Peppermints and Murder

“Whatcha doin’ tonight?” Bobby asks as we wipe down the counters for the night.

“Nothin’.  You?”

“About the same.”

I laugh, and we finish cleaning the diner before we head home for the night.  I hug him tightly outside before we part ways.  His hands find their way to my lower back, and I know he’s misread my intentions.  I pull away fast, and he shoves me.  I stumble back and run home, trying not to think about the awful look in his eyes. 

About two in the morning, I finally crawl into bed.  Sleep finds me soon, and I dream about my mom.  I scream as she’s repeatedly beat by my step-dad.  I wake from the dream and find myself sitting in a chair, hands duct taped behind my back.  I scream, hoping to wake myself from the nightmare I must be in, but I’m still here. I scream again and a door opens.  The light blinds me and all I see is the shadow of a man.  He walks closer to me, and I smell the distinct scent of peppermint.

“Bobby?”

He doesn’t speak but walks closer to me.  He runs a sharp knife across my cheek.  I scream as the knife slices my skin open.  Hot blood rolls down my cheek.

“Shh,” he whispers, “Don’t wanna wake the neighbors.”

“Why?”

“Shh,” he whispers again as he draws the knife across my other cheek.  I scream again, and he shoves a dirty rag that tastes like grease in my mouth.  I struggle against my restraints, but it’s to no avail.  I only succeed in rubbing my wrists raw.

“You know,” he begins, “This could’ve gone so much easier.  But no.  Look what you’ve brought me to.”

I don’t even try to speak.  There’s no point.  He grabs my face in his hands and squeezes my cheeks tight.  Tears fall.  His brown eyes are full of hatred.  This is a completely different man than the one I’ve known all along.  He pushes me backwards, and the chair topples to the cold cement floor.  My head bounces on the hardwood floor and the light shining in from the doorway begins to dim. 

I look around and see Bobby huddled in the corner rocking back and forth.  “I don’t wanna do this, Addie.”

I mumble through the rag, “You don’t have to,” but I doubt he understands.  I think he cries, but I’m too worried with trying to figure my way out of this to be certain.  I don’t have many options.  The duct tape is strong, and it burns my wrists as I try to wiggle them free.  Bobby rocks back and forth on his knees arguing with himself. 

My thoughts are foggy, and I can’t think properly.  I don’t know what to do.  It’s not the first time this has happened to me, and I never broke free from those restraints, but now, I’m a new person.  I’m not bound by my past.  I won’t die today, and I won’t die at the hands of a stranger. 

Bobby doesn’t pay attention to me.  He’s still arguing with himself.  I use my feet to scoot across the floor.  Being bound to a chair isn’t going to keep me from surviving.  If I can get to some kind of tool, I can hopefully cut my restraints free.   

I stop to see if Bobby has noticed me.  He’s still rocking.  I move some more, trying to be as quiet as possible.  I can’t see well, but something shines in the dim light.  I move faster, full of hope. 

There’s something about hope that sets you free.  You feel like you’re invincible; that you might be able to survive.  But there’s always that point when hope isn’t enough.  It’s the survival instinct that’ll keep you alive.  Lucky for me, the survival instinct is strong.  I have fought my entire life to survive.  I’m not going to give up now.

I’m near the object that might save my life when Bobby lunges at me.  He cuts my restraints and pins me to the floor, holding me down by the neck.  I kick and try to push him away from me as I gasp for air that isn’t coming.  He’s almost too strong, but I won’t give up.  I can’t. 

I pull the gag out of my mouth and try to scream.  He pushes down on my throat harder.  I try to speak his name, but it comes out mumbled. 

“I don’t want to do this.”  His tears roll down his cheeks and fall onto mine.  I reach out around me in search of something, anything to stop him.  My hands find something metallic and cold shaped like a cylinder.  I pick it up and hit him in the side of the head.  He eases his grip on my throat, and I fight back harder, feeling that hope surge within me again.  I hit him on the head again, and he falls back, screaming and crying.  I struggle to my feet fighting the wave of nausea and dizziness that threatens to overtake me. 

“Run, Addie.  Run before I hurt you again,” he whispers.

I’m confused, but I heed his warning.  I run.  I run like I ran the first time I was nearly murdered on the night my mom died at the hands of my step-dad.