It had been a gunshot.
11
STARBUCKS
Brick. I never noticed before just how much the old building hid sound until a muffled crash came from the backroom. I was taking inventory as Calliope had asked of me. I was so fucking proud of my girl. She’d been awesome all night, entirely in her element. She thought she was awkward with people, but tonight I saw her true self shine through once more.
It reminded me of seeing her happy dance on Monday. How authentic and passionate she’d been before she noticed me watching and then started to close herself down. Slowly over this week, I got to see that woman shine through again. Got to watch as she broke through her shell more and more. And now, she was showing who she truly was to not only me and her family, but to the town and the people she loved. It was awe-inspiring.
Calliope had been thetruestar tonight, and I was entirely under her spell.
I wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, as they say. I wasaware I was more brawn than brains. Counting was a tedious task, and I got distracted reading the different labels. I had no fucking clue until the other night that there were so many different types of honey. Calliope had explained to me about how it depended on what the bees pollinated, but I was a more visual kind of guy. I had a feeling I was going to get a lot of hands-on experience with Calliope, though—and fuck yeah, I meant that in a dirty way too.
When I noticed she hadn’t come back out front right away after taking the trash to the door, I listened for her. But heard nothing. The backdoor was heavy, and I knew from working in the shop with her all week that I would hear that one open and close, so I knew she hadn’t ignored me and taken the trash out to the dumpster. I think I figured she was collecting the things she knew she needed to restock without having to count.
The moment I heard that crash, though, I hopped off the step stool and ran to the storage room. I’d asked her earlier in the week why she wanted a door blocking the room. Wouldn’t a curtain or some of those decorative beads work just as well? Rather than answer me, though, she’d dropped to her knees to demonstrate why she wanted to keep a physical door between the main shop area and the back storage room.
I was all in agreement, and commended her smarts as I guided my cock into her mouth.
The storage area was messy, but well lit. Organizing back here hadn’t been a priority for Calliope. Especially when she’d been working on building this store alone. She wasn’t alone now. She’d never be alone again.
My training took over before my eyes and brain had registered what it was I was seeing. I’d expected to see Calliope standing amongst the boxes. Maybe a box had tipped over, breaking its glass contents, or maybe a box’s bottom had given out, dropping all its products onto the floor at her feet. I expected to see her giving me anoopsiesmile and trying to laugh off the accident. She was exhausted, and I really should have insisted she get home to rest rather than clean up more than I had. But she’d given me those Bambi eyes that would no doubt be my undoing for the rest of my life.
I’d tackled the man on top of her before I even realized there was a man. After years of endurance and training, my body, my muscles, moved on their own. Rage fueled my fists like gasoline. I had no idea what the man was doing in Calliope’s shop. All I knew was that he’d been on top of her.
Now I was on top of him, his face my punching bag.
I saw him clamoring for something on the floor. A blast went off. I felt something akin to a bee sting on my bicep and registered the presence of a weapon. I’d never been so out of control. Blood splattered, bones broke, and still I kept hitting. Over and over again. The gun in the man’s hand was nothing more than a nuisance. The next time he went to lift it, my left hand shot out, grabbed his wrist and broke it with a single twist. The gun clattered back down to the ground.
It took me several precious moments to realize he wasn’t moving anymore. I hadn’t incapacitated him in some quick, fancy moves worthy of Bruce Lee or Jackie Chen. Instead, I’d pummeled the man in a fit of rampant fury like a hurricane of vengeance.
Sitting back, I caught my breath. I was straddling the stranger, his body motionless between my thighs. Blood waseverywhere, and not all of it his. I couldn’t even take a moment to look to see if I recognized him because his face was too disfigured. His fractured teeth had torn through my knuckles like mini daggers.
“Calliope, did you call 911?”
Nothing. She didn’t answer. I thought at first that she might be outside in the main area. Spinning on the man, I made to call out louder to her—only to freeze.
Calliope still lay on the floor. Unmoving. Her eyes… She was staring up at the ceiling, her mouth hanging open at a slightly odd angle, and her chest was eerily still.
Fear seized me. I scrambled off the man I may or may not have just beaten to death. The concrete floor was slippery, and my foot hit the gun. It slid across towards the backdoor. For some ridiculous reason, I noticed the large trash bag Calliope had dragged back here was also by the door.
“Calliope!”
I’d been in battle many times. I’d lost men I’d called brothers, men who were honorable and good, men who hadn’t deserved to die alone in a desert. I’d been shot, stabbed, blown up, and nearly struck by lightning once. But I’d never known fear like I did now in this moment.
The woman I loved lay immobile on the concrete floor feet away from me, and I hadn’t helped her. I hadn’t even checked on her. I’d gone into a fit of rage, attacking her attacker, and I never even stopped to make sure she was okay.
I saw immediately what the issue was. Her throat was an angry red. It took a lot to strangle someone, more pressure than many thought was required thanks to Hollywood. But Calliope was small, barely a hundred and ten pounds soakingwet. It wouldn’t take much, especially for a man twice her size.
She must have tried calling out for me. Maybe the man was a robber and she’d stumbled upon him in the backroom. She must have tried to call out, and he’d rushed to silence her. Taken her to the ground and started to choke her.
These thoughts flew through my head in a single second. The moment I noticed she wasn’t moving and scrambled my way to her, I checked for a pulse, for breath. I found neither. I’d failed to protect her, failed to realize that something was wrong with her and wasted precious time beating the man who’d attacked her instead of helping her. A sick, twisted feeling pooled in my gut.
My brain fought to find reason in my actions, an excuse. But there was none. Nothing I said or did from this moment on would make up for my colossal failure.
But I had to try.
Ripping my phone from my back pocket, I called 911 and started chest compressions. Things were moving too fast and too slow. Less than ten seconds had passed since I noticed she wasn’t moving, and yet it felt like a lifetime. How many pieces had my heart shattered into?
