Revved To The Maxx

I arrived at the building ten minutes early, stopped at the washroom to make sure I was tidy, and headed up to the office number I’d been given. I smiled at the receptionist, giving her my name. She frowned at me.

“I’m sorry, there’s been some confusion.”

My heart dropped. “I beg your pardon?”

“The position was filled yesterday. You were supposed to have been contacted.”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “I didn’t get a call.”

She huffed out a sigh. “I apologize for wasting your time.”

“Is there anything else? Another position?” I asked, desperate. “I can do anything.”

“No.” Her face softened. “I’m really sorry. I know it’s hard out there. Good luck.”

I hurried away before she saw the tears gathering in my eyes. I returned to the bathroom I’d been in earlier and shut myself into a stall. I let the tears I was holding in go, sobbing into my hands. I had been counting on this—on something—to go right. This was the last interview I had lined up.

I let myself cry, then wiped my eyes, and used the sink to wash my hands and splash cold water on my face. I walked aimlessly around downtown Toronto. I’d had such high hopes when I came here, the lure of the big city fascinating me. Now, it seemed cold and scary. I had never felt as alone as I did right now, sitting on a bench, watching people bustle around, hurrying to and from work, busy living their lives.

My dad’s face came to mind. “Keep your head up, girl. Tomorrow is always a new day.”

I blew out a long breath. I had to figure this out and I had no one left to turn to for help. My mom had died when I was ten from a brain aneurysm. My dad passed two years ago, and the little money he’d left was now gone, thanks to that bitch Trish. Kelly didn’t have two dimes to rub together, and I was about to lose my apartment.

Unless I whored myself out to Terry.

Simply the thought of that made my skin crawl.

I looked up at the sky.

When had my life become this tragedy?

I checked my wallet. I had twenty-seven dollars to my name. That was it. At the apartment, there was some ramen, the empty box of wine, some crackers, and a jar of instant coffee. Trish had taken the coffeemaker.

I spent the day wandering around, applying for jobs, finally giving up when I ran out of resumes and smiles. I went to the store and bought a loaf of bread and the cheapest jar of peanut butter they had. At least I could eat sandwiches for a few days. Back at the apartment, I opened the fridge door to put the bread inside and froze. Sitting there on the empty shelf was a bottle of beer.

I didn’t drink beer.

Terry did. I recognized the brand from the bottles I had seen dangling often from his hand.

Terry had been in here. He had left the bottle as a reminder he could get in whenever he wanted.

Terrified, I grabbed the knife and searched the apartment to make sure he wasn’t still there. Once satisfied, I slipped the knives into the door trim and sat on the old sofa, drawing my knees up to my chest.

I wasn’t safe here, and I had to go.

The question was, where?

I picked up my laptop, scanning the sites I had been on, hoping maybe there would be a message waiting, but there was nothing. I checked all my stats, but there had been zero new views anywhere. I had hoped for a call to fill in at a waitressing job, do some bartending, a temp job, but I had nothing.

I wondered if I would qualify for welfare. Then I shook my head. I needed to find a job.

Any job.

My gaze fell to the tab I had open for Solutions for You, and I reread the posting I had made fun of last night. I chewed on my fingernail, staring at it. After last night, I was certain whoever posted this was a grumpy old curmudgeon.

Girl Friday. Cycleman. How ridiculous.

Something caught my eye, and glancing toward the door, I could see the shadows of feet outside the door at the bottom, and the handle was turning. Slowly. Silently. I watched, scared, as my lock turned, the metal glinting in the hall light. The door moved a fraction and stopped, the metal of the knives I had slid in stopping it. It moved again, then once more. The lock reversed back into place, the handle spinning back. There was a low curse, and the feet disappeared.

But I knew he’d be back.

My gaze went back to the screen. A grumpy curmudgeon was far preferable to a would-be rapist.

Recalling what he’d said about my attitude, I was certain he wouldn’t even accept my chat request.