Author: Cheryl McIntyre

Fuck that.

I shove the door open, noticing the switch to my headlights is still on. Nice, Rocky. Real nice. I must have left them on last night. I wonder if I’ll need a new battery or if I can just get someone to jump it. Grabbing my purse, I slip out of the car and kick the door shut.

Time to drink until I can forget.

Nine

Link

Gregory Anthony has a family.

After my haircut, I parked across the street from the insurance agency where Anthony works. I waited for him to go home. At exactly half past five, he stepped out of the building, his phone glued to his ear and a smile on his face. I almost went after him right then just because of that smile. The same one he wore while he raped Livie.

It was harder to check myself this time. A lot harder. All I could think about was how much I wanted him to pay for his crimes.

With my teeth gritted, I followed him to the grocery store where he bought a gallon of milk and a box of animal crackers. I should have known right then. I should have thought about it more—prepared myself for what I’m seeing right now.

A little girl—no more than three—playing with fat pieces of chalk in the driveway.

A woman—a pregnant woman—greeting Anthony with a kiss as he steps out of his car.

And a dog, tail wagging excitedly, awaiting his turn for affection.

This can’t be right.

He doesn’t deserve this life. He’s a rapist. A coldblooded murderer. He’s evil and monstrous.

He’s a husband.

A father.

This is the life I should have with Olivia.

My fingers choke the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white and my palms ache.

This should be mine.

THIS should be mine.

This should be MINE.

He stole this from me.

And he’s happy.

I can’t take it. I can’t stand the thought of him holding his daughter with the same arms that held Livie down. Or kissing his wife with the same mouth that screamed at my girlfriend to shut up when she cried. Or patting his dog with the same hands that ripped the clothes from an innocent girl on a cold winter night.

I touch the knife in my pocket. It’s cool. Metal. Smooth.

Reassuring.

My eyes flick over each face. Content. Relaxed.

His wife has no idea who she’s living with.

I open my car door. Place my foot on the asphalt. She should know exactly who sleeps in her bed every night. She needs to understand who her husband really is. She has to protect her daughter from him.

The girl giggles as Anthony sweeps her up and blows raspberries against her tiny tummy. The wife smiles. The dog barks, bouncing around impatiently.

Hot tears burn my eyes. Not because Anthony has what I always wanted to have with Olivia. It’s not the beautiful family moment. Or the sweet little girl.

It’s because I can’t do it. I can’t hurt him the way I want—the way I need to. Because Livie wouldn’t want me to. She wouldn’t approve of me hurting this man, even after what he did to her, because his family needs him. Relies on him. Loves him.

I step back into the car and slam the door. I punch the dashboard, feeling the skin on my knuckles tear and the bones in my hand shift. The physical pain isn’t enough. I need to numb myself.

Without another glance in Anthony’s direction, I knock the gear into drive and get the fuck away from this torment.

***

I live in a small house not far from the gym. It makes nights like tonight very convenient. I park and jog the few blocks to Bo’s—a shitty bar even smaller than my house that serves beer at room temperature. But the drinks are cheap and the patrons keep to themselves.

Typically I’m not much of a drinker. I like to be in control of myself at all times. But on occasion, I need a little anesthetizing.

This would be one of those occasions.

As soon as I push through the door I spot her. My gaze zeros in like radar. It’s the hair. Those long, black locks that lay thickly over her back. Just like the first time I saw her, my breath hitches. Why the fuck does she have to be here? Tonight of all nights.

Joe’s sister is perched on a stool, nursing a beer while a guy barely old enough to be in a bar chats her up. She nods along like she’s invested in every word he says, but her eyes drift my way, locking with mine.

And there it is. The bittersweet mix of emotions. The simultaneous relief and pain that she doesn’t resemble Livie in the face. I’m able to turn away easily, settling on a stool. I order a shot to get things rolling and a beer to chase it with.

It’s quiet tonight. Only a few dwellers, none I recognize other than Rocky. Her dad must be a hardcore fan. Joe said he grew up on boxing, but naming both of your kids after some of the greatest champs is on its own level of fandom.

I raise my bottle to my lips and swallow the last of the too warm liquid before ordering another round. Though she hasn’t tried to approach me or get my attention in any way, I can feel Rocky’s eyes on me. The weight of her stare is heavy. I ignore it, focusing on my drink as the bartender sets it in front of me. I have no interest in one of my employee’s sisters. Hot or not, that’s just asking for trouble.

But I wonder—just for a moment—what it would be like to press her facedown on the mattress, taking her from behind. Not looking into her face that doesn’t match my dead ex-girlfriend’s, but staring instead at the hair, so similar it takes my breath away. What would that be like? Could I bury myself inside her and pretend she’s who I want her to be? Would it feel good? Right?

Could I live with myself after?

I rub my face roughly, already knowing the answer.

My eyes trail down the bar, but there’s nothing to see. Rocky’s gone. And so is the guy she was talking to.

My mind shifts gears and I contemplate going back to Anthony’s. Or I could do more digging into the guy Byer’s picked up. I still need to figure out which apartment he lives in. Fuck. I hope he doesn’t have a family too.

My hand tightens around my drink. One person shouldn’t carry this much anger. This much hatred. I’ve tried to cope. I’ve tried to get rid of it. Distract it. Utilize it. Nothing works. I was relying on my revenge—my retribution—to finally purge me of this ugliness.

Now I don’t know what to do.

I finish off my second beer and head for the bathroom. I need to sleep. To slip into oblivion for the night and think about this tomorrow so I can reformulate.

The hinges creak loudly as I shoulder the door open. The last person I expect to find inside the men’s bathroom is Rocky. Her eyes flutter open, alerted by my noisy entrance, and she stares back at me, her eyes devoid of emotion. The guy she was with earlier is on his knees, his face buried between her legs. The fingers on both of her hands are twisted into his hair, guiding him.

My eyes slide over them, coming to rest on her jeans that are bunched around one ankle. A shoe is laying on its side, haphazardly discarded. The whole scene is off. She doesn’t seem like she’s enjoying herself, but she’s clearly the one in charge.

I hesitate, not sure if I should say something—do something—or just walk away.

She makes the decision for me as she closes her eyes and moans blatantly.

I duck out of the room, closing the door behind me. I consider going home, but halfway to the exit, I backtrack to my seat at the bar and order another beer.

Ten

Rocky

I try to get off. I try to reach my orgasm, my body practically crying for release, but it isn’t happening. Ryan or Brian, or whatever his name is, isn’t the best at pleasuring a woman. I could have worked with him—taught him what to do, what I like, how to improve. His future girlfriends would have been forever grateful. But Link walked in and looked at me with those lifeless eyes and it felt like looking in a mirror.

Now all I can think about is how disgusted I am with myself.

“Stop,” I whisper.

Ryan/Brian laps away noisily as if he doesn’t hear me. Maybe he didn’t. I was quiet. I’ll give him that. I yank on his hair, pulling his head away from me.

“Stop,” I say again, louder this time.

He looks up at me, grinning like a fucking idiot. He’s already trying to lean back in, ignoring my request. I wrench his head to the side and press my foot into his chest, knocking him backward.

“I said stop,” I hiss.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’m not feeling it.” I tug my panties up my legs and start working my foot into my jeans. I need out of this room. I need away from this guy. I wish I could get away from myself.

“You’re not leaving me like this, are you?” He looks pointedly down at the bulge in his pants. “You can’t start something you’re not going to finish.”

I button my jeans and slip my shoe on before I direct my glare at him. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.” I pluck my purse off the floor, shouldering it.

“You’re a fucking bitch.”

I open the door, glancing at him as he adjusts himself. “And you give shitty head.” My legs are shaking as I hurry around the corner, rejoining the handful of people enjoying an evening drink.

My stride falters when I see Link hunched over the bar, fingers working to peel the sticky label off of his beer. I didn’t forget he was here, but I was hoping he left after walking in on me in the bathroom.

I hop up on the stool next to him and slap my purse on the bar. He doesn’t look at me. Just takes a long drink, his throat working as he swallows.

“That was quick,” he says, still not bothering to look at me. I think I prefer it that way.

“I wasn’t into it,” I say honestly.

“I could tell.”

I eye him from my peripheral. What he says doesn’t surprise me, but the boldness of his words does. I don’t reply to that because I don’t know how. I order a shot of tequila and throw it back, relishing in the burn.

Ryan/Brian stalks past, glowering at me as he tromps out the door. Just another guy I left unsatisfied and pissed off.

“Do you do this often?”

“What?” I spit. “Let strangers go down on me in bar bathrooms?”

He turns his head, finally looking at me. His eyes rake over me slowly, almost as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “I meant drink.”

I glance away. “Yes.”

“And the other? Do you often let strangers go down on you in bar bathrooms?”

“Yes.”

I can feel his gaze, but he doesn’t ask any other questions. He drops a twenty on the bar and walks out the door without a word.

***

I wake with a start, slapping blindly at my alarm. I blink into the darkness, both angry and relieved to find I was only dreaming. My hands curl around the blanket, tucking it under my chin.

In my nightmare, I was lying naked across my bed. The cowboy from the other night was facedown between my legs, ravishing me, bringing me to orgasm over and over again. And in the corner, leaning leisurely into the chair was Link. Watching. My eyes stayed glued to him as ripple after ripple of ecstasy rolled through me. The entire time, I wished it was his mouth on me. His tongue fucking me.

Then I looked to the doorway and Garrett Marshall stood there, pleasuring himself. I began to scream, and then everybody disappeared. Everybody but Garrett and me. He dropped one knee onto my bed and I reached for the knife I keep hidden under my pillow. My hand searched frantically, but came up empty.

I tried to scream again, but no sound came out. Garrett unzipped his pants, a smug smile spreading across his face. He lowered himself. His weight forcing me against the mattress. I prayed for death, knowing I could never survive this a second time.

Just before Garrett could penetrate me, Link stepped up behind him. My missing knife reflected in his hand before he thrust it into my attacker’s back.

Garrett tumbled off the bed, landing in a heap on the floor. Link held out his bloody hand to me.