My Boss

Another Chance

As I pull blue jeans on, Luther watches. I'm alone with him in the bedroom. Goldman is in the bathroom. I can see Luther clenching his gun, pointing it directly at me. Shivering, I try to finish buckling my pants. My fingers, however, aren't steady enough.

"So you like to stab people, huh?" Luther challenges.

I don't look up, too afraid to do so. Instead, I continue working on my buckle.

"I asked you a question," he says, his baritone voice echoes through me.

"No," I answer, my fingers finally give up on the belt. I'm too terrified to continue.

I listen as Luther walks over to the bed. As he steps closer, my impulses urge to move away. But I fear openly rejecting Luther will just make him angrier. And I've seen him angry. When he's angry, he's not like Goldman. At least Goldman will stop. I think if Luther becomes upset, nothing I say or do will cease his attacks. The only person who can stop him isn't even in the room. The only choice I have is to do exactly as he says.

"Oh, but pretty boy, you must like stabbing people. You stabbed, Goldman."

With my head still down, I admit, "It was an accident."

"Really," he grunts, "you think that was some funny shit to say to me, huh? It was an accident!"

Fat fingers grab my chin, directing me to look up. Luther grits his teeth. The stench of his breath reminds me of an ashtray. His icy, blue eyes reveal unspeakable rage. I'll admit, I fear Goldman but Luther truly is the monster. I can only imagine this is the face his victims must have witnessed―a face of pure evil.

"Let me show you something," he grabs the knife Goldman gave to him. He lifts the blade so I can see it. "You see, to stab someone isn't easy, you little whore. It takes strength. It takes muscles and you don't have any of that. I do. See, you take the blade in your hand. Don't be a pussy about it now. Just hold the handle like I'm doing. You see it?"

He's holding my chin and cheeks so tight, I can't speak. I'm helpless. I'm like Goldman said: I can't do anything and I won't do anything. And I hate this feeling. I hate knowing they can do whatever they want to me and I can't protect myself.

"Now, here's the best part, little shorty. Once you're holding the blade tight, you gotta pick a nice, sweet spot to lay the groundwork. And once you found your spot, you just plow that mother fucker on through!"

Luther lifts the blade, raising it beyond his shoulder. He drives the knife toward me. I scream at the top of my lungs, fearful of the pain that's coming. I shut my eyes, unable to watch my own blood spew from my body. Luther plunges the knife where he sees fit. Seconds later, I hear laughter. Luther hit the mattress, precisely between my middle and index finger.

"Teaches you a lesson, you brat," he says coarsely, "I don't want anymore trouble out of you. Because if you keep making things hard, I won't hesitate to end you." Luther yanks the knife from out of the bed. "Well, that's after I pound your little ass for a bit."

The commotion causes Goldman to exit the bathroom. Once I spot him, I'm eager to be by his side. I crawl away from Luther, rushing on my hands and knees toward the headboard. Goldman smirks. I watch his green eyes sparkle with amusement.

"What did you do to him?"

"Nothing, Goldman. I was just teaching him a lesson about stabbing people."

"I swear I can't leave you alone with the merchandise." He turns to examine me. Goldman bends forward to my eye level. The relief I had moments ago disappears. In a way, I was pleased to see Goldman because it meant Luther would stop hurting me. But now I wonder if the abuse will only start back up again.