“He paid off the doctor to lie. Fifty grand. I have proof of payment.”
“Her agony stops now. She will never have to hurt again. Ever.” I’m going to save her, kill Kenneth, his father, and then I’m going after that doctor.
No one hurts my Cupcake.
Not without hearing my whistle.
I stare at the building in front of me and grip the steering wheel. My hands are sweating as the tinted windows shine against the sun. I can’t see inside. The bright gold letters above the door spells ‘Pawn Shop’ but the S isn’t glowing so it really just says ‘Pawn Hop.’
This is where people buy guns, right? I need a gun.
I slap down the visor and flip the cover of the mirror up to get a decent look at myself. I touch the red bruise around my neck. I can’t believe I forgot the scarf to hide the mark. I can’t lie about how I got this. It’s obvious. I can see where each finger gripped my neck. Maybe I can say it was because of a mugging?
Again.
But not anymore.
I’m done.
I put on my oversized sunglasses just in case someone notices me and run inside the shop. The bell rings as I open the door and the first thing I smell is cigarette smoke. The carpet is old, torn, and stained. The glass cases holding the jewelry are dirty with handprints and dust. There’s a man in the back of the room with a big belly and long hair that's thin on the top and thick on the sides. I can see the crown of his head.
His eyes flicker to me and I take off my sunglasses, setting them on top of my head. “You’re in the wrong place,” he grunts, flipping the page of the newspaper while flicking the ashes off his cigarette. He must sit there all the time because there are small burn spots in the carpet around him.
“No, I’m in the right place. I was hoping you could help me.” I swallow when I become nervous. My entire body flushes and my stomach turns with nausea. I’m not sure if I have the guts to do this, but it is a step in the right direction.
“Well? I don’t have all day,” he gripes.
I look around the empty shop and nod slowly. “You’re obviously a very busy man. I need a gun.” My voice croaks, and he has the audacity to laugh causing his beer gut to shake. “I need a gun,” I repeat, straightening my spine and putting more confidence into my words.
He sets his paper down on the counter and eyes me up and down. “Alright, sweetie—”
“—Don’t know call me that. I am not your sweetie,” I snap. No one better call me that damn pet name again.
He lifts his hands in the air and sucks his tongue over his teeth. “Yes ma’am. What kind of gun are you looking for?”
“Um—” shit. I don’t know. I didn’t think that far ahead. I just need one that shoots. “One that won’t be traced.” Oh, yeah. That’s good. “And quiet,” I add with a smile. I’d hate for anyone to hear the gunshot.
“Listen, swee—”
I cut him off with a glare.
He licks his lips and presses his elbows against the counter. “You realize all guns make noise unless you buy a silencer.”
“Okay. So I’ll get one of those too,” I say.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking about doing.” His eyes fall to my neck. “But I think you need something more compact and lightweight. It will be easier for you to protect yourself.” He walks around the counter, his fingers skimming across the top of the glass. “I just got this in the other day. Smith & Wesson 642 Airweight. It’s small. Perfect for your purse. I’ll give it to you for $800 and throw in a box of ammo.”
He hands it over to me, and I gasp when I feel it in my hand. I’ve never held a gun before. I quiver as I maneuver the handle into my right hand and aim the barrel toward the opposite wall. It does feel really good, solid, and lightweight like he said. I feel…powerful. I finally have something that is mine, something that I can protect myself with.
And from.
Kenneth is a dead man if he ever touches me again.
“I’ll take it.” I shove the gun in my purse along with the ammunition I need.
I slide the money across the glass, leaving a clean streak behind. The film on these cases is disgusting.
“Pleasure doing business with you.” He sits down on the stool and lights another cigarette.
I leave and my purse is almost the same weight as it was when I entered, but there is now a comforting weight in it. I let out a breath as I get into the truck and set my purse down in the passenger seat.
I can’t believe I did this. What am I going to do? Go home and pull the trigger and then cook dinner for myself?
Tears well and I’m not able to stop them from falling. It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to give in to my emotions. I’m so sick of holding them back. It’s okay for me to be exhausted and tired of fighting.
I press my forehead against the wheel and sob, shoulders shaking, chest aching, soul shredding kind of wails.
Is it possible for bones to be tired?
The leather of the steering wheel is hot against my cheek as I turn my head and stare at my purse.
It’s a loaded gun, literally.
“Okay, you’ve had your pity party. No more,” I say as I stare at myself in the rearview mirror. My mascara is running down my cheeks in black streaks. I reach over the middle seat and open the glove compartment. I always keep extra napkins in there.
“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” I clean off the mascara and wipe under my eyes where the black liquid is smudged the most. “Everything will be fine soon, Charlie. You’re going to do this.” I dab under my eyelash line and catch the lingering tears. “No more pain, no more hurt, no more hits, no more of anything.” I toss the black-spotted napkin on the floorboard and throw the truck into reverse.
My phone blasts and from the ringtone I can tell it’s Kenneth.
Fuck him.
The tires squeal as I take a right and head home. My nails dig into the leather of the steering wheel, and I chew on the flesh of my bottom lip until it bleeds. Anxiety pinches my stomach and not even the air conditioning is helping with the sweat gathering on my forehead.
I lean my elbow on the door and hold my chin with my palm. A traffic light comes into view and the green light quickly turns to yellow, then red, but I don’t care.
I run it.
A car blares its horn at me, but I ignore them, my vision becoming blurry as tears form again. I hate myself for being so emotional.
It’s hard not to be when I think back and remember my dreams as a little girl. I had a binder full of wedding ideas and dresses. I had the names of my kids picked out. I dreamed of a small wedding by a crystal-clear lake surrounded by mountains and desert. There is a place not too far away from here actually.
Instead, I got married at the courthouse. Kenneth said he would take care of everything, and I was a fool to let go of all my wants for him.
I wish I could turn back time.
Life isn’t a time machine. It’s impossible to go back.
But I can go forward.
I run another light, but this time there are no cars around to threaten an accident. I don’t even care. Hit me. Run me over. Smash into me.
Stop me from doing the unthinkable.
The song on the radio has changed five times before I find myself parking near the water by Lake Mead, the place I’d love to get married one day. Well, in my dreams I suppose.