Secondhand

What Lindsay had told me stuck in my mind for days. Did it mean he missed me? Or did he just feel guilty for hurting me? My mind was racing with possibilities of what she could have meant as I closed up for the fourth day in a row.

I was cleaning off the back counter, my last responsibility before I could go home, when I heard the bell on the door ring. It was rare that we got late night stragglers; most people who came here knew when we closed and plus, coffee at midnight isn't the best choice if you're planning on sleep.

“Sorry, we're closed,” I said, not bothering to face the person.

I waited a minute for their reply, but one never came. I began to worry that we were being robbed; why else would the person have waited until I was the only one here? Quickly, I turned to face the silent person who had entered.

I expected to find them on the other side of the counter, but I brushed chests with the intruder. His clothing was solidly black and a ski mask adorned his face. Oh shit. I had no idea how to handle this kind of situation, but he had yet to make any demands.

“Hello, Alan,” he smirked.

“Who are you?”

“That's not important. What's important is why I'm here. I want you to lock the door.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want any interruptions.”

“I'm not locking the door until you tell me what you're going to do.”

“Very well. I can do it myself,” he said as he crossed the shop quickly and turned the lock.

“Now, for why I am here. I'm not going to kill you or demand money, no. I don't want either of those things. But, if I don't get what I do want, I won't hesitate to kill you.”

“W-what do you want?”

“Take off your clothes.”

“W-w-what?”

“I think you know what I want, Alan. The quicker you do it, the quicker we can get this over with. We can do it the easy way, or the hard way,” he said as he pulled a knife from his waistband.

I gulped as he slashed a line through my plain, gray t-shirt. He dragged the blade down to my jeans and cut them off, too. I didn't know how to escape. He had a weapon and the door was locked. I knew exactly what he was going to do and I was terrified. I now stood in front of him in only my boxers. It didn't stay that way for long, though, because he sliced through those as well. He smirked at me and I did my best not to squirm with discomfort.

“Turn around and bend over,” the man ordered.

Reluctantly, I did as he said and heard his zipper go down as he stepped out of his pants. Suddenly, he thrust into me without any warning and I screamed in pain as tears fell from my closed eyes.

“Shut up!” he screamed at me as his pace quickened.

I couldn't stop the tears. It hurt so badly. By some small miracle, he finished quickly with a grunt and I became aware of banging on the door. The man pushed me to the floor before redressing and I cowered away from him.

“Pathetic piece of shit,” he spat, as he left the coffee house through the employee's door.

I stayed on the floor, sobbing. I couldn't get up to open the door if I had wanted to. I didn't want to. I wanted to lay here and die. What did I do to deserve this?

I heard an extra loud bang and a splintering sound that I assumed came from the thin oak door. Oh, great. Probably one of the man's friends, here for the same reason he was. Another blow was administered to the old door and it swung open. Footsteps circled the place and I did my best to stay silent, a difficult task for someone who had just been sobbing. I failed at maintaining silence and I heard the footsteps come around the counter to where I laid naked, abused, and hurt. I couldn't see who had come in and I didn't want to. The longer I didn't know, the better because it would mean they stayed away from me. The person gasped and came closer to me. I tried to move away, but found that I couldn't move because I was blocked by the counter.

“Get a-away from me,” I choked out.

“No. Not this time.”

I would recognize that voice anywhere. Why? Because even though it belonged to someone who had hurt me, someone who was a total douche, I think I've fallen in love with that voice and the man that it belonged to.

“A-austin,” I whispered.

He came over to where I was huddled on the tile. I turned to face him, tears still running down my face.

“What happened to you, beautiful?” I blushed madly at the use of such a compliment.

“I-I, some guy c-came in here a-and raped m-m-me. H-how did you find me?”

“I didn't know that it was you. I was walking home from the gym when I heard screaming and yelling.”

“O-oh.”

We both fell silent and I became more aware of the fact that my clothes lay in a mangled pile when Austin's eyes grazed my body indiscreetly. I blushed again and curled in on myself, feeling a little uncomfortable. My gaze met Austin's and it became his turn to blush.

“S-sorry. I have some gym shorts in my bag if you want. It doesn't look like the guy left you with much of an option.”

I nodded gratefully and he got up, going over to the door where he had dropped his duffel bag. He pulled a pair of black shorts out and handed them to me. I quickly came to the realization that I could not pull them on or stand.

“Aus?”

“Yeah?”

“I can't stand up. It hurts.”

“Come here,” he leaned down and reached out.

I put my arms around his neck and his hands graced my bare back. I shivered at his touch. Carefully, he lifted me off of the floor and helped me put on his shorts. He stopped before they were fully pulled up and grazed his finger across the scars and healing wounds on my thighs.

“Alan,” he breathed out before pulling the shorts the rest of the way so that they hung loosely on, but at least covered, my hips.

Tears fell down my cheeks again. I had told him about how I hurt myself, but he never saw the ruined skin. I felt like a disgrace, a failure. I knew that I was both of those things. He noticed my crying and his eyes became even more sad than they were before.

“Shh. Don't cry, baby, please.” It was the second term of endearment he had used that night and I collapsed onto his chest.

“I-I'm so sorry, Austin.”

“For what? None of this is your fault, Alan. I promise you that.”

“N-no. For leaving you. I'm j-just like all the other people who have left y-you. I don't even de-deserve to be around you.”

“No, Alan. I'm sorry that I hurt you. You have no idea how bad I felt. I haven't been able to get you off my mind since then and it drove me crazy that I didn't have the slightest idea of where to find you.”

“Y-y-you haven't been able to stop thinking about me?”

“Not for a second.”

“But w-why?”

“Because you're the first person that I've ever cared so much about so quickly. It scared me more than you know, but I want you in my life. I don't want to be afraid anymore.”

“I haven't stopped thinking about you either, but I'm so scared, Austin.”

“Scared of what?”

“I a-always give my all and end up getting hurt. I'm scared,” I admitted.

He hugged me to him as we sat on the floor. I was in his lap, resting the right half of my body against his chest. His arms encircled me, holding me close and his left hand stroked my disheveled hair. No matter how scared I was and how much I was hurting, I had never felt so safe.