She had to be smart about her approach. Getting her to eat or drink something was going to be a challenge. She would have to build trust and that might take time that she didn’t have. Shayla stood outside the apartment building brainstorming ways to greet her, but it was hard to think with the noises coming from the apartment interrupting her thoughts. It sounded like someone was shouting in the unit right next to her, but it wasn’t an argument because there was only one voice. Shayla painted a picture of the scene in her head. An angry father at a child perhaps. There was the distinct sound of shattering glass and a thud. Then the sound of a door slamming.

Shayla watched a man storm out of the front door of the building. He was burly and unshaven. His hair was unkempt, and his face was bright puce. She could feel his rage radiating from his body. It reminded me of her dad, and she felt like a child again. She felt herself shrink.

“What are you looking at, whore?” he said.

Her eyes fell to the sidewalk, “Nothing.”

“That’s right,” he walked past her, “Women. Fuck.”

Shayla waited until he was a safe distance away before moving again. She tried the door to the apartment building. Locked. There was a panel of buttons and numbers on the wall. She pressed the one that matched the number on the vial. A shaky voice came through the speaker.

“I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to have people over while my boyfriend is gone.”

“Oh,” Shayla swore under her breath, “I just moved in and locked my key inside. Think you could let me in?”

There was a long pause.

“O… okay,” she said, “I think that would be okay.”

Shayla watched the stairs through the window. After a few moments, a shell of a woman shuffled down them. She was drowning in fabric from clothes that were much too large for her. She kept her head down even as she opened the door.

“Thank you so much!” Shayla said, “You’re a lifesaver.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“No problem,” she said.

“My name is Shae,” she put out her hand.

The woman flinched, but recovered and put out her hand, “Jackie.”

“Well, Jackie,” Shayla shook her hand, “I definitely owe you. How about coffee, on me?”

“I’m supposed to stay here until my boyfriend gets back,” she said.

“Oh, that’s fine,” she waved her arm, “I’ll bring it to you.”

She hugged herself and rubbed her arm with her hand, “I don’t know.”

“Please,” she said, “It’s the least I can do.”

“Okay,” she said, “Just hurry before he gets back.”

“Awesome! What do you want?”

“Just a drip coffee with three creams and one sugar,” she said, “Please.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Shayla left the apartment and began walking. There was a coffee shop on the corner. She ordered the coffee, added the cream, sugar, and vial; and returned to the apartment building. Jackie was standing outside the door looking up and down the road with wide eyes. Shayla handed her the coffee.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

Jackie nodded, “Yeah. Thanks for the coffee, but you gotta go before he gets back.”

“What? Why?”

She looked up at her and that’s when Shayla saw that Jackie had a big, black eye. She then noticed that Jackie was wearing clothing that covered most of her body, but the skin that was revealed was bruised.

“Jackie,” Shayla said, “Are you okay?”

She began to cry and shook her head, “I can’t get him to stop. No matter how hard I try to do what he says, he always finds a reason to hit me. I don’t know what to do.”

She looked at the beaten woman before her. Jackie couldn’t have been older than 25. Shayla tried to imagine what her life was like. Walking on eggshells. Afraid to breathe. It was like her life in Idaho. But it wasn’t too late. She could save her. She could take the cup away, take her hand, and run away with her. But in a way, she could save her by going through with it too. Then they could both get what they wanted: freedom.

“Just drink your coffee,” Shayla said, “I promise it’ll get better.”

Jackie sniffled, then took her final sip.