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“No, next week.” Holden doesn’t wait for a reply or acknowledge Savannah again as he walks over to the dining room, sits down at the table, and waits for his lunch to be served.
I see Savannah’s face fall. I’m not sure if it’s the inner hostess in me, the irrationally jealous and raging bitch, or the overall fed-up employee, but I can’t stop myself.
“Oh, don’t be silly. She should eat first. There’s plenty to go around! What do you say, Savannah? Would you like tomatoes on your steak sandwich?”
Savannah looks up at me like I just saved her pet from being put down with a miracle surgery. I can feel Holden’s angry scowl from across the room, and it fuels my resolve to inconvenience his life as much as he does mine.
“I’ll take tomatoes. Thank you!” she says.
I nod, smiling to myself. “Coming right up.”
16
HOLDEN
The nightmares are never-ending. Once I lie down to sleep in my too-soft king-size bed, I can’t close my eyes without seeing those four white walls closing in on me. The one tiny window with bars was the only link I had to the outside world. The thick stench of urine and grease from the leaking toilet and the gruel they fed me lingers in my nostrils.
I wake in a cold sweat, panting for breath. My bathroom door is ajar, the light still on. I peer around the room, seeing that I’m alone. My heart rate doesn’t slow. I swing my legs off the bed and begin doing push-ups. After I count to fifty, I switch to one arm.
Once I reach the point of physical exhaustion, covered in sweat, I collapse on the hardwood floor. It’s cool on my skin, providing relief for my screaming muscles.
Another flashback hits me like a train. The only fight I’ve ever lost was the first day they let me out of solitary confinement. I was in the shower when six guys jumped me. They beat me until my blood ran with the cold water down the drain and bruises covered my body. I had four broken ribs, two almost black eyes, and my fists were raw and bloodied from returning their blows.
The guards found me on the cold tiled floor, lying face down. The prison doctor told me the only way I hadn’t suffocated from the broken rib protruding into my left lung was due to the position I was lying in.
Three of my assailants were in the infirmary, recovering with me, and when they tried again, I took them all out, even with the half-healed ribs.
No one fucked with me after that unless they were in groups, and they never won.
I get up off the cold floor, tearing off my boxers as I step inside the shower. The cold spray shocks my overheated system, drawing my scrambled thoughts back down to a slower pace.
You will not succumb to this.
You aren’t there anymore.
You’re home.
You’re not in danger here.
You’re not alone.
You’re not alone.
You’re not alone.
I repeat it to myself over and over again until I’m finally able to make it back into the room, collapsing onto the bed just as the sun begins to filter light through my curtains.
“The beauty of braless Fridays is that we get to free-boob it without the awkwardness of y’all being around,” Dolly explains.
Duke scoffs. “Then, what was with the night we all went to Old Harry’s and Rosie got a bucket of ice water dumped on her head while up on the stage?”
Dolly pops the cork off a bottle of red wine, shrugging. “That was a rare exception. We were wine drunk, bored, and we both needed to get laid. With y’all around, that’s never going to happen, apparently. Go play with your bow and arrows out in the field and see who can avoid getting shot in the dark, like y’all used to do when you were in high school.”
I tighten my hand around the beer I’m holding. My eyes can barely stay open even though it’s only eight o’clock.
“I was trying to make some extra money actually. This is my last Friday night for a while.” Rosie takes her glass, walking into the living room.
I can make out the soft curve of her breasts as they jiggle with each of her steps. My salivary glands spring to life.
