Page 32 of Every Broken Piece
He pulls back. “Oh. Um. Down the hallway beside the bar.”
I nod and take off in that direction, but the crowd is crowd-y and I have to push my way through.
“’Scuse me.”
“So sorry.”
“Can I get by?”
“Oh! Sorry. Didn’t mean to step on you.”
I come upon four girls in pink sparkly dresses that barely cover the important bits, surrounding a girl in a white sparkly dress, a tiara, and a sash that says “bride”.
I turn sideways and suck everything in to make myself as small as possible in order to slide between them. “’Scuse me. Thank you. Congratulations.”
The bride-to-be beams a smile at me. “Thanks!”
I work my way through them until I can see the hallway, but it takes me a good five minutes to get through the rest of the crowd. I swear someone pinches my ass but when I turn around, I can’t find the culprit, so I keep going.
I stumble a little and bump into a guy who’s stepping away from the bar.
“Whoa there.” He grabs my elbow to steady me then smiles wide. “Hey there, sweetheart. Wanna dance?”
“Gotta pee.”
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
I laugh him off as I continue on my trajectory.
I’ve had a few encouraging looks from men tonight, but I stayed in my lane and didn’t flirt. Not that I’m any good at flirting. It feels weird and not like me at all. After a lot of debate I settled on a ruffled dress that hits just above my knees, paired with cowboy boots I found at a secondhand shop that fit me perfectly. My hair was down at the start of the evening, but it’s hot in here so I put it in a high ponytail to keep it off my neck.
The hall where the bathrooms are located is the kind of sudden quiet that makes your ears feel stuffed with cotton after being around a live band. I breathe a sigh of relief.
Just as I put my hand on the bathroom door to push it open, someone grabs my elbow in a tight hold.
“Theresa.”
I turn with a ready smile, thinking it’s Conor, or Josh, or Greg, or maybe the man who asked me to dance although I dunno why he’d know my name. But I don’t recognize the guy standing so close to me that his chest is almost pressed into my back. He looks like all the other guys at the bar in jeans, a black Henley shirt, cowboy boots. A black baseball hat hides the upper part of his face so I can’t see his eyes and I can’t tell the color of his hair. Unlike the harmless flirting of the man who asked me to dance, this one puts me on edge.
“Yes?” The floor feels like its tilting. Definitely shouldn’t have had that last margarita.
His fingers dig into the skin around my elbow and he tugs, making me fall into him. I press my hands against his chest to push away but his arms go around me in a tight bear hug. A hand wraps around my ponytail, wrenching my head back.
“Ow! What are you doing? Let go of me.” I struggle to break free, but his arms are like bands of steel as he pulls me deeper into the shadows of the back hallway. I open my mouth to scream, and he slams his mouth on mine. I’m so stunned that I stop struggling as cold panic drenches me.
We’re moving in tandem, him picking me up just enough that my toes barely touch the ground as he backs up, still pressing his lips to mine. If anyone were to look into the shadows they’d think we were making out.
I start to gag, but that doesn’t make him pull away.
I hear a door schnick open.
He thrusts me away from him so hard that I fall into what looks like a supply closet filled with red plastic cups, napkins, a mop and a mop bucket. My shoulder hits the edge of a metal shelving unit, and a tower of cups fall, scattering everywhere. The sound of so much plastic hitting the concrete floor is loud but I doubt anyone outside can hear it.
He slams the door closed, muting the music and laughter. My heart accelerates into dangerous territory as I slide away from him, but there’s no room to maneuver and my back hits the shelves. I reach behind me, searching for anything I can use as a weapon, but I only come up with more plastic cups.
“I need that twenty grand, Theresa.”
Oh, God. This is him. The man who called me two weeks ago. I’m such a fool thinking this would go away. “I-I don’t have that kind of money.”
