PROVING HE IS DIFFERENT
1039 Words
I stare at him through the dim lighting of the quiet office, listening to the heavy silence press against my ears while his deep question hangs in the air between us.
His amber eyes are locked on my face, searching for an answer I am not ready to give to a man I met less than twenty minutes ago in a gritty dive bar.
"I... I just need to leave," I stutter, taking a quick step sideways so I am closer to the exit instead of the massive mahogany desk.
I purposely ignore the plastic bottle of water sitting on the polished wood because accepting a drink feels like accepting a debt, and I refuse to owe another man a single favor.
Mark spent the last three years keeping track of every dinner he bought and every gift he gave me so he could use them as leverage whenever I tried to express my own opinion.
I am not going to let a dangerous biker trap me in a secluded room by playing the role of a generous savior, so I wrap my fingers tighter around the edges of his jacket and prepare to run.
"You don't have to tell me your life story, but you shouldn't walk out into a storm when you can barely stand on your own two feet," Alessandro says, his tone remaining steady and calm even though I just brushed off his question.
"I am fine," I lie, even though my knees are trembling so much I have to lock them just to stay upright on the expensive rug. "I appreciate the jacket and I appreciate you stopping that guy from hurting me, but I am not staying here."
I brace myself for his anger or for him to step in front of the door to block my path, fully expecting him to demand my obedience or tell me I am being ungrateful.
Alessandro does not move a single muscle toward me, nor does he raise his voice to argue with my decision.
He simply crosses his massive, tattooed arms over his chest and gives me a slow, measured nod before gesturing toward the brass doorknob with his chin.
"The door is unlocked," he tells me, keeping his posture relaxed so I know he is not going to chase me down the hallway.
He is giving me the freedom to walk away without a fight, and the absolute lack of resistance actually confuses my panicked brain for a few seconds.
I turn my back to him and reach out to wrap my fingers around the cold brass knob, turning it slowly until the latch clicks open.
A sliver of noise from the hallway leaks into the quiet office as I pull the heavy wood open just a few inches.
I hear the distant sound of police radios crackling near the front entrance, mixed with the harsh, relentless pounding of the rain hitting the roof of the building.
A sharp shiver runs down my spine when the cold draft hits my bare legs, and the sudden burst of defiant adrenaline that carried me off the dance floor finally starts to fade.
I reach into my damp purse to grab my phone so I can order a taxi to wait for me out back, but my thumb hits the power button and the screen stays black.
The battery died while I was driving blindly down the highway earlier tonight, leaving me with no way to call a cab or check the local bus schedules.
I let out a frustrated breath and dig past my dead phone to pull out my small leather wallet, unzipping the main compartment to count the few crumpled bills I have left.
I stare at the twenty-dollar bill and the two singles sitting in the pocket, and the cold, harsh reality of my situation hits me so hard I actually sway on my feet.
A taxi back to the motel will cost me at least fifteen dollars, leaving me with exactly seven dollars to my name.
My joint savings account is gone because Mark restricted my digital access the second I walked out of the penthouse, and my credit cards are useless since they are all tied to his primary banking numbers.
I only paid for one night at that rundown Starlight Motel on the edge of the highway, which means I have to pack my duffel bag and check out by eleven o'clock tomorrow morning.
Once I hand that motel key back to the front desk, I will have no shelter, no food, and no money to buy a train ticket to get anywhere else.
I am fully destitute, stranded in a gritty industrial district in the middle of a freezing storm, and I have absolutely nobody to call for help because Owen was the only mutual friend I had in the city.
I stand frozen in the doorway while my chest tightens with a suffocating, heavy panic that makes it incredibly hard to draw a full breath into my lungs.
If I walk out of this bar right now to prove I am strong and independent, I will be sleeping on a wet concrete sidewalk by tomorrow afternoon.
I slowly push the heavy wooden door shut, listening to the latch click securely into the frame as I block out the noise of the police radios.
I rest my forehead against the cool wood for a moment, squeezing my eyes shut while hot tears of pure humiliation gather behind my lashes.
I have to swallow my pride and admit just how pathetic my life has become, and doing it in front of a powerful stranger feels like swallowing shattered glass.
I take a deep breath to steady my raw nerves, and then I turn around to face the center of the office again.
Alessandro is still leaning against the far wall in the exact same relaxed position, watching me with those observant amber eyes as I lean my back against the closed door.
He does not ask me why I shut the door or make a smug comment about me changing my mind.
"I can't go," I whisper, the words barely making it past the thick knot forming in my throat.
- Writer
