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Everything still hurt. I was feeling better after the antibiotics Charlie’s friend had given me, but it was going to take a while longer for the bruises to fade. I stared at myself while I rinsed my hands—of course they didn’t have any soap. My eyes were still a little swollen, but the bruises had faded into a dark green color, making me look a little like Frankenstein. The cut above my eyebrow was healing and scabbed over. One of my cheeks was still swollen, making my face look lopsided. I wasn’t going to win any beauty contests, that was for sure, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.
There were a lot of things I was worried about, but my appearance wasn’t one of them. Eventually my face would go back to normal and all I’d have left to remember the beating would be a small scar. I could live with that.
I knew I couldn’t stay with Charlie forever. He’d been so good to me, making sure that I had everything I needed and sleeping on the floor so I could have the bed, but staying locked in his room wasn’t a long-term solution. Even if we’d been together the way I’d imagined it back before all the bad stuff had happened, I couldn’t spend my life locked in that little room. At some point I was going to have to leave this place and start a life somewhere. The thought of it filled me with anxiety. Where would I go? Who would hire me with my face all busted up? Were my parents looking for me? Could I even force myself to leave Charlie behind? I’d held him at arms length since we’d arrived, but I couldn’t imagine being without him.
“You’ll figure it out,” I mumbled to myself. “Don’t borrow tomorrow’s worries.” Gran’s favorite saying had never been more appropriate.
It was just my luck that when I opened up the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway, I was met by a tall man that I’d never seen before.
The first thing I noticed was how bad he stunk. I started to take a step backward into the safety of the bathroom, but stopped myself. I refused to cower. Those days were behind me. Of course, I wasn’t opposed to running.
“Well,” he said, grinning. Oh, god, his teeth were disgusting and the way he was staring at me gave me the creeps. “Where did you come from honey?”
“Charlie’s room,” I replied, lifting my chin. Maybe if he knew I was with someone he’d leave me alone. I doubted it, but it was worth a shot.
“Oh yeah?” He cocked his head to the side. “Haven’t seen ya around.”
“We’ve been keeping to ourselves.” I glanced toward Charlie’s room. If I made it twenty feet, I could be safely locked inside again. Unfortunately, I didn’t think the asshole in front of me would let me get that far.
“Ain’t real nice to keep you hidden,” he said. I was pretty sure he was trying to flirt, but nothing about the man was any kind of appealing. “We share around here.”
The four words sent a shockwave of fear through me.
“I’m not interested,” I replied, barely keeping my voice steady.
I realized in that moment that there were two sides of me. One side was brave. It drew strength from all that had happened and firmed my backbone, determined to never be the victim again. The other side was the opposite. It remembered every punch and kick, every foul word and disgusted look, and it urged me to curl into a ball of fear until everything was over.
“You’ll get interested,” he said, reaching for me.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I said firmly. The unfamiliar swear word rolled off my tongue easily and I liked it. Apparently the brave side was winning.
“Say what?” he replied darkly.
When his hand made contact with my arm, everything seemed to stop, poised on a knife edge ready to fall in either direction. Victor or victim. Fight or flight. Courage or fear.
I’d spent the first seventeen years of my life keeping the peace. Walking on eggshells. Carefully planning every word that came out of my mouth so I wouldn’t make my father angry.
I wasn’t that person anymore and unfortunately for the man in front of me, I was done taking shit from men. I was done taking shit from anyone.
There was no way I could best the man in a physical fight. Even if I was able to kick him in the nuts, I knew he’d stop me before I could take a single step away from him. For some reason, the acknowledgement of that fact gave me a sense of peace. I realized that I didn’t have to fight.
“If you don’t take your hand off my arm, I’ll cut your balls off with a steak knife,” I murmured calmly, meaning every word as my eyes met his.
