Nine Hours

Chapter 2

"Sweetness, you need to wake up."

Several small bumps jostle me from an unexpectedly sound sleep, though not enough to pry open my heavy eyes. The dark drape of unconsciousness threatens to close in again, but before it takes over, I'm shaken ever so slightly. A firm hand gently squeezes my shoulder, the unfamiliar voice strong and deep, yet surprisingly tender.

I twist away from the disturbance, folding my body in on itself against the cold window. Even though it wasn't pleasant, I expect to return to my dream. One of many where Mario, my ex-boyfriend, taunts me mercilessly, as he had at the end of our five years as a couple. Then drinking, drugs, and a cast of shady friends became more important than our relationship or holding a steady job. Once he became tangled in those vices, Mario was unrecognizable from the driven, considerate person I'd known back home. If I were completely conscious, I'd once again marvel at how his abuse still has the power to torment me.

Two years after our break-up, the painful echo of his nasty words continues to haunt me—usually in my nightmares. "You're a cold bitch." "You're nothing but a lazy booze slinger for horny old men who're looking to hook up with someone who could be their daughter." "How many of those assholes have you sucked off in an alley, anyway? That's the only way you could be making this kind of dough handing out drinks." The words were capable of hurting more than any physical pain. A drunk Mario not only spat a litany of accusations and insults, but they were occasionally accompanied by angry pushes or shoves. More than once it ended with a few bruises, but nothing more serious. There'd be a small window of sober apologies before he hit the bottle again.

However, to this day, trusting a man enough for more than a single harmless date is difficult—and many have attempted to break through the wall I've built. Each time, flashes of that final day kill any interest I may have had, fear and wariness taking over. They may start out sweet and considerate, but once they're comfortable, once we're embedded in a relationship, things could turn ugly. No way was I putting myself in such a vulnerable position again. Better to be alone.

The memories of the day Mario threw me out of our dingy apartment are harsh and still have the power to make my heart pound in fear.

Exhausted from a ten-hour shift, I'd come home to find every article of my clothing flung across the small patch of weedy grass in front of our crappy ground level unit. The front door lock had been changed. Pounding on it got no results. Panic choked me and nausea rolled through my gut as I stumbled to the rear of the unit, hoping the sliding door was ajar. A little voice told me this was the end, but I never listened. For too long I'd hung on, hoping the old Mario would resurface. Now, it was clear I was only fooling—and hurting—myself. Perhaps I was the one waking up.

Not only was the sliding door open, but there were voices. Cautiously slipping inside, a gross mess greeted me. Unwashed dishes piled in the sink. The trash can overflowed and stank. Open whiskey bottles and what was likely the remnants of several lines of cocaine littered the counter while the strong, stale aroma of weed permeated the air. Anxiety tensed into a knot in my already sour stomach. This was worse than usual. What would I find next?

No one was in the kitchen or the living room of the small unit, but three distinct voices down the hall caught my attention. Two men and a woman. One was Mario. The other, his friend Vin, and...was that Regina? Vin's girlfriend? Where was everyone?

"Jesus, Mario. I'm so glad you got rid of that uptight bitch." Definitely Regina's husky voice. "Ooh, that's good." Regina made unintelligible sounds. Cold trepidation slithered through me, yet instinct propelled me forward as my gut begged me to ignore the order. I wish I'd listened to it.

Mario's voice was strangely tense. "Shhh, babe. Talking about Cassie's gonna made me go soft before I can...God Vin, keep doing that..."

The gagging sensation that hits me is brutal but even so, I creep to our bedroom, peering carefully around the corner. This could never be unseen. My heart pounds hard and fast as bile rises...