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I shouldn't have left. I should be a good girl. Stay with him. Yet the voices in my head scream that I'm anything but good.
They’re right.
Standing up straight, I head toward the beach. As I disappear into the throng of people, my breaths even out. But the pain refuses to fade. Like a punch straight to the ribs, it's a constant reminder. I don't need any more reminders. I need freedom.
Kicking my heels off and holding them in one hand with my purse clutched in the other, I leave the sprawling outdoor shoppingcomplex behind and step onto the sand.
The sun rises higher in the cloudless sky as I lose myself along the narrow coast. With each step, the colors around me brighten. Leaning against a palm tree, I watch the Caribbean-blue waves of the southern shore. My phone rings. I ignore it. After it rings two more times, I reach inside my purse and shut the obnoxious device off.
All around me, tourists and locals embrace the Aloha lifestyle. Their voices grow, blocking out the ones inside my head.
A young mother chases after a little boy. Two guys in bright-yellow trunks play Frisbee. Another family waxes their surfboards. Life. Loud, colorful, and chaotic, it drowns out my darkness. Pushing off of the tree as the last of the darkness fades, my toes squish in the white sand as I make my way to the water.
As each frothy wave rolls across my feet, the sharp pain inside my head and chest fade. Eventually, I follow the waves all the way to the edge of Waikiki's central beach.
Home.
Damien's home.
I swallow, peering up at the giant, glass skyscraper.I don't belong here. Not anymore. Still, I dust the sand off of my feet and slip on my heels, then wind my way around the building.
The smell of cheap cigarettes hit my nostrils in the small alley between The Hoku and the neighboring resort. My breath catches in my throat. My steps slow. A brown, glass bottle rolls along the dirty sidewalk beside a full dumpster. Holding my purse strap tighter, I glance from side to side.
The cigarette smell mixes with the stench of rotting fruit from the trash. My stomach turns.
“Tree years,” a rough voice calls from the shadows.
I jump.
“It took tree years, but I wen find you.” He steps out from behind the dumpster as I stand paralyzed. “I been watching, but you know dat, yeah?”
I take a step back as he glances at the side of the building.He hasn’t aged in the last three years. Same greasy face, slightly graying hair. Same button-up floral shirt and tattoos peeking out from beneath the short sleeves.
“You tink you fancy, now? Got one good life? No. Dat boy in da black suit,” he takes a step toward me, throwing an empty beer bottle on the ground. It crashes on the concrete, shattering into hundreds of pieces, “you no belong to him. You always be mine.”
I try to run, but he reaches out, grabbing me by the neck. He squeezes tight as he shoves me back against a wall.
“He no can take care of you like I can.” Hot spit splashes my face with each growled word, staining my skin with the scent of cigarettes and cheap beer.
I gag, but he only squeezes harder, cutting off my airway. My lungs burn. My head feels fuzzy. The darkness floods back in like a monsoon.
“You been one very, very, bad girl.” He pushes his large belly against my chest. His knee squeezes between my legs, forcing my thighs apart.
“Please, Da-” I whisper the words, tears streaming down my face, but he only pushes harder.
“I tink I need to remind you who you belong to.” He slaps me in the face before pressing down on my neck, trying to force me to my knees while his other hand unzips his shorts.
I cry out, my sweaty hands balling into fists as I struggle to stay standing. My fingers clench around my purse. My vision darkens even more. His beady eyes filled with an emotion I hoped I would never see again, the only thing I can see.
Dirty whore.
The voices scream inside my head. I swing my hand up, punching him in the side of the head with my purse. He stumbles back an inch, releasing my neck. I gasp for air, my throat burning as I swing again.
Yet this time, he catches my purse.
“You bitch.” He snarls the words, his eyes red with anger, glare at me, willing me to submit with just one look.
Instead, I turn and run.
