Only the "Strong" Survive | Paul Lahote |

*chapter thirty-three*

"Orders up!" The cook yelled from the kitchen shaking me from my thoughts.

I grabbed the plates and brought them over to the table, giving the table a smile before turning around and feeling it leave my face completely. Today was one of those days where you just pretend to be happy, you smile at everyone and be polite, but you don't feel it inside. I hadn't talked to Paul in three days, not for lack of him trying, he had called and texted and even came by the house once. I wouldn't give him the time of day, I was being petty and mean and I knew it. But I didn't want to deal with him after the other night.

"Don't know why I thought you'd make me feel better." He had said, those words still ringing in my head.

It was meant to hurt, to piss me off, he knew what he was doing and my silence was simply the consequences of his actions. Could I have been more caring? Yeah, I definitely could've. Should I have put my emotions aside and helped him with his first? Yeah, I probably should've. But it didn't need to lead to a fight.

I went through the motions the rest of the day. Take an order, put it in, wait for it to be ready, serve with a smile - over and over again. The only thing on my mind was Paul, and I realized that I physically couldn't handle ignoring him anymore. I just wanted him to hold me, so I made the decision to head straight to his place after work and just hash this all out.

But life has other plans.

I had parked on the side of the building where I always had, and immediately noticed the left side of my car leaning. Growling in frustration I kneeled down to look at the front tire, notice a gash in it, on the inside under the wheel well. The back wheel was the same, like it had been done intentionally. Walking around the car I was pissed, I wanted to check the other two tires to make sure they were fine and not just waiting for the air to leave them too. Bending down I used my hand to touch the inside checking for a puncture and that's when I felt the foot against my back. My head hitting the edge of my car, I felt the skin rip and was trying to be hopeful that I wasn't bleeding.

"Guess who?" He said as he grabbed my hair kneeling next to me.

My eyes locked with his, and I took a deep breath. It had crossed my mind when I saw the tires that it was Ryan, but I had hoped it wasn't. Sadly, his eyes were all too familiar and his hands just as rough as ever. He had me sitting down pressed against the car, my hair tight on his hand, and his knee on the fingers of my left hand.

"Why are you doing this?" I spoke, barely above a whisper because the second I began to speak he pulled my hair hard.

Ryan let out a laugh, "You didn't think I'd leave you alone so easy, did you? Those reservation boys aren't around, you're mine now."

"Please, just let me go. I didn't tell the police, you're not in any trouble."

A swift motion he slammed my head against the car again, this time it really hurt. Another man came walking around, looking down at us and I recognized him from the first time Ryan had been in the diner. He was the one touching my leg and asking for my number. He knelt down with us, placing his hand on my knee and moving it up on my thigh. I squeezed my legs tightly together, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. I heard tires behind me and the sound of voices, but as I opened my mouth to scream his friend covered my mouth with his hand, pushing down as hard as he could.

"Shut the fuck up, or I kill you right here." He whispered into my ear, the sharp end of a knife now pointing directly at my side.

It was now or never and I didn't care if I died in the process. I grabbed Ryan's arm pinching it as hard I could while biting down on the hand over my mouth. His friend helped and Ryan's grip loosened just enough for me to push myself up.