The Knight in Leather Armor

ch. 5 Last Knight

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

My alarm sounded and I nearly had a heart attack.

I sat up in my bed, completely shocked and embarrassed and disgusted by my dream. I wanted to call it a nightmare, but part of me-part of me slightly enjoyed it. And that sickened me the most. 

Someone knocked on my window. I looked out and saw Becky. Ugh. Perfect.

Becky normally came to my house for breakfast, and lunch, and dinner; her mother was out most nights. You can call what she does working, since she gets paid. She doesn’t come home most nights, but, if she does, she has a terrible hangover and Becky can’t stand it when she yells at her.

I told her about last night and the dream. She grinned at me slyly as I had tried to explain the dream without cringing- or blushing.

“You had a wet dream about Harry?” She asked me with a sly grin. She lay on the other end of my bed, tugging at her red bra strap, which stuck out from under her white tank top.

“What?” I asked with wide eyes.

“You had a-” she started to repeat, misunderstanding the reason I had said “what.”

“I heard what you said. And no, no, I didn’t have a-a”

“Wet dream” she finished with a bat of her dark lashes, thick full of mascara.

“I mean thinking about what almost happened to me last night, it sort of makes sense why I was back on that street and in my same dress, in my dream” I tried to make sense of things.

Becky crossed her legs and I saw a tear in her black fishnets.

“The part I really don’t understand is why I didn’t even struggle against him. Why I didn’t fight” I murmured. I looked at Becky in confusion as if she could really answer me.

“Maybe because you want him to f**k you” she answered bluntly. I rarely used that kind of language and even though I’ve heard Becky and many other kids- especially in my neighborhood- use it loads of times, it still didn’t take away my discomfort.

“What? I do not. You know very well that I’m a virgin” I replied tersely, crossing my arms over my chest.

Innocence of the body is different from innocence of the mind; I know things I wish I never had to know or almost experience- especially living here being Westwood- but that doesn’t mean I do them or condone them.

“Yes, and it’s a shame. I know lots of boys who would love to give you more pleasure than you could dream of” she winked, emphasizing the word “dream.”

I threw my pillow at her.

I wrapped my arms around my legs and tucked them against my chest. Sometimes, I wish Becky could use the filter in her head that tells her when to shut up.

“It’s not funny. What if Harry hadn’t been there last night? I might even be talking to you right now” I stated coldly. It was true. What if Harry hadn’t been there to save me?

“I know, I’m sorry Ang” she apologized. “I never meant for you to get hurt at that party” she said softly. “But, you did look so sexy in that dress, no wonder those boys couldn’t help themselves” she winked. I threw another pillow at her.

“I’m never shopping with you again” I shook my head.

“Oh come one, relax” she patted my knee. “And it’s not your fault you had that dream about Harry. I bet the things that man can do with that slick tongue of his run a mile longer than his dark track record” she fanned herself with her hand. “And his hands. Have you seen how big his hands are?” she winked suggestively. 

I thought back to when Harry had punched those guys square in the face. He had left marks the size of two baseballs. I shuddered. In fear.

I shook my head to erase the unsettling images of Harry on top of me, convincing myself that the dream had a mix of a traumatic event and the whirr of alcohol and smoke fumes. 

“Well, I’ve gotta run. Kendra gets angry when I’m not home by noon” Becky said, referring to her mother. She slipped out the window the same way she had come in.

Did she say noon?

I looked over at my clock: 11:46. I jumped up and out of bed. I had to go to work at the restaurant down by the pier.

***

I tied my hair in a bun and threw on my white button-down blouse and black pants, my work attire. I walked down to the pier to Lorenzo’s Italian restaurant. My uncle owned the place so I’ve been working there for years. He made me work even harder and longer than everyone else, probably to prove that he didn’t give me any favored treatment because he was my uncle.

He gave me a brief disappointed look when I clocked in at 12:07.

I served countless tables and said the day’s special: creamy alfredo pasta, about 200 times.

I looked at the clock: it was 5:12. My shift ends at 8. Wiping the accumulating sweat off my forehead, I continued to work. I’m saving up for a car, a real nice car, I kept repeating in my head. 

A crowd formed at the front of the restaurant entrance and my heart stopped. There were 2, 3, 4 men, pushing and shoving and laughing. They were the same guys from last night.

I ran to the bathroom and nearly knocked Rachel, one of my co-workers, down as she held three plates of pasta and breadsticks. My chest heaved up and down. I splashed water in my face, hoping it would calm me down. Rachel- who had given her table their orders- came to the bathroom and saw me in my anxious state.

“Are you ok, Angie?” she asked worriedly.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine” I brushed off. She didn’t believe me.

She patted my back as I tried to calm my breathing.

“I’ll take your shift. You just go home and relax” she offered.

“No. You can’t do that. I know you’ve got that English final tomorrow. You can’t work any later than you have to” I shook my head.

 “It’s alright. I know I’ll pass.”

The bathroom door slammed open.

“We have new customers. Many, many, new customers!” my uncle clapped.

Rachel and I exchanged glances.

I’m OK, I mouthed.

She nodded.

I went back out to the front. Grasping the menus against my chest, I walked toward one of the new families that had just come in, but my uncle shoved me toward the boys’ table.