Horrid Thoughts with Hard Questions
Worried Glances
The next morning, it is evident that I didn't sleep. Adrian even says so, noting that I look like death. Annabelle scolds him for being insensitive, and tries to console me as an apology for his behavior.
Claire is blatantly ignoring me, choosing to sit with Eva on the bus rather than with me. Jan sits next to me, giving me concerned glances all the way home.
Is it silly to call the diner home? In the short time Claire and I have been there, it feels so much more like home than our houses back in Virginia ever did. Maybe I'm fooling myself into believing this is better than what used to be. It's easy enough seeing as I'm already a fool. I'm having second thoughts way too late in the game.
The bus pulls up to the diner, and we all shuffle out. Claire passes me, but refuses to look at me. It's my fault really. I should have told her as soon as I agreed to what Adrian proposed. But I didn't. It's my fault.
That night I dream about home. I wake in a fright, having dreamed that Claire's parents had beat her to death. I can't think of anything else to do but cry; so I do, because it actually could have happened if we hadn't left.
Maybe it was a good thing to have left. But then again, what kind of life was this?
The diner is back open for business the next day.
All morning, I sit in the booth Claire and I sat in the first time we walked into the diner, and I think.
Should I have brought us here, to work in a God damn whore house? I wish I could just retrace all my steps, and go back; go back to when things were normal, or a least what I think used to be normal.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Claire glancing at me as she tends to an elderly couple. I can tell she's worried about me, even though she has no reason to be. These worried glances make me make a decision.
I'll tell her tonight.
The evening came, and I found myself staring at the ceiling in that locked room, with some man over me that I've never met before, thinking about what to say to Claire. I don't realize that I'm being so quiet. He doesn't like that, and yells at me.
"I'm paying you good money! Beg for it, you filthy slut!"
I'm so lost in my own thoughts that I don't hear him. He slaps me hard across the face. "Bitch, I'm talking to you!"
My eyes grow wide, and I push myself away from him, onto the floor with an audible thud. Angry, he grabs me by the throat.
"Why I ought to..."
He wraps his fingers tightly around my windpipe. I can't breath. He's going to strangle me to death. I'm going to die, I realize. My fingers come up and scratch at his hands, drawing blood as I frantically try to breath.
The crash of the door hitting the wall, possibly leaving a dent, startling him. His grip loosens, and a tall, shady figure walks into the dimly lit room. They're holding a shotgun, whoever they are.
"I would kindly appreciate it if you didn't murder my employees."
I hear a gun cock right before my vision blurs into dark nothing.
Claire is blatantly ignoring me, choosing to sit with Eva on the bus rather than with me. Jan sits next to me, giving me concerned glances all the way home.
Is it silly to call the diner home? In the short time Claire and I have been there, it feels so much more like home than our houses back in Virginia ever did. Maybe I'm fooling myself into believing this is better than what used to be. It's easy enough seeing as I'm already a fool. I'm having second thoughts way too late in the game.
The bus pulls up to the diner, and we all shuffle out. Claire passes me, but refuses to look at me. It's my fault really. I should have told her as soon as I agreed to what Adrian proposed. But I didn't. It's my fault.
That night I dream about home. I wake in a fright, having dreamed that Claire's parents had beat her to death. I can't think of anything else to do but cry; so I do, because it actually could have happened if we hadn't left.
Maybe it was a good thing to have left. But then again, what kind of life was this?
The diner is back open for business the next day.
All morning, I sit in the booth Claire and I sat in the first time we walked into the diner, and I think.
Should I have brought us here, to work in a God damn whore house? I wish I could just retrace all my steps, and go back; go back to when things were normal, or a least what I think used to be normal.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Claire glancing at me as she tends to an elderly couple. I can tell she's worried about me, even though she has no reason to be. These worried glances make me make a decision.
I'll tell her tonight.
The evening came, and I found myself staring at the ceiling in that locked room, with some man over me that I've never met before, thinking about what to say to Claire. I don't realize that I'm being so quiet. He doesn't like that, and yells at me.
"I'm paying you good money! Beg for it, you filthy slut!"
I'm so lost in my own thoughts that I don't hear him. He slaps me hard across the face. "Bitch, I'm talking to you!"
My eyes grow wide, and I push myself away from him, onto the floor with an audible thud. Angry, he grabs me by the throat.
"Why I ought to..."
He wraps his fingers tightly around my windpipe. I can't breath. He's going to strangle me to death. I'm going to die, I realize. My fingers come up and scratch at his hands, drawing blood as I frantically try to breath.
The crash of the door hitting the wall, possibly leaving a dent, startling him. His grip loosens, and a tall, shady figure walks into the dimly lit room. They're holding a shotgun, whoever they are.
"I would kindly appreciate it if you didn't murder my employees."
I hear a gun cock right before my vision blurs into dark nothing.