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I ache when she flinches, blanches, and my fists itch for a go at the slug. I resist, but only out of respect for her. Still, I do advance just enough—enough for him to inch toward the door. I know the face I’ve painted on, and I know not many, including on the mean streets, stick around to see what happens next. “Don’t think this is the fight for you, man. Time to go now.”
Wrapped in her arms, Annalise shakes her head at the jerk’s weaselly, pleading look. I admire her resolve. I’ve witnessed too many women cave to the whiny wooing of creepy men. I’ll never get that as long as I live.
Once Kyle is on the other side of the door, I lock it tight.
I could just about cry at the agony I see on sweet Annalise’s face. I’ve seen women mistreated—it’s one of the toughest things I witness on the job. Every single time I want to scream at them to get out. Away. Ask them why they take it. Tell them they don’t have to.
“Annalise…”
Tears begin making their way down both of her cheeks, and we’re back to avoiding eye contact.
“Anna—”
“Go, Marco.”
“Can we—”Talk?
But she shakes her head and takes the first step up. “Get out.”
“But—”
“Get. Out!”
I sigh. Later we can have a conversation. I’ll tell her to forget the creep. That I don’t hold anything he said against her. That I’m fully on her side.
Yeah, I’m sure that’s what she’s dying to hear, from me, of all people.
I’m abandoned at the foot of the stairs, and I let myself out through the kitchen, careful to lock up.
Time drags. I wander the shoreline, but even the cresting, washing waves can’t distract me enough to stop the day’s events on loop in my brain, and I feel sick over it all.
I’d like to pound a certain someone’s head into some pavement somewhere, so it’s probably a good thing I have no last name or license number, lest I use my connections and hunt the loser down. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this need for vengeance.
Projecting my own guilt?
Eh.
Annalise Walker is a tough one to figure. Any other woman, I have to admit, I’d have labeled a not so nice word by now. I mean, the evidence is stacking up.
Could be I’ve been needlessly torturing myself. If Annalise is game, why shouldn’t I be?
I could shoot myself for thinking it. My logic smacks of hypocrisy and chauvinism. Toss in a pinch of narcissism for good measure.
And then, of course, I remember Tripp, the real reason for the platonic relationship between me and Annalise. Hissister.
Yep, it’s time I think of Tripp, alright. I need to worry more about what’s happening back home than Annalise’s drama.
I pick my phone off the patio table and tap on his name in my recent calls list. “Dude,” I say when he picks up.
There’s a pause. “It’s about time.”
What’s his deal? I thought he’d be happy I wasn’t pestering him.
Whatever. “So, any news?’
Another pause. “About?”
“My case? My life? You know, that little thing?”
