Page 15 of Liar Byrd
Except at night when he seemed to think my body belonged to him.
As drawn by her warm smile as I was by my curiosity about the brown paper bags she was handing out, I’d joined the queue, leaving a big space between me and the man in front. I peeked over my shoulder to make sure whoever came after me kept their distance.
If it had been a big man…
Well, no amount of curiosity about brown paper bags or warm smiles from the woman handing them out would have kept me in the line.
Her friendly smile returns me to the present, and she offers me one of the brown paper bags she handed to the others. “You’ll find enough food and cleaning things for a couple of days. Do you have anywhere to stay?”
But I’m not listening to her anymore.
Behind her, a barrel-chested man in a black T-shirt carrying a large blue plastic tray loaded with more of those brown bags approaches. He has a dark beard.
His hands are…
I gulp, my heart tripping so fast it almost skips a beat.
He could do a lot of damage with hands that big.
I edge back half a step, terror making my tongue thick.
His blue eyes clash with mine, and he catches me staring.
A smile stretches across his face.
The paper bag slips out of my hand, making an oddthunkandclangas it hits the ground.
I run, my feet pounding loudly on the concrete, almost drowning out my heavy breathing.
Hunger chases me back.
If my belly hadn’t been so empty, I’d have been content to starve, tucked behind the dumpster I spent last night.
I’m peeking around the corner, hoping someone dropped a can of soup when a feminine voice calls out, “I hoped you might come back.”
I back up, starting to run when I stop. I know that voice. It’s the same woman from before.
Her brown hair is still in a braid, now messier than it was before.
She sits on the stoop beside the door where she was handing out food. That door is closed, and a sealed brown paper bag is on the floor beside her.
“This is for you,” she says, picking up the bag and offering it to me. “I kept it aside in case you might need it.”
The line had been long.
I’m sure someone else needed it more than I do. If I were a better person, and if my stomach weren’t growling, I’d tell her that.
“There’s a women’s shelter,” the woman continues, lowering the bag to the floor in front of her sneakers when I continue to peer across at her from the side of the church. “It’s not far from here. You can walk there. I left instructions in the bag. If you have nowhere to go, you can go there.”
A women’s shelter sounds like a dream.
A place with no men sounds like heaven.
“If someone is hurting you, and you need to go somewhere safe, you’ll be safe there.”
As the silence stretches out, it hits me that I haven’t spoken since I left the compound. Jeremiah never required words from me. Just my head bowed and my legs open, and he had everything he needed.
I fumble for words when I’ve gotten so used to being quiet.
