Cara
Itwist the bag of garbage in my hands and tie the flaps together to keep the contents inside. The last thing I want to do is spend an hour cleaning up garbage off the concrete in the dark or, worse, cleaning it up tomorrow after the raccoons have gotten to it. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought. They’re mighty adorable, but no way do I want to come within ten feet of one. Internally, I curse Leanna. How had she conned me into working her double today again?
Not that it took much convincing. I needed the money badly, plus I had nothing better to do. My choices were to go to school or work. Yes, I know my life is so exciting, but that’s what happens when you have to pay for your own schooling.
Neither the other waitress nor cook bats an eye at me as they walk by with their lips pressed into a firm line, letting me know conversation isn’t welcome.
“This is it. After you toss this garbage in the dumpster, you’re free to go to your tiny dorm room and do nothing…” I tell myself.
I bite back a laugh since I’m talking to myself and pick up the fifty-pound bag of garbage. My muscles protest, aching after carrying the heavy tray all day.
Using my shoulder, I push the heavy back door open, leaning all of my body weight into it while dragging the bag through. I have to use all of my strength to get the trash bag into the bin in one piece, but when I do, I feel accomplished.
Not much to be proud of, but oh well, it’s something.
I sigh and swipe my hands down the front of my apron. Now it’s time to get home, shower, head to bed, and do it all over again. Yay me! The air is cool tonight, and I shiver as a light breeze blows through my hair.
Turning on the heels of my shoes, I head toward my car, and each step echoes off the asphalt. The parking lot is blanketed in darkness, and I’m reminded of the ten times I’ve told my boss he needs to put some type of light back here.
“Damn you, Gregg,” I curse, walking the rest of the way to my car.
When I reach the door, a shiver ripples down my spine, and this strange awareness trickles into my gut. I shake away the feeling and reach into my purse to pull out my keys, something I should’ve already had in my hand.
Of course, luck isn’t on my side, and the keys slip out of my hand, landing on the asphalt at my feet. I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow down a scream of frustration.
Everything is okay. Tomorrow will be better, I tell myself. As I lean down to grab my keys, I hear two sets of footsteps behind me. My brows furrow with confusion because no one else should be out here. Before I can think about it any further, confusion bleeds into fear when a bag is placed over my head, and a set of arms wraps around me, pulling me back against a firm chest.
For half a second, my limbs are locked tight, and then like a rubber band snapping, I toss my head back and slam it into the nose of my assailant.
“Motherfucker!” the man curses, and his hold on me loosens. Like a cat placed in a tub of water, I flail my arms and race away from my attacker.
“Get her, John!” someone yells behind me.
My heartbeat echoes in my ears, and all I can think about is how if I don’t get away, I’ll die wearing this stinky apron, working at a diner. I know there is more to life than this.
With the bag still on my head and no light, it’s impossible to see where I’m going. The pounding of feet against the asphalt behind me spurs me forward, and a small sliver of hope blooms in my chest as my lungs expand and my muscles tighten.
I can do this. I can get away.
That thought evaporates into the dark night when a heavy body collides with mine, and we hit the hard, unforgiving ground.
“Dumb bitch,” a man grumbles in my ear, easily gathering my hands behind my back.
Fear courses through my veins, “Please let me go…” I whimper.
“Shut the fuck up.” The man holding me growls and presses his elbow into my back.
I hear the rustling of fabric and think the worst. They’re going to rape me, rape and kill me. Tears start to fall from my eyes.
I’m mentally preparing myself for the moment when they start to take turns using me, but it never comes. Instead, my wrists are tied behind my back with what feels like a plastic zip tie.
The heavy bag over my head makes it hard for me to breathe, and I pant into the fabric. Who are these men, and what do they want from me?
Hauled off the ground by my arm, I balance precariously on my heels for a moment, trying to get my bearings.
Someone shoves me, and thankfully, from my days in dance, I manage to balance myself.
“Let’s go. Boss isn’t going to be happy that we wasted his time.”