“Dude, you can pay me by telling me the story behind that specific tattoo someday.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously, Red,” I pulled away, “there’s no story. Promise.” After giving her a peck on the cheek, I opened the door. “Love you, psycho.”
“Love you, bitch.”
The couple looked at us, and I smiled when I walked out the door. The friendship Red and I shared was unique, special. We were exact opposites. Ying and Yang. Always had been. Yet I wouldn’t trade her for anything or anyone in the world. Her free spirit was the only thing that kept me grounded, kept me sane when everyone else around me drove me crazy. One could have said I lived the free life I yearned for through my best friend. Besides her constant need to feed me carbs and sugar, Red understood me. Never judged me. Even knowing the kind of relationship I had with my mother, she never criticized my choices or questioned the decisions I made when it was based on what my mother wanted, and not what I wanted.
On my way to my car, I spotted the familiar SUV parked farther down the road. Maybe Red was right. Maybe my father had something to do with Terence and the way it all played out. Even after countless fights, my father still had private bodyguards follow me wherever I went, keeping tabs on me and those I interacted with. But I’d long made peace with it. I had an overprotective dad, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon. A part of me could understand why. He was the police commissioner and knew what kind of world we lived in. But I also wished he would give me the space I needed to just…be me.
I reached my car, about to disable the alarm, when I felt it. Someone was watching me, and it wasn’t my father’s bodyguards. I could feel it in the chill running through my bones. The sense of being watched tingled at the back of my neck, my every instinct on high alert.
I was about to turn around when my phone started ringing, and I hastily got into the car before answering.
“Hello?”
“Alyxandria, where are you?”
I rolled my eyes when I heard my mom’s voice. “I’m on my way home now.”
“It’s past eleven. Honestly, Alyxandria, what respectable woman is still out on the streets at this ungodly hour?”
I pushed the key into the ignition. “As I’m sure you already know, I was visiting Red. I’m on my way home now, so relax.”
“Have you eaten anything?”
“No, Mom, I haven’t. Are you happy?”
“Do not take that tone with me, young lady. I’ll leave a handful of almonds on the kitchen table. Eat it when you get home. Nothing else.”
I let my head fall back against my seat. “Really, Mother?”
“Need I remind you that you can’t afford to pick up any weight? Not now.”
“I hear you, Mother. Loud and clear.” I wiped my forehead with my fingers, the sound of my mom’s nagging aggravating my lingering migraine. Every word coming out of her mouth made my heart beat faster and faster. Anger simmered beneath the surface of my tongue, urging me to scream at her. Swear at her. I wanted to tell her all the things I never had the courage to. But I couldn’t. Apparently, I suffered from what Red called “approval addiction.” Disappointing my parents seemed far worse than purging myself from the anger and resentment they so expertly evoked.
“I’ll be home in twenty. If you need assurance, ask the men you and dad have following me.” I hung up, tossing my phone to the passenger seat.
Frustration caused me to grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. This had been my life, living with a mother who constantly fretted about what I ate and how much I weighed. Ever since the day I turned eight, my mom weighed me every goddamn morning, and whenever I picked up an amount that wasn’t in accordance to my growth, she’d have me on a diet faster than I could say “Twinkie.”
“God.” I slammed my hand against the wheel. Red warned me this would happen one day, that I would wake up and suddenly find myself hating my life. Her warning came after my mom and I had a huge fight and I decided to go rogue by stuffing every bar of chocolate I could get my hands on into my mouth—only to vomit it all out two hours later because my body wasn’t used to a sugar overload. And that wasn’t the first time I vomited because of my mother’s obsession with my weight.
With a sigh, I took the keys between my fingers, about to turn the ignition. A loud cracking sound came from my window, and glass exploded everywhere. My first instinct was to cover my face as glass pieces shattered around me. It happened so fast, within a split second my ears were ringing and my mind hazy. I didn’t know what the hell was going on until I was pulled through the broken window.
Glass sliced my palms as I tried to grab hold of the window frame, but it was no use. I was yanked out of the car within seconds, my ass slamming against the pavement while hands came out of nowhere, grabbing me everywhere while I thrashed and fought to get free.
I was sure I screamed, but there was no sound. Everything was on mute besides the loud ringing in my ears. Too much was happening at once, my mind unable to make sense of it. Hands grabbed my ankles, and there was pressure around my throat. When I reached up, gasping for air, there was an arm around my neck, choking me. Desperate to take a breath, I scratched and tried to pull at it while my legs thrashed violently. My entire body was jerking and squirming, but I had no control. Every muscle, every movement was automatic. Instinct. Somehow, while trying to free myself, I managed to glance down the road, trying to see if my dad’s men were on their way to help me. But the SUV was gone. There wasn’t a single car parked down the road. My next thought was Red. But with the heavy metal music and constant buzz of the tattoo machine, Red wouldn’t hear me scream. God, I couldn’t hear myself scream. I was alone. Terrified.
Manically, I started to thrash. “What the hell are you doing? Who are you?”
No one answered. Even if they did, I doubted I’d be able to hear. All I could hear was the rapid beating of my heart, a terrifying thump that knocked against my chest.
I tried to look at them. I tried to focus. But it seemed like a hundred masks blurred together, and I couldn’t figure out how many of them there were. Two. Three. Five. Ten. I didn’t know.
“Who the hell are you?” I screamed, and pain erupted on my cheek, burning my skin. The fist came out of nowhere, leaving me with the taste of my own blood on my tongue. Hands violently tugged at my hair, pulling the strands from their roots with excruciating pain. I didn’t know where to grab, how to fight back. All I knew was I needed to get away.
The grip one of them had around my arm was so tight, it ached all the way to the bone. But I didn’t care if he broke my fucking arm; all I cared about was surviving.
“Please stop! Don’t do this. Stop!”