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She pulled her phone away, tucking it into her hoodie pocket. “Brynn, I know you’re scared, but this man almost got away with murder.”
I swallowed and the saliva was rough going down. “I need water.”
“Where’s the Brynn who fights?” Shavonne went on, and her question cut me in two. “You can’t let him win. You can take him down and get justice.”
“I need water,” I repeated, more firmly this time.
I couldn’t take any more of her optimism. Could she see the state I was in? I’d just had surgery in my head to stop the bleeding. The fact that I even survived was a miracle and she wanted me to go back to that horrifying situation with Dominic? She was out of her mind. Plus, I knew how the system worked. Dominic was a rich man with rich people at his side and I was a poor woman with nothing to my name. I was worthless and not a single person would care about my outcome but the people sitting in this hospital room. Even my parents wouldn’t have cared. My momma, God rest her soul, would’ve scoffed and asked me, “Well what did you do to provoke them?”
That’s why I was so ready to leave North Carolina and make a fresh start when the time came. I would no longer be gaslit or put last. I could flee and put myself first . . . but fleeing only backfired.
If Dominic didn’t get away with burying me nearly two weeks ago, he definitely would the next time around.
After gulping down the water my best friend poured for me, I turned over and gave her my back.
“Come on, Brynn. You have to fight.” Shavonne’s voice was laced with hurt, with hopelessness.
I closed my eyes, but that didn’t stop the tears from falling.
FORTY-NINE
BRYNN
Two months later
I was lucky to still have a job at Franco’s and Nulli’s mini mart. Truthfully, I think the managers felt sorry for me. I’d lied and told them I’d gone hiking, fell, and hit some rocks, which caused my concussion. They took one look at the large gash on my head and kept me on their payroll. Pity sucks, but not when it works in your favor.
I’d decided that after that horrible night with Dominic, I would keep my head down. I’d work to fill my hours and avoid going out at all costs. Not that going out was a priority. I was ugly now. The scar on my head had healed, sure, but it was still red and prominent. I looked like half my head had been chewed by some sharp-toothed monster, not to mention the newly developed migraines were random and brutal. I often couldn’t finish a sentence because I couldn’t think of words. My mind was just so spacey.
Every morning that I looked in the mirror, I wanted to cry. He’d done this to me and I couldn’t figure out why. With each passing day, the fuzzy details would come back to me though. They started off muted and vague, like a black-and-white TV show without the volume, so it was easy to dismiss at first. But slowly, like a snowball rolling to create an avalanche, it all came back. My doctor informed me that it would take some time for some memories to return. But I’d hoped some time would be three or four years down the road, when I was better off mentally, not two months later. Because they’d returned at such full force, I had trouble sleeping. I woke up in the middle of the night screaming, hand clutching my chest as I remembered the man on top of me, followed by the stack of papers and the dark look in Dominic’s eyes. The fight we had, a blow to my head, and then cold dirt being shoveled on top of my body. Shavonne ran into my room, eyes wide like saucers. She saw me on the bed, curled in the fetal position, and she laid with me. As I cried, she held me and told me everything would be alright.
But would everything be okay again? The old Brynn would’ve believed it, but this new Brynn? I had no clue who she was. She was cold and bitter and angry. She was mean and tasteless and afraid to even check the mail.
The next morning, Shavonne tried cheering me up. She had a spread of breakfast on the table—eggs, pancakes, bacon, orange juice. We ate together in silence while Charmed circa 1998 played in the background. I went to work shortly after to help the morning crew at Franco’s prepare for an engagement party that would be booking the entire restaurant for the night.
But when I went in, I saw a man standing at the bar, and my whole body turned to ice.
FIFTY
BRYNN
The man turned around and, just as I’d suspected, it was him. The old white man with the oversized nose who’d sat with Dominic the day he bristled his way to New Orleans. He was speaking to Chad, one of the bartenders, with a to-go box in hand. I couldn’t remember the man’s name. Jim. Jake? No, John. It was John.
I stood near the door, drawing in deep breaths. I couldn’t move my feet even if I’d wanted to. I was stuck in place, and my heart boomed when the man bid Chad farewell and turned in my direction. He walked toward the exit, but his head tipped when he spotted someone in his path. He smiled as if he were a true gentleman and stepped around me.
Before he reached the door, he paused and said, “Wait . . . I remember you.”
I peered over my shoulder with my pulse erratically beating in my ears.
“You waited one of my tables before, right? Exceptional service. Keep it up.” And with that, he was gone.
I faced the door, watching him climb into the back of an SUV. When the SUV took off, I ran to the bathroom, shoved the door open, and hit the first stall. All the breakfast I’d had with Shavonne went flying into the toilet.
When I was done, I sank to my bottom and pressed my back against the stall wall. I couldn’t help crying, nor could I stop. Not for at least fifteen minutes. I finally collected myself, left the stall, and rinsed my face with cold water at the sink.
When I felt I was stable enough, I walked back out and went straight to the kitchen. I immediately went to work, hoping no one would notice my puffy red eyes or how on edge I was.
That stupid man. He was there that night. He was on top of me. He . . . turned me over. Pushed himself into my ass. He didn’t even remember that he’d done it.
