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“Stop!” I cry, making my voice small. “Please stop! I’ll do anything you want! Just stop hurting me!”
“Now we’re talking.” He grins and releases my hands. “On your knees,bitch.”
This is my only chance.
Summoning up memories from a women’s self-defense class, I knee him in the crotch so hard he doubles over. He wheezes and vomits on the floor.
Frantic with fear, I stumble away from him and run out the door and down the hallway.
I stop there and tap the front door five times.
I have to do that before I leave work at the end of the day.Haveto.
It’s insane, stupid for me to take the time to do it, but I can’t stop myself.
One of these days, my OCD is literally going to kill me.
I hurry out of the door.
It isn’t until I get outside that I remember I’ve left my purse behind.
I actually have my wallet in my waitress apron, because I’m too paranoid to leave it in the changing room locker. And I have enough money in tips to pay for a cab ride home. I also have the card key that gains me entrance to the building. There’s no chance I’m returning now to get it. Instead, I’ll go back tomorrow night, late, when nobody will be there, and get my purse back. I’m sure as hell not going to go back inside and walk past George to head up the stairwell.
When I get home, I’m emotionally wrung out. I shut the door behind me and stand there, swaying.
How could my day have gone so horribly wrong?
I start crying, shoulders heaving, and I just can’t stop. I pissed off my only friend, lost my job, and almost got raped. And if that’s not enough, my head still hurts from being slapped.
The Bad Thing.That little voice from my past taunts me.Bad people do bad things. Bad things happen to bad people.
Should I call the police on George? Would they even believe me, though? God only knows what Joshua would tell them about me—and I know whose side they’d take.
Utterly alone and miserable, I don’t even take my dress off. I just kick off my heels, collapse into bed, and cry for hours. I finally fall into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.
When I wake up, my heart is pounding with anxiety, but that’s how I always wake up. I don’t know why. I wake up in a panic every day of my life and spend the next few hours slowly getting myself calmed down. I have learned to live with it. It could be much worse. I’m young, I’m physically healthy; I have nothing to complain about.
After I make myself coffee, I send Heather a text message apologizing to her for being such a bitch the day before. I don’t really think the fight was my fault, but I already feel rotten enough about myself after what had happened. I don’t want to lose my only friend in New York.
And then I shuffle miserably to the shower to wash my shame off me. I scrub and scrub, but it clings to me, filthy and poisonous.
After a while, I’m sick of feeling like garbage.
There are two voices that whisper in my head. One of them is nameless and cruel, but it lives in a dark, swirling cloud. It blames every stroke of bad luck on my one terrible sin. It makes me tap on the door and on mirrors over and over again, quietly chanting those silly little rhymes in a desperate attempt to protect myself. Tapping and chanting makes the voice go away for a little while.
But one of them belongs to Sarah, my guidance counselor in high school. She was only my counselor for a few months, before I was moved to another group home in another city, but she was the best. I’d always gotten excellent grades, and never stopped to think about what that could mean for my future. Sarah told me my mind was remarkable. She dragged me out of my funk of self-pity and spun me toward the bright, pretty future she promised was waiting for me.
Sarah would say that none of what happened to me yesterday was my fault.
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have tried to flirt with my boss, but firing me just for saying hi?And having me rushed out of there by a security guard? That was way uncalled for. And Heather completely over-reacted yesterday. I’ll try to patch things up with her, but if it doesn’t work, then her loss. Well, that’s what Sarah would have told me, anyway.
And there’s no point in sitting around and wallowing. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s idleness. I’m going to go out and start filling out job applications today. I’m going to find another job before the week is out. I’ll talk to Heather and apologize for snapping at her, and hope that she forgives me, but if not, I’ll learn to live with it. I’ve lived with much worse.
Sarah used to call me “Tam with a Plan”, because I was always making plans. Plans to pass my classes in high school with a 4.0, plans to use those excellent grades to snag a scholarship, plans to get a summer job, plans to save money from that job, plans to use my savings to move to a big city and get out of my little podunk Midwestern town.
I’m still unsettled, but I’m feeling better as I head to my closet to pick out some interview clothes. Hopeful. Optimistic. When I stride out the door, I’m playing Sarah’s words of encouragement through my head like a self-motivation soundtrack, marching toward all the good things the day will offer me.
CHAPTERTHREE
