Just as I’m contemplating my next move—run, scream, beg—he stumbles backwards and bumps into the opposite wall.
He slides to a seat, legs akimbo in front of him.
And the first trickle of blood drips down past his ear.
More comes soon. The trickle becomes a torrent. Blood, hot and sticky, marring his face like warpaint.
He looks at me in shock and fury. Still not quite processing what happened, where all his pain is coming from.
I rush to Sara, who wraps her arms around me. She’s shaking violently. Her body feels small and vulnerable against the swell of my belly.
I glance towards Eagle Tattoo, whose eyes are glazed over in shock, awareness fading in and out as he tries to cling to consciousness.
His eyes are trained on me, not Sara. It sends a chill straight through my spin. Then he loses the fight to stay awake, and his head lolls forward. Behind him on the bare concrete wall is a smear of blood.
“Oh, my God,” Sara gasps over and over again. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God…”
I steer her further down the corridor, towards the door that leads to the back alley of the restaurant.
As we stumble out into the cool night air, I feel my lungs expand to take in as much oxygen as I can. But it still doesn’t relieve me.
“I… Is he… dead?” Sara asks.
“Fuck,” I say. I’m still in disbelief at everything that just happened. “Fuck… what have I done?”
“You saved me,” Sara says, looking at me with gratitude. “You could have been seriously hurt, Em… I mean, Esme.”
I look down at my hands, expecting to see blood. But there’s none. I’m untainted by the assault. So is Sara. Physically, at least.
Of course, emotionally and mentally, we will carry the scars of this night for years to come.
I try to shake off my panic. “Are you okay?”
She looks down at her body as though she expects to see her evidence of her fear and trauma. “I… I don’t know… he… touched me…”
Her resolve breaks. She sobs, her words dissolving into something strangled and inarticulate.
I move forward and grab both her hands in mine. “It’s okay,” I reassure her. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“That’s never happened to me before… I feel so—”
“Violated? Stripped bare? Emotionally raw?” I offer.
She meets my gaze as tears pool in her too-blue eyes.
Fuck, her eyes are so much like his.
“Yes,” she says emphatically. “That’s exactly how I feel.”
“I know how that is,” I tell her. “It’s happened to me. A long time ago, but I still remember.”
I can feel the trauma of that night at The Siren float to the surface, but I tamp it back down. If I give in to the emotion now, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to remove myself from its clutches.
I need to keep a clear mind. Especially now. I can break down later. When I am safe.
If I’m ever safe again.
“I have to go,” I say.