Page 8 of Dangerous Refuge

“Fuck you, you sick fuck,” he spits, trying to stand, but I drive my foot into his side, knocking him back down.

“Stay down.” I plant my foot on his chest and pin him to the ground. “If I ever see you around her again, I will kill you.”

Allie pulls at my suit coat, tugging me backward as I point my gun at his head. “No, Sven, please.”

I go with her even though I want to peg this bastard, and she stops me at the door of her building. Tucker lingers in the shadow down the street and I nod him away. Allie glances over her shoulder, but I know she can’t see him.

“Sven, I don’t feel safe. I don’t want to stay here alone.”

“I’m here, and I’m not leaving.” I holster my gun, her eyes watching my movement, and her hand trembles as she slides the key into the lock. It isn’t the sort of invitation I hoped she would give me, but beggars can’t be choosers. “Let’s go in.”

5

ALLIE

Iturn the key in the lock to my apartment door and push it open, Sven following me in. The scent of pizza lingers in the air, and I know what Sarah fed Rico for dinner long before I see the empty pizza box on the coffee table. She is perched on the edge of the sofa with her phone in hand staring at the screen as I enter.

“Hey, I’m home,” I say, shaken still. I drop my keys on the stand by the door and kick my shoes off. Sven enters behind me, looming over me like a cloud with his broad shoulders and barrel chest. Sarah looks up and smiles, and I watch her eyes widen as she stands. “Sarah, this is Sven, a … friend.”

“Oh, hey, Allie.” Sarah smooths her hands down the fronts of her thighs and shoves her phone in her pocket. “Uh, nice to meet you, Sven.” Her shuffle-walk my direction is indicative of her flustered state, also evidenced by her flushing cheeks. Sarah is attracted to Sven, and why wouldn’t she be? His dark hair and dazzling baby blues are a chick magnet. I have fallen to his good looks, and Sarah and I are two peas in a pod.

“Nice to meet you too,” he says, completely uninterested in her hand, which she thrusts out at him. He looks around the room as he unbuttons his suit coat and walks past her. She pulls her hand back and rushes to my side, grabbing my wrist and releasing an almost silent squeal.

“Fuck, Al, he’s hot.” She shakes my arm and grins. “Where did you meet him and does he have a younger brother?” Sarah is clearly not into older guys. Maybe I’m not either, but Sven deserves a thank you for his trouble of watching out for me. Yes, he’s hot, but I’m not looking for a relationship. I just invited him up for a drink until I settle down and then he can leave.

“Uh, he’s just someone I met at work. Look, is Rico sleeping?” I pry my wrist from her grasp and she collects herself as she steps into the hallway.

“Yeah, went to bed thirty minutes ago. I checked and he’s out.” She wags her eyebrows at me. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

She says the words loudly enough that I feel my own cheeks burning and glance at Sven who has seated himself on my old, worn-out sofa as if he owns the place. His eyes are locked on me, but he doesn’t seem to have heard her.

“Shh,” I hiss, turning back to her. I have to stifle a snicker, and I shoo her with my hand. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Shaking my head, I shut and lock the door and Sarah, my only buffer, is gone. It’s just mean and Sven now, and suddenly I feel awkward. The stack of boxes to the left of the door contain most of the contents of my life now. I have been packing for a few days, knowing tomorrow morning is when I am planning to leave. I have a hotel booked for a week, and I have a storage unit prepared for my things. My suitcase has most of my clothing; all I need to shove in it are the toiletries and I’m good, but I don’t want to rouse Rico in the middle of the night. Otherwise, I’d be gone now.

“She seems friendly,” Sven says, and I turn to see him drape his arm casually over the brown and red tweed upholstery. I’m nervous. He looks straight off the cover of GQ, and my couch looks like it was resurrected after the great depression and found in a dumpster. I swallow hard and slink over to the armchair on the other side of the small glass coffee table. Each move has come with its own challenges, some of them being how to furnish apartments. The leather armchair I sit in I found near the pile of garbage bags one evening on trash night. Otherwise it would be just the couch and table in this room. I don’t even own a TV.

“Yeah, she’s a sweetheart. We’ve been friends a while, but—”

“But you find it difficult to keep in touch with all the moving? She babysits for you now because you moved back closer to her side of the city?” Sven reads me like a book, challenging me to defy his knowledge. I can’t; he’s right.

“Yeah, actually.” I fiddle with my hands in my lap. “I need a drink. You want one?” I stand again, moving toward the kitchen area of this small open-concept space. It’s dimly lit and in a state of disrepair, but for just at a thousand dollars a month, it’s all I can afford. I walk straight to the cupboard with no door and grab the bottle of bourbon.

“Yes, I’ll have one,” he says, watching me. His eyes follow my every step. I can feel them burning into me as I reach for two tumblers and pour a few fingers of the whiskey into each of them. Then before returning to sit, I down the first glass and refill it. I haven’t eaten at all today, and I feel the burn all the way down my throat. The whiskey will hit me hard, but hopefully it just makes me sleep well.

“I only have plastic... I’m sorry.” I apologize as I hand Sven the plastic Kool-Aid cup and sit back in the chair facing him. The table is a safe barrier. I am not afraid of him, but I am afraid of how he makes me feel—wanted. As I sip my glass of bourbon I already feel the tingle in my neck and shoulders, burning and tightening my muscles. It will only be a matter of minutes before my head begins to swim.

“It’s okay,” he says, but the way he inspects the cup makes me feel out of place. He is clearly very wealthy, and my home is a dump. He probably lives in a mansion.

“Look, Sven, thank you for standing up for me. I don’t know what I’d do if Paul actually hurt me and got to Rico. That boy is my life.” I glance at the closed door, behind which I know my ten-year-old is sleeping. “All I want to do is keep him safe.”

“What If there were a way that you didn’t have to leave again?” Sven looks at the boxes for a moment then back at my face. He’s accurately read how soon I plan to leave.

“What do you mean?” His words linger in my head; “a different way” he’d said.

“Well I am a man of means.” He sips his bourbon and watches me over the rim of the white plastic cup with the smiley face emblazoned on it. “I can keep you safe every day, just like I did tonight.”

My body stirs a little. The idea that love can be contained to five sorted categories has always baffled me. It isn’t through touch, words, time, gifts, or acts of service that I feel loved. To me, love has always been being safe, and Sven is speaking that language. The alcohol swirls in my head, relaxing me. I’m more open to hearing his idea of how he may keep me safe than I was when we talked at the diner, hungrier for it. I don’t want to make Rico lose his friend, and I don’t want to run anymore.

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