Geraint scrubs a hand over his face. He hasn’t shaved since we set out and the stubble is dark on his cheek. “I didn’t get you any clothes again, baby. I’m sorry.”
But I shake my head, letting him know it doesn’t matter. I barely thought about it all day.
Geraint takes a tired look around the room. At the dusty TV. The old coffee maker on the dresser. The faded carpet. “I need a drink. You want to stay here, or are you coming?”
Being alone doesn’t sound very appealing, so I get to my feet and follow him out of the room. The bar is just next door and almost empty. I suppose there’s not much business on Tuesdays.
We sit on stools and Geraint orders a Coke for me and a whisky chaser for himself. He downs the shot in one gulp and takes a pull on his beer. There’s not much to the place, just some faded carpet and chipped black paint on the walls. The mirror behind the bar shows me staring back, white-faced and tired. Geraint seems more at ease than he has all day. He catches my eye in the mirror and smiles slowly, and my heart flops about like a fish.
He’s a killer, I remind myself.
I point to the door at the back of the bar, where the restrooms are.
Geraint turns to look at it, and then at me. “Need to go?” He slips his arm around my waist and leans in. His mouth is very close to mine as he speaks, and I catch the scent of honey and vanilla from his whisky. “I’m gonna trust you on this one, baby. You’re going to keep being good for me, right?”
A warm feeling slips down my body and pools in my belly. I nod, and he helps me down from my stool. I lean against him for a second. Just a split second, but long enough to remember what it felt like to be in his arms the other night.
“You have two minutes. One second longer and I’ll tan your ass so hard, you’ll be redder than a traffic light.”
I nod again, feeling my face heat slowly as he smiles at me.
“All right. Off you go.”
The restrooms are down a dark corridor with another door at the far end. I go into the ladies’ and it’s grim, with water and soggy toilet paper on the floor and graffiti all over the inside of the bathroom door. Jessa is a cumslut. Troy has a dong like a horse.
I do my business and come back into the corridor, and the door at the far end opens. I hear crickets and feel warm night air, and realize it’s a back entrance to the bar. A figure is standing in the shadows, framed against the stars, and a gravelly voice speaks out of the darkness.
“What have we got here? You’re the cutest little nun I ever did see. Come here, girlie. Been so long since I prayed.”
I feel a shiver run down my spine. Something about this voice sounds cruel and sadistic. I don’t know whether to turn around and lock myself in a bathroom stall, or make a run for the bar. I desperately want to get back to Geraint so I hurry to the door. The man is too quick for me, though, lunging forward and grabbing a fistful of my dress from behind.
Spinning me around and taking hold of my arms, he slams me against the wall. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I smell stale liquor and Tex-Mex, and see black-and-gray stubble on an unshaved chin. My throat works, wanting to cry out for Geraint but not being able to. If I break my vow now, I’ll go to hell. Cora herself will rise out of the ground and pull me down into the fiery pit. This stranger will drag me down too and I’ll never see Geraint again.
In the dim light, the man narrows his eyes at me. “Can’t speak? You dumb, girl?” He chuckles to himself and his hand begins to roam over my dress, squeezing rudely. Geraint’s only a dozen or so feet from me and yet he may as well be on the other side of the world. How long did I take in the bathroom? Won’t he be worried about me by now? The man gropes down my leg and up my skirt.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to disappear into prayer. Hail Mary, full of grace, blessed be thy name…
There’s a roar, then the air pressure around me changes and the hands disappear. I stagger on unsteady legs and my eyes fly open to see Geraint, his dark eyes wild with fury and his hand around my assailant’s throat.
“You fucking touching my girl?”
The man makes angry choking sounds as he struggles to be freed of Geraint’s iron hold. “She ain’t nobody’s girl. See? Cute li’l habit. Let me go and I’ll share her with you.”
Geraint pulls back and punches the man so hard I see blood spray in the darkness. He falls to the ground, clutching his nose and cursing Geraint at the top of his lungs.
The owner of the bar appears in the doorway to the bar. “Hey! Take it outside.”
“I’ll fucking take it outside.” Geraint grabs the man by the scruff of his shirt, drags him along the corridor to the back entrance, and kicks the door open. He’s so infuriated, I think he might kill the man.
Out on the gravel, he pulls the man up by his hair. I know Geraint kills people for a living but that’s different to seeing someone beaten to death before your eyes. I grab hold of Geraint’s shirt but he shrugs me off.
“Keep back, baby. I’ve got this shithead.”
Despairing, I watch as Geraint sink his fist into the man’s face. Then he pulls out his knife.
No.