Ugly(81)

I walk out.

Down the steps.

And I start toward…I don’t know what. But it’s got to be better than this.

I hear Trent scream, “Lily!”

I’m not anyone’s punching bag anymore.





I walk into the store with nothing but the clothes on my back, and the sandals on my feet. And most important, my freedom.

Shivering, I head toward the back where I know Dale will be. I try my code to open the door, but it’s not working. I head to the front and find Vivian, the shift supervisor. “Vivian, is Dale here?” I ask as her eyes land on me and take in my appearance.

“Oh my God, Lily, are you okay?” she asks.

I can feel my teeth chattering from the freezing cold. “I’m cold,” I answer, as I try and wrap my arms around my body. It’s about thirteen degrees outside and all I’m wearing is jeans, sandals, and a light sweater. “Is Dale here?”

“Here you go.” Vivian grabs her jacket from behind the counter, and slings it over my shoulders. “I’ll call Dale down.” She picks up the phone, and turns her back to me talking quietly into it. A few seconds pass, and she turns to me and says, “He’s coming down.”

“Thank y-you,” I stutter from the cold. Now I’ve stopped walking, the cold has hit me, and hit me hard.

“Lily,” Dale says from behind me. “Jesus. Come upstairs.” He waits for me to go first, and he follows. When we get to the door, he puts his code in, and I go up the stairs to his office. He comes in, closes the door and grabs his coat from the coat stand, and throws it over Vivian’s jacket. He then goes back to the coat stand to get his scarf, wrapping it around my neck. “What the hell is going on?” he finally asks when he sits at his desk. “Sit,” he offers, as he gestures toward a chair.

I take my diary out from my waist band, and place it on his desk as I sit. I breathe in deeply and try to regulate my body to get warm. “S-sorry. I’m r-really cold.”

“I’ll make you a hot cup of coffee. Just wait.” Suddenly he leaps up, and runs toward the staff room. He’s so fast I don’t even have time to tell him I don’t like coffee. But if it’s hot, and it’ll warm me up, then I’m going to accept it.

A few minutes pass, and he brings in two coffees. “Thank you,” I say, as he places one in front of me. I wrap both my hands around the coffee, and the cup is so warm, it stings against my frozen digits. But my hands warm quickly, and I no longer find it uncomfortable. “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” I say, once I’ve sipped some of the coffee.

Dale’s eyes have stayed on me. He’s regarding me closely and evaluating my appearance. “What’s been happening with you, Lily? I have to say, when Trent called me and told me someone broke into your apartment and you’d been hurt, I was shocked. But the biggest shock was when he said you’ve been stealing money from here. I terminated you and thought you’d never show your face around here again.”

I half smile, more at the irony than the actual act. Trent wanted me isolated from everyone, and he was successful at convincing a man I’ve worked alongside for years I was a thief. “I’ve never stolen anything, from anyone,” I begin to say.

“I don’t understand. The Lily I know would never do those things he said you’d done, but he was very convincing. I couldn’t risk having you here and impacting the store any further. Not you, per se, but more what trouble Trent could stir up. I’m still conflicted and trying to gather my thoughts on what’s going on. But I’m willing to hear you out, and your story about what exactly has gone on.” He takes a sip of his coffee. The one thing about Dale, he’s always been fair in the way he conducts himself.

Dale is an older gentleman, maybe in his late fifties, but incredibly patient and the fairest person I know. His hair is thinning and he’s quite round and cuddly. He always speaks so highly about his wife and two older daughters. And everyone, including myself, has a lot of respect for him.

“Did Trent tell you I was in the hospital?”

Dale’s eyes widen and he presses his lips together. “No, he didn’t. Why were you in the hospital?” he asks.

“I was beaten,” I say in the smallest of voices. I don’t say it with conviction or anger. I simply say it with no feeling. Because the only feeling I can show, and I’m trying to hold onto it, is embarrassment.

“What?” he says in a whisper. “Beaten? What happened?” He’s trying to remain impassive, but the way his jaw has tightened and his eyes have darkened, I can tell he must be thinking I deserved it.