Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [57]
“Where ya think ya going, honey?” The wet voice was sticky and hot in my ear. The spoiled fruit smell of stale beer drenched my nose. The hands at my knees worked their way up my thighs. I twisted my body, but I flopped like a fish pinned to a pier. I heard myself grunt. I bit my lips and clenched my teeth.
Nina. Janie. Where were they?
One hand reached the hem of my shorts. The other fumbled its way up to my waist. I pushed my body against the seat to stop the fingers crawling over my bare skin. I let go of the seat with my hands and batted my arms behind me. I fought with air. I kicked. I felt him lean across my legs.
The door by my head creaked open and a new hand that reeked of cigarette smoke pushed my head into the seat. “Cool off, girl. You’re not going anywhere,” he laughed. A wave of warm beer splashed across my face, and my wet hair fell into my eyes.
The car started. Oh, dear God, please let that be Nina. Please let that be Nina.
“Janie, close the door. Close the door. Close it, now.” Nina sounded like a siren wailing underwater.
“Let go of her,” Janie screamed. I heard a solid thump. A male voice roared, spewed language as foul as the meaty hands that held me. Hands that now slid down my body. The door by my feet slammed. My freed legs crawled up the seat.
The voice at my head yelled, “You crazy—” I reached up and dug my ragged fingernails into flesh, again and again, like raking wet sand to make trenches.
“It's gonna take more than that,” the voice growled, but his grip loosened enough for me to pummel his hands while I scuttled away. When I could, I yanked away clumps of my hair not soaked with beer.
“Let her go ’cuz I’m backing up whether you do or not. Hold on, Leah,” Nina screamed.
The stench of sweat and cigarettes released me. My jaw ached from the tightness.
I lunged for the door handle inches away from my hand.
“Wait, wait.” Janie scrambled over the front seat, tumbled into the backseat, and fell over my now outstretched body. “The door's still open.”
She reached over me. “Now, Nina.” Janie's voice scratched against the dankness in the car, “Back up. Fast. Run over every disgusting one of them if you have to.”
The door slammed closed. So did my heart.
25
That's why we hope you learn the Serenity Prayer early, you know. For times like this.”
Cathryn leaned on the wall next to me. Handed me a stick of Wrigley's Spearmint gum. Whoosh of a memory. Rifling through my mother's purse. Bits of tobacco always dusted the bottom of the fabric liner and clung to the sticks of gum she’d tear in half and throw back into her purse.
“No, thanks. I saw a video of myself chewing gum. You would’ve thought my jaws were hinged with springs. Ugly. Haven’t touched the stuff since.”
“Hey, maybe I should suggest that to the intake counselors— videos of people drinking, using …” She elbowed me ever so slightly. Ha. Ha.
I contemplated my unpolished toenails and avoided eye contact with Cathryn. She’d see my naked sadness. “I guess Carl's not coming.” The words dropped out of my mouth like pieces of dinners I’d thrown up after too many martinis.
“You stuck to this wall or can we sit down and talk?” I followed Cathryn as she walked in the rec room and sat on the sofa. “Like the dress, by the way. Red's your color.”
When she reached over to stop my hand scratching, I smelled gardenias and vanilla. My stomach lurched.
“Did you really want him here? Or did you just not want to be the one left out?”
“Left out? Left out of what? Therapy torture? Who wouldn’t want to miss that?”
“Exactly.”
“Not what I meant.” I inspected the warmish budding pink welts on the top of my hand. “Even if I didn’t want him here, why didn’t he want to be here? He didn’t even call.