Easier to Run by Silver Rain Page B

close and the hot alcohol in my stomach.
    “Tell me, sweetie,” Ben coaxed softly.
    I wasn’t sure I was ready to unload even more heavy memories. It was too much for one day. “No, I don’t want—”
    “You need to talk about it.”
    That was what everyone kept telling me, but it was the last thing I ever wanted to talk about again. I took a deep breath, trying to talk without letting my mind slip too far back to the past. Trying to keep it from becoming too real. “He shoved a beer in my hand, but just the smell of it made me feel sick. He pinned me on the table. Pulled off my clothes. And every time I made a sound, he dumped some kind of liquor in my mouth or over my face. I think I passed out because I remember him…. And… and then I was sitting in the shower under a stream of cold water. Then, I woke up the next morning.”
    Mercifully the buzz hit my head—I don’t know if it was really the alcohol or my own brain detaching from the events and sparing me the emotional explosion. “That was the first time. He left me alone for weeks after that, and I thought maybe it was just some kind of fucked up fluke, but then Rachel had to work late again. Mitchel had just had poker night with his friends and he was smashed. He came in my room that night, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. The more I fought him, the more I think he enjoyed it. After that, it became a regular thing—every time Rachel had to work late. I knew he was being honest about his threats. I didn’t want to lose everything else, and I kept thinking maybe he’d just get tired of it and leave me alone.” My voice was irregular and squeaky by the time I finished. Retelling the events was like bursting a blister—painful, disgusting, and exhausting. Supposedly, it was necessary for healing, but my wounds still felt irreparable.

 

    Ben passed out on the couch with the television blaring some made for TV movie. His phone buzzed on the side table and he reached up, blindly feeling around to find it. He’d driven fourteen hours a day for the past four days straight and didn’t have the energy to lift his head.
    His hand finally landed on the buzzing device and he glared at the bright, blurry screen just long enough to accept the call.
    “Hello,” he grumbled.
    “Ben!” a female voice shrieked.
    He groaned and pulled the phone away from his ear. “Rachel?” He didn’t know why the hell she’d be calling so late, but she sounded strange. “Is everything okay?”
    “I’m golden,” her words slurred together.
    “Are you drunk?” he asked, the fog of sleep clearing slightly as he forced his body to sit up.
    “No…. Maybe…. I need to ask you something.”
    “Where are you?” he asked.
    “No, my question time,” her voice was a high-pitched whine like a child not getting her way. “I need to know you’ll take care of Cassie.”
    After hearing that, he was wide awake. “Where are you? Where is she?”
    “Oh, I had to take a detour, but I don’t mean now.”
    Ben rubbed his eyes before setting his jaw and asking for the third time. “Where are you, Rachel?”
    “Diggers, I’m walking home.”
    Ben glanced at the clock above the TV. “It’s nearly midnight. Where’s Cassie?”
    “Geez, dude. Stop yelling. I won’t call you anymore.” The phone went silent and Ben jumped off the couch and grabbed his keys. His apartment was about a mile from Rachel’s house, but he hoped she hadn’t walked too far yet.
    He sped through town and slowed in front of Rachel’s dark house. She always walked to work, but he hadn’t known her to be out working until midnight. Then, he spotted a blonde stumbling around the corner. He killed the engine and left his truck on the side of the road, climbing out and slamming the door.
    Rachel jogged clumsily toward him. “Shhh—” She pressed her finger to her lips.
    Ben was fuming. “Don’t hush me. What the fuck are you doing getting shit-faced in the middle of the night?”
    “Fuck off.