes against the brick wall as I try to keep walking upright. I need to get out to the street, can’t stay here in this alley. And I feel sick, black spots dance before my eyes and whenever I blink, I see the knife... remember the smell of his stinky breath against my cheek.
He could have killed me. He almost did.
My head spins and I let out a strange sound that sounds like a whimper, like I know something is about to go down and I can’t hold on anymore. I lose control, slide along the wall and I try to fight it but I feel weak and I’m starting to lose con...consci....consciousness.
****
I think someone is standing right beside me. Someone with a peaceful yet tangible presence like whoever it is, is grappling with his or her control. I think I’m sleeping. My eyes shudder, opening slightly and I see a pair of black shoes. Men’s shoes. Dark pants. He says something that feels gentler than raindrops on hot, summer skin.
This is a dream.
Hands move in under my body and they’re strong and reassuring which lets me know that this is definitely a dream. Hands like those don’t exist in real life. They feel too perfect and when they scoop me up, I follow right along, wanting to be wherever they take me. I get pulled into a chest, a wide one and it’s safe and warm like when you sit close to a fireplace on a stormy night.
I want more of that safety and I snuggle my face into whoever the person in my dream is. This is the way people who seek shelter must feel like, this is the relief from finally finding a safe haven. I sense something pressing down on my cheek and when I realize that it’s another cheek, the one that belongs to him it makes me smile.
