THE STRANGER AT THE BAR
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
When I first met Lucas, I was eighteen, homeless, and starving on the streets in the dead of winter. It was a miracle I survived long enough to find him.
The night we first met, I was walking down the downtown sidewalk through the crowds, my feet crunching through the snow in my torn up tennis shoes. Neon lights flashed from the storefronts all around me, blinding me with their harshness against the black sky. I had my arms wrapped over me to protect against the chill, but they did nothing to stop the coldness that was piercing me to the bone. My cheeks were blue and my lips were chapped.
I was hunched over, shivering, as strangers passed me by without a thought.
The emptiness scraped the bottom of my stomach. When was it I had last eaten? Yesterday morning? Or was it the night before that? I tried shaking away the thoughts, but it left my head dizzy.
At least you’re not home , I told myself.
Well, at least there was that.
As I turned a corner, I tried to push the memories away, but they came flooding back to me. Month after month of Jeff coming home drunk, slamming me into walls, breaking and bruising every inch of me as he screamed. I hated him, God I hated him, and fuck knows why my mother began dating him. Maybe he manipulated her like he did everyone else—only I saw who he really was. Only I saw the demon in him.
And then the last night, the night he came home with a strange look in his eye. I had been sitting at the kitchen table doing homework (that was one of Jeff’s rules—I wasn’t allowed to be alone in my room unless I was sleeping). Mom was passed out in the bedroom, yet again, leaving me at his mercy. I braced myself when I heard the front door close.
I had expected the usual: punches, slaps, kicks.
After what happened next, I wished forever that those had been what had happened.
I heard his footsteps enter the kitchen. They were stumbling and too loud. I clenched my teeth and put my pencil down, waiting for him to bring his hand down on my head yet again.
Instead, I felt his shaking fingers run down my neck to my shoulders. They caressed me while his hot breath approached me from behind. I yelped and leapt up, springing from my seat, unsure I hadn’t just imagined it.
Sure enough, there was Jeff, totally drunk and leaning over the chair I had been sitting in. There was something strange in his eyes, and I felt myself shudder. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but my instincts told me I had to get the hell away as fast as possible.
“Anybody ever tell you you’re real pretty, Anna?” he slurred.
He took a lurching step toward me, and I backed up.
“Jeff… Are you okay?” I stammered.
“Real pretty,” he continued. He kept his eyes fixed on my mouth as he took another stumble towards me. I tried to back up again, but I hit the wall. There was no escape—I was in the cooking nook of the kitchen, and Jeff blocked the only way out. “You know what men like me like to do to pretty girls like you?”
Too quickly for me to stop him, he reached forward and snatched my wrist. He pulled me to him, looking deeply into my eyes. His gaze was crazy, and his breathing was ragged.
“Let me go!” I jerked my arm away from him, but his grip was too strong. I had never been a fighter, and I was no match for him. God I hated how weak I was.
“Look at those pretty lips,” he said, the stench of alcohol fuming from his breath and stinging me eyes. He forced my face to his as he inspected it. “Real pretty. You know what I want to do to those lips, Anna?”
He leaned forward, opening his mouth and forcing mine against it. I felt his repulsive tongue reach out to probe my mouth as I thrashed under him. My heart hammered in my ears and I tried to scream, but his grip was too strong. God knows what would have happened next if my mother hadn’t stumbled into
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
When I first met Lucas, I was eighteen, homeless, and starving on the streets in the dead of winter. It was a miracle I survived long enough to find him.
The night we first met, I was walking down the downtown sidewalk through the crowds, my feet crunching through the snow in my torn up tennis shoes. Neon lights flashed from the storefronts all around me, blinding me with their harshness against the black sky. I had my arms wrapped over me to protect against the chill, but they did nothing to stop the coldness that was piercing me to the bone. My cheeks were blue and my lips were chapped.
I was hunched over, shivering, as strangers passed me by without a thought.
The emptiness scraped the bottom of my stomach. When was it I had last eaten? Yesterday morning? Or was it the night before that? I tried shaking away the thoughts, but it left my head dizzy.
At least you’re not home , I told myself.
Well, at least there was that.
As I turned a corner, I tried to push the memories away, but they came flooding back to me. Month after month of Jeff coming home drunk, slamming me into walls, breaking and bruising every inch of me as he screamed. I hated him, God I hated him, and fuck knows why my mother began dating him. Maybe he manipulated her like he did everyone else—only I saw who he really was. Only I saw the demon in him.
And then the last night, the night he came home with a strange look in his eye. I had been sitting at the kitchen table doing homework (that was one of Jeff’s rules—I wasn’t allowed to be alone in my room unless I was sleeping). Mom was passed out in the bedroom, yet again, leaving me at his mercy. I braced myself when I heard the front door close.
I had expected the usual: punches, slaps, kicks.
After what happened next, I wished forever that those had been what had happened.
I heard his footsteps enter the kitchen. They were stumbling and too loud. I clenched my teeth and put my pencil down, waiting for him to bring his hand down on my head yet again.
Instead, I felt his shaking fingers run down my neck to my shoulders. They caressed me while his hot breath approached me from behind. I yelped and leapt up, springing from my seat, unsure I hadn’t just imagined it.
Sure enough, there was Jeff, totally drunk and leaning over the chair I had been sitting in. There was something strange in his eyes, and I felt myself shudder. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but my instincts told me I had to get the hell away as fast as possible.
“Anybody ever tell you you’re real pretty, Anna?” he slurred.
He took a lurching step toward me, and I backed up.
“Jeff… Are you okay?” I stammered.
“Real pretty,” he continued. He kept his eyes fixed on my mouth as he took another stumble towards me. I tried to back up again, but I hit the wall. There was no escape—I was in the cooking nook of the kitchen, and Jeff blocked the only way out. “You know what men like me like to do to pretty girls like you?”
Too quickly for me to stop him, he reached forward and snatched my wrist. He pulled me to him, looking deeply into my eyes. His gaze was crazy, and his breathing was ragged.
“Let me go!” I jerked my arm away from him, but his grip was too strong. I had never been a fighter, and I was no match for him. God I hated how weak I was.
“Look at those pretty lips,” he said, the stench of alcohol fuming from his breath and stinging me eyes. He forced my face to his as he inspected it. “Real pretty. You know what I want to do to those lips, Anna?”
He leaned forward, opening his mouth and forcing mine against it. I felt his repulsive tongue reach out to probe my mouth as I thrashed under him. My heart hammered in my ears and I tried to scream, but his grip was too strong. God knows what would have happened next if my mother hadn’t stumbled into
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