Page 11 of Surrender

I'm not safe.

I whimper, realizing I can't escape because something hard is behind me. My hands fly out in front of me, my face turned away as if I can protect it from the man.

"Serenity!" He shouts, grabbing both of my wrists. My whimpering becomes a high-pitched whine. "No, no, no, no, no, please!"

A second male voice joins the first and my terror consumes me. I'm full-on bawling now, certain that this is the end. Two loud doors slamming blanket me in quiet. But the quiet only means my heartbeat in my ears and my breathing is deafening. Eventually, the quiet feels comforting. The men are gone and aren't a threat anymore. I focus on slowing my breath and focusing my weary eyes.

I'm in a car.

And it's nighttime.

And beyond the windows is a gorgeous-looking townhouse. Shadows are created by the streetlights and the front lights of the building. Standing outside, casting shadows, are two men. One is speaking while the other runs his hands through his hair.

Oh.

Oh.

As if today didn't bring enough shame and embarrassment with everything else, I freaked out on the one person offering me shelter and safety. As if I didn't already feel unworthy of both.

Internally, I berate myself. Even as my breathing slows down, I kick myself for being such a fucking nutcase. I can't just be normal, can I? He was only trying to wake me up because I'd fallen asleep, and I went full-on psycho on him. Maybe this is what breaks the camel's back. Maybe this is when he decides I'm not worth the effort.

Feeling slightly calmer than a few minutes before, I open my door and stand. The car being a barrier between us somehow makes me feel safer.

"I...I'm sorry...you startled me..." But the bottom line is I don't have a good excuse. I'm a freak. A burden everywhere I go. Worthless.

I stare at my shoes.

I'm relying on the generosity of a very grumpy sex-club owner, a man I met today who took pity on me. Hot tears threaten to slip between my eyelids. My situation, my embarrassment, and my self-loathing have hit an all-time low. I look down the street, wondering if it would be better for everyone, easier for everyone, if I wasn't here; if I didn't exist. What good was I, anyway? I don't contribute to society in any meaningful way. If I was gone, no one would miss me. DC might even be a better place for it. I'm what? A homeless, failed sex-club waitress who can't even remember orders without writing them down explicitly.

I don't want to break down in front of these men. They've been kind to me, but I don't want their kindness. I want to find the nearest bridge and jump off of it. The Potomac is mostly frozen now. I've heard freezing to death is a nice way to go.

Joseph approaches me slowly, around the front of the car.

"Miss Serenity? It's alright. You were sleeping, and we woke you up. We're sorry for startling you."

I look at Declan. Joseph is speaking a lot for him right now. Is he really sorry? Or is Joseph smoothing things out?

I don't know. And right now, I don't care. I'm tired and I want to escape from today, whatever that looks like.

"Let's get you inside, into your new bedroom, comfortable, and then maybe you can sleep again without interruption." Joseph casts a sideways glance at Declan, almost chastising him. But that can't be right. Joseph works for Declan. He'd never correct him, right?

I nod again, too fucking tired to do anything else. I follow Joseph into the beautiful townhome, my feet shuffling, my head cast down. All I know is that I'm too tired to fight anything.

Joseph opens a door, and a beautifully decorated guest bedroom appears before me. I don't know how I feel about it. It's too opulent for me. It's also too cold. Declan could bring anyonehere. A sister, a stranger, a politician. But then I guess he doesn't really care where I sleep. Joseph shows me the bathroom and suggests a shower. And after twenty-four hours on my feet, a shower sounds decadent.

I thank Joseph lamely. I don't even have enough energy to instill enthusiasm into my voice. I start the shower, put it to hot, and strip naked before I get in. Hot water is a luxury I'm not accustomed to. But the need to burn away the day hits me to my core. If I can burn, if I can punish myself for being so... me... if I can feel the pain... maybe I'll be able to sleep tonight.

I do a rush job of washing my body and my hair before I turn the shower off. Wrapped in a towel, I realize I don't have anything to sleep in. I stare at the pile of dirty clothes but wrinkle my nose. I really don't want to sleep in dirty clothes. I also don't want to sleep naked in the house with a man I don't know.

I step into the guest bedroom again; the steam trailing behind me. At the foot of the bed, I notice a neatly folded forest green t-shirt. I walk over to the small pile and run my fingers against the soft fabric of the shirt. It must be his. And it's been well worn. It's a surprisingly thoughtful gesture. He knew I wouldn't have anything to sleep in, so he lent me his shirt. And when I pick the shirt up to pull it over my head, I notice a folded pair of black boxer briefs as well.Hisboxer briefs.

The thoughtful gesture has reality crashing against me hard. In a pile on the bathroom floor, dirty, is everything I own in the entire world. I wouldn't even have clothes to sleep in if Declan hadn't left me these. Or did Joseph? The crushing weight of my situation weighs me down heavily. I flop onto the floor, cross-legged, and simply cry.

I knew things with my parents were bad. I knew they weren't good parents. But I never gave up hope that one day I'd get ahead. One day it wouldn't be so bad. One day it wouldn't be so hard. I never imagined being loved by them.

But tolerated? Maybe there'd be a day where I made enough that they could get enough of their fix, and the bills would be paid, and maybe we could have lived at least comfortably? That's all I wanted. To be comfortable. To not have to scramble and fight for every tiny thing.

After a few minutes of feeling sorry for myself, I put the shirt and boxers on and take a moment to appreciate how soft the fabric is, and how well the boxers hug my bottom half. I don't want to think about whose clothes they are. I'm grateful I don't have to sleep naked.

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