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34
Bella
At five thirty, Max finally calls it quits. She tried to stick it out with me, but I’m pulling a long night because I have to get this business in the black. Jess and Brent don’t work today, so I’m on my own. I might’ve gotten sidetracked by Greg Throttle’s little experiment between Carm and me, but now’s the time to find my client base and build my business.
After a half hour of listening to music from my computer to fill the silence, I get up to grab a soda or a coffee—anything with caffeine that will keep me going.
The office door creaks open and I turn, thinking Max must’ve forgotten something, but a man walks in. He’s wearing black sweatpants and a sweatshirt with some type of writing on it, his hair pulled back into a slick ponytail. A cross earring hangs from his right earlobe.
I know to take down details this time. After that night over a year ago when I could barely give a height, weight, or ethnicity, I know how crucial details are.
My gut clenches, and I step back since he hasn’t seen me yet.
He heads to Max’s desk, opening drawers and searching through the contents. I feel a small amount of relief. Robber.
Not a rapist.
This isn’t a planned attack… can I hide out until he’s done, let him take what he wants, then call the cops? Our office is so small though he’s going to see me. Can I make it to the door before he can do anything?
As I take another step back, my right hand hits the stacked coffee mugs Max washed before she left. They all clatter to the floor. The man’s head springs up, his eyes finding me, and the color drains from his face. I drop my pop can and it bounces off the counter then falls to the floor, spraying dark liquid all over everything, including my white blouse.
He rounds Max’s desk, and relief floods me when he goes for the door. He got caught and now he’s going to leave. Thank God.
But instead of leaving, he locks the door. His eyes dip to my now-see-through blouse then back to my eyes. “And here I thought all I’d find was some shit I could sell.”
I see now that he’s probably on something. His pupils are dilated, and his eyes move rapidly over me. Fear has a vise grip on my throat when he walks toward me. Locks my voice inside when I know I should scream.
I note the small limp with his right leg. I need to alert someone as to what’s going on. Scream for help. With any luck, someone is still working nearby. Maybe at one of the Mancini offices.
I throw a mug at him, but he dodges it and lunges toward me. He grabs my hand, and because he’s so much stronger, he pulls me to him. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.
He looks down at my blouse and, in one swift motion, rips it open. I’m transported back to that night a year ago. Except that man dressed the part. He was clean-cut, in an expensive suit. I was there to show him the condo he was sure he would put an offer in on. But that’s not why he wanted me there.
I come back to the present when he throws me on Max’s desk. I kick at him, missing his balls. If only I still had my heels on, I could do so much more damage.
A stapler jabs into my back, but I ignore the burst of pain.
“Get off me!” I yell, finally finding my voice.
His sour breath hits my nostrils as his grubby hands try to pull up my skirt, and I gag. I wiggle and move, trying to stop him from getting a hold of me. Once he pins me down, I’m out of this game. I’ve been here before.
I cry out, desperate for help, and reach for anything on the desk to fight back with. When I stab his hand with a pen before he can wrap it around my wrist, it only makes him angrier. I scream, but he tries to cover my mouth. His rancid-smelling hand blocks my only hope for help.
I fight back and manage to wiggle myself to the side, so the stapler is no longer pressing into my back. Once I can grab it, I knock him in the head with it hard enough that he removes his hands from me and holds the spot, stunned.
I race into my office and lock the door behind me, barely able to catch my breath. Before I can get to my desk to call the cops, he takes a paperweight Max has on her desk and throws it into the glass panel beside the door. He reaches in to try to unlock the door and I grab the first thing I see—my letter opener. I stab his hand so he can’t get ahold of the lock.
Continuing to scream, I hear Carm on the other side of the outer office door, screaming my name. He’s kicking the door. The guy looks back at the door, then at me with fear.
Unless he wants to jump out the window, there’s nowhere for him to go.
“Get lost, asshole,” I say, stabbing at him again.
He finally retracts his hand and looks hurriedly around the office for another exit before moving toward the door. The door hits him in the face, knocking him down. He’s sprawled on the floor by Max’s desk, and there stands Carm, with a furious and desperate glint in his eyes.
His face is beet-red, his hands fisted at his sides. He takes in the scene, looks at me through the broken glass beside my door, and his face crumples for a second before he zeroes in on the guy on the floor. Straddling him, he hits the intruder over and over and over. Blood splatters all over Carm’s shirt, the floor, and the side of Max’s desk.
It takes me a second to unlock my door, my hands are shaking so much, but once I do, I race to him. “Carm!” I reach for his arm. “Stop! Come on! Carm, stop!”
He doesn’t stop until the man lies lifeless underneath him. Then he climbs off him and looks at me. “Are you okay? Did he…”
I shake my head, unable to speak. Then I retreat into myself.
