Sure you will, I wanted to say, but I knew better.
At least, I thought I did.
One
SIX MONTHS LATER
* * *
The milk fell to the floor in a steaming hot mess. “Excuse me,” I murmured, my voice disappearing down my throat.
“Miss, your drink!” I didn’t hear the rest. I had to get away. I hurriedly threw cash on the counter, not caring if it was too much. I had to get away. I couldn’t breathe. It felt like my ribs were trying to join with my lungs while my heart simultaneously tried to escape out of my mouth.
Here. He was here. Ordering a coffee like nothing had happened. And people were excited! They were excited to see him! If I hadn’t been so damned post-traumatic I would have been furious.
I had tried so hard to find one place where he wouldn’t visit. I did my research. I found a little apartment miles away from him and miles away from my old place. I barely left the apartment. I had my groceries delivered. I walked my dog in my backyard. But then one day… One day, I saw a small coffee shop down the road.
I thought I would be safe.
I gripped the brick wall and dry-heaved. Why couldn’t he just leave me the fuck alone? Tears burned my eyes in betrayal. Bile charred the back of my throat.
“Are you all right?”
“Jesus!” I yelled, flinching. I glanced warily at the sound of the voice. I recognized him as one of the patrons from inside. Before, I wouldn’t have noticed the guy at all. I had never noticed anyone before, unless they actively talked to me. Now, however, I noticed everything. I noticed a leaf falling from a t
ree, I noticed a car going a little too fast, and I noticed every single patron in the coffee shop. He was eyeing me, his dark sunglasses reflecting the street behind me. They were tilted downward, gaze pointed like I was a bomb about to detonate. I shook myself from the wall and tried to stand straight.
“Yes… I’m fine, thank you.” I spoke curtly. I had no reason to be mad at this man, it wasn’t him after all, but I was mad at the world right now. This patron just so happened to live in the world. Too bad for him.
The man squared his shoulders, the glasses shielding his eyes once more. He folded his arms and looked at me. Excuse me? I glared my thoughts. You can leave now, strange man. He didn’t make any move to go and towered over me. My belly clenched. I’d been towered over before. He had towered over me.
I glanced nervously around. It would not happen again. The street behind me was relatively busy, but behind him was deserted. Just a dumpster and an empty building. I weighed my options. Looking tough wouldn’t do shit. If I let him know I was on to him, I would lose precious getaway time.
Oh fuck it.
I kneed him square in the groin and ran fast, not bothering to see if the blow landed; I thought it did based on the curse he gave. I was at the street before my apartment before I could catch my breath. Where to go? I couldn’t run back to the coffee shop, not with him there.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. “What the hell!” I screamed and turned around. The guy I’d just kneed now gripped my shoulder. Everything blurred into a colorful vignette as my mind shrieked in terror: It’s happening! It’s happening again! I had to fight and win this time. Adrenaline burned through me like fire; cars on the street slowed down, trees stopped swaying. I punched him in the face as hard as I could—fuck, my hand! It worked though; he let go of me. Without looking back, I ran toward safety.
I sobbed uncontrollably the minute I passed the threshold of my home. Raskolnikov, my part-terrier, part-everything-else rescue pup bounded toward me, his face a ridiculous grin. I couldn’t help but be comforted as he pawed at my shins. I picked him up, happy when he licked my face.
“You’re the only good thing in this world, Raskol,” I said, hugging him tight. I let Raskol down and opened the back door for him while I went to make tea. I was in a ground floor apartment, so he was able to play in a small fenced-in backyard. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Raskol.
Raskol bounced around in the snow before turning on his back to roll around. He always had to get every inch of his body covered in dirt. I laughed, shut the screen door, and went to the kitchen.
As I placed a kettle on the stove, there was a knock on my door. Not aggressive like the delivery man, and not soft like Doris, the landlady. It was somewhere in between. I frowned, wiping tear stains from my cheek. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Still reeling from the encounter with him and the man in the alley, I picked up my newly acquired .22 and opened the door.
“Woah there!” The visitor immediately stepped back. It was the man from the coffee shop. The bastard had followed me home. Well, I had my gun and all my tears were shed, so bring it on, fucker!
“Who the hell are you?” I asked, raising my .22 slightly. Did he send you? I wanted to ask.
The man narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side slightly. “Usually ladies buy me dinner before they beat me up.” I tightened my hold on the .22. It still seemed too small, but the guy at the gun store had basically insisted that if I was starting out, it was the one for me. I didn’t know a thing about guns, so I’d listened and bought it.
I still didn’t feel right owning one, but it was better than the alternative. Already I was seeing its value: I had a nice barrier between me and the new asshole.
“I think it’s best you leave. Now.” I straightened my aim. It felt like a billion marbles had been let loose inside me, but hoped I was keeping it cool on the outside.