Curt was behind the front desk with an envelope in his hand, and I knew that paper before I knew anything else.
White, with a red stamp in the corner. Redgate. And it was already open.
He held it up like something he scraped off his shoe.
Curt: Look what came for you, sweetheart. Look what the little mail lady brought.
One of the truckers laughed into his cup, just like he did the night Curt took my tips.
Curt: You been writing to a prison, Romy? You got a man in there I don't know about?
Curt: Companion program. That's a fancy word for whore, isn't it?
Kiki stepped up beside me with her chin out, and her hand was shaking where only I could see it.
Kiki: That's her mail. You're not allowed to open her mail.
Curt: Shut your mouth or I'll put you out on the road with the rest of the trash.
He read it out loud in a slow, stupid voice, like we were little kids at story time.
Curt: You have been accepted. A bed and a payday behind the fence.
Curt: Six months. When were you gonna tell me, huh?
I reached for the letter and he caught my wrist right over the bruise, where his fingers fit, and squeezed until the bone felt ready to pop.
Curt: Don't. Touch. My mail.
A noise came out of me, high and thin, like something small getting stepped on.
Then he slapped me with the back of his hand. Not even hard. Just easy, like he had all day.
My ear rang, and I tasted blood on the inside of my cheek, that rusty taste.
Kiki: Get your fucking hands off her!
He shoved me and I hit the wall and my shoulder went numb all the way to the elbow.
Curt: You want the next one, you little bitch? Keep talking.
Curt: Here's how it's gonna go. You stay here and work off what you owe me.
Curt: You run to that prison, I call them up and tell them what you are.
Curt: Or I break your fucking legs and save them the bus fare.
I believed him. That was the worst part, I believed every single word.
He dragged me down the hall and I tripped and hit the carpet on my knee and he didn't slow down once.
Romy: Curt, please. The bus leaves at six.
Curt: Then you better learn to fly, sweetheart.
The door slammed and the deadbolt went across the outside of it.
I got up and rattled the handle and screamed until my throat felt torn, and nobody came.
The window in the door is too high and too small, and I watched his shadow slide past it and then there was nothing.
Kiki: Romy! Romy, you in there?!
Romy: Kiki! He knows! He's gonna call them and get us thrown out!
Kiki: He's out back with a bottle. He ain't calling anybody. I got five minutes.
Romy: Go. Get on the bus without me. One of us should get out.
Kiki: Are you fucking stupid? I didn't sell my mom's watch so I could leave you with that bastard.
Kiki: Step back.
Then she was back at the window with the tire iron from the truck, the long heavy one nobody here ever uses.
Kiki: Cover your face!
The first hit cracked like a plate breaking and did nothing at all.
The second one put a crack across the glass. The third one knocked the bottom corner clean out.
Kiki reached through the hole and got the deadbolt and her arm came back with a red line on it.
Kiki: Come on! Come on, come on!
I climbed out through the window and glass bit my palm and I didn't even feel it yet.
I hit the asphalt on my hands and knees and she already had me by the arm.
Romy: The bags. Where are the bags?
Kiki: By the desk. I got them. Tickets?
Romy: My pocket. Go, go!
The sun was coming up pink over the county road and the bus was already running at the depot with the door open.
The driver looked at my hand, then at his watch, and he took the tickets.
I fell into a seat and laughed, and it came out more like a sob, and Kiki dropped her head on my shoulder.
Kiki: Six months, roomie. And a bed with a real door on it.
Somewhere up that road was a fence and a bunch of men I'd never met. I hoped, God, I hoped.