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“That’s just it,” she angrily replied. “I don’t think about what to do in situations like that because I never planned on being in a situation like that. I can’t believe that happened, and I’m pissed! I want to call the cops, but I don’t know anything about him. He said he was visiting, and his name is Wave, but who the fuck names their kid Wave? I’m sure that had to be a nickname, and he said he was visiting a friend, so who knows if he’s telling the truth about any of it. I don’t know, I’m just mad as hell.”
“And you have every right to be,” I said. “I’m pissed off, and I wasn’t even part of that until I came in and got him away from you.”
“Thanks for that, by the way,” she said with a sigh. “I wasn’t even thinking about what could have happened there until he was gone, and now I’m just thinking of all the headlines of me disappearing and people finding my body somewhere. Or some alligator eating me or something. Or getting locked in a basement and kept like some pet. I don’t know.”
“Hey, there’s no reason to speculate now. You can call the cops and give them a detailed description of the guy, along with making a report against him when you get back to your place. They’ll take the report for sure, and if there are any other reports that come in, they’ll be following up. If anything, you might be the one who puts in the first report and gets him locked up where he should be.”
“I doubt it,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem like people like that are ever held accountable for what they do. I mean, look at my guitar! He fucking stepped right on it. The neck is snapped, the strings are broken, there’s nothing that can be done to fix that!”
The more she spoke, the more emotion built in her voice, and there were fresh tears running down both her cheeks by the time she fell back to her knees and picked up one of the broken pieces of her instrument.
“How could he just step on it like it was nothing? He was saying the whole time that he wanted me to play something for him, but then he just goes and breaks it!”
“I don’t think you need me to be the one to tell you he didn’t want you to play it for him,” I said.
She gave me a look.
“No shit, Sherlock, but my point is he just fucking stepped on it like it was nothing. I bet you anything he doesn’t know shit about guitars or how much they cost! Or anything else for that matter. I don’t have anything without my guitar! How the fuck am I going to make any of the gigs I have coming up without my instrument? He not only scared the shit out of me today, he just made it ten times harder for me to be able to do anything for myself! I have to work to get money, and I used this for work. Now I have to figure out how to get another guitar before I can work.”
“Settle down,” I said. “You’re getting yourself all worked up again. You did the right thing, let me tell you. When it comes to shit like that, you have to take care of yourself first, and by letting the guitar fall and fighting against him as you did, you were able to make enough of a scene for someone to come give you a hand. If you were too worried about what might happen to your guitar, he might have been able to get the upper hand and silenced you before you were able to get someone’s attention.”
“But what now?” she demanded. “I’m safe, but he gets to just walk off and not deal with anything, and I have to pick up all the pieces. It’s not fair!”
“I know it’s not,” I said. “But what matters is that you’re okay, and he’s gone. I know he caused a lot of shit for you and that sucks, but you’re okay, you’re safe, and you’re still here. Remember that you are the important thing here.”
“My guitar!” she snapped. “My guitar is what’s important to me!”
“A guitar can be replaced,” I shot back. “Everything in your world can be replaced except for you! He could have broken a hundred guitars, and there’s always going to be another one, but there is only one you. Remember that.”
She bit her lower lip and looked like she was going to burst into tears all over again, so I knelt down next to her and started picking up the pieces of the guitar. I could tell the best thing to do at this point was to get her out of there, and after what we’d just gone through, I wasn’t going to go back to my jog.
I helped her put all the pieces back into the case, then she and I walked somewhat together back to the bungalow. She didn’t say much along the way, and I gave her the space to think. I didn’t want to intrude on what she was feeling, knowing she needed time to process the morning in her own way.
When we got back to the bungalows, she muttered another thanks before bolting into her own home.
I said nothing, watching out of the corner of my eye to make sure she made it into the house and closed the door behind her before I walked into my own yard. Part of me wanted to tell her to lock the door, but I had a feeling she would do that on her own.
She was badly shaken, but I was glad I had been there to save her before more than just emotional damage was done.
She would be okay, I knew that, but it would take time for her to get through it emotionally. That took time and space. I knew that better than anyone.
At least she was alive.
Chapter Eleven
Krissy
I spent the rest of that day and the following day in bed, not wanting to deal with the world.
It was more than just the fact that asshole had attacked me. I was devastated over my broken guitar. I was angry that someone felt so entitled to do what they wanted that they came after me like that, and I hated that I had lost my guitar in the process — and he got away without having to do shit to fix it.
I didn’t call the cops. I thought about it, but I figured it would just be more questions and more trouble than what it was worth. After calming down and getting through the adrenaline wearing off, all I wanted to do was sleep.
The thought of dealing with an officer coming to talk to me made me feel sick, and I didn’t want to bother. So, I just dismissed the idea from my mind and decided I would be a lot more careful next time.
