I stood there through this exchange, but I didn't say anything. I slipped out of my heels, knowing there was nothing Dick could say that would make me go out there. I pulled a pair of black sweatpants from my bag and pulled them up and over my shorts. Next, I grabbed a t-shirt donned it over my head and then under my shirt I slipped off the flashy top and pulled it out of a sleeve. He could bitch all he wanted, but I was done for the night. The headache in the back of my skull began thumping. I don't even think Dick noticed I was getting dressed until I flung my bag over my shoulder.

“I’m going home,” I stated.

Dick’s eyes hardened on me. “The fuck you are.”

Frank ignored Dick, “I’ll walk you out, Char.”

Marjorie walked back from her set, “Oh, my girl! What was that? Your ass was perched my entire routine.”

“Just some ass who gets off on calling women whores and trying to humiliate them.”

This was the first time Dick heard me talk about what happened out there. He might be a dick, but he was also human and he did have some compassion.

“First a harlot, then a whore. Ordered me not to move, and I swear to Christ the only reason I did it was because I thought he was going to kill the man next to him. I’m done for the night.”

“Oh, honey.” Marjorie ran her hand down my hair. She was the touchy feely type and normally I would move away from someone’s touch, but Marjorie grew on you.

“I’m alright, a little shaken up, but I’m calling it a night.”

I got a look from Dick that said he wasn't pleased as he walked out of the dressing room.

“You ready?” Frank asked grabbing my bag off my shoulder.

We went out the employee exit. Frank stood beside me as I fished out my keys, and then got in my car. It was nice to know he had my back and even if Dick was an ass, at least he employed good people who looked out for you.

***

“Mrs. Warner, I’m here.” I shook her shoulder and watched as her eyes peeked open. She mumbled in her sleepy haze, “Gun’s in my bed.”

I slipped a few twenties under her coffee cup with a shiny gold tea bag tag hanging off the side. Then, I opened her bedroom door and stood stock still. Gun was asleep. For a moment, he took my breath away with how much he looked like his daddy. The older he got, the more the uncanny resemblance unsettled me. His hair that started off so blonde was already getting darker, and as his face changed from a baby boy to a kid, he looked more and more like the Gunner from my memories. Lord knows, I had his face burned into my brain.

I watched him for a minute. It’s something I always did. He’d catch me sometimes and get a goofy grin on his face, but I didn’t care. He was the single most important thing to me. We had some incredibly hard years. When I first left Mitchell and Claire’s care, Mrs. Jackson had to bring me to a temporary foster home until a spot opened up at a group home although, I never made it there.

The foster home I was placed in didn’t just have two insanely Christian parents who were so over the top they believed they would beat the devil out of their twin seventeen-year-old sons with a “switch”. These parents were more or less creating twin devils in their hope to crucify one. I was there only two nights when the boys came to my room. It only happened once. Once was one too many times. Those parents knew what happened, and they had the audacity to say I was a temptress sent from the devil himself. I hated them. All of them.

They underestimated me. Years of being quiet had given me an edge. When everyone was sleeping, I got a hold of one of their pistols, that they left right out in the open, along with a handful of bullets. Money was the next easiest thing. Shelby, the evil twins’ mom, had a huge vase over her mantel, right next to the two three foot statues of Jesus, that she filled with change and any spare dollars. No one was around when I reached in and grabbed every bill I could find.

The next time the boys came to my room, I was prepared. Gabriel, the meaner of the two, clicked on the light hoping to take me off guard. I barely knew what I was doing with a gun, but I didn’t wait to pull the trigger. I shot him, hitting him in the thigh. He screamed and cried as Abel tried to come to his aide.

“You bitch, I’ll kill you,” he roared just as Shelby and her husband entered the room. No one was prepared for me to aim a gun at them. I pulled the trigger and shot Abel too. This was also in the leg. I didn’t want to kill them, but I wouldn't let them touch me. I had Gunner’s baby inside of me and these two violated me. I was helpless, but wouldn't fall victim to them twice. Shelby screamed and I aimed the gun at her. “Get me your keys, now.” Her husband was a weak man, who seemed to bend at Shelby’s will. “Don’t shoot her,” he begged.

I took the rest of their money in their wallets, their cell phones, and high-tailed it out of there as fast as I could. I thanked the heavens Gunner taught me how to drive. It was a ten-minute drive to the nearest house and a twenty-five minute drive to the nearest Walmart. They were truly in the middle of nowhere.

I drove their car to a truck stop and waited until I found the only female truck driver I could find, then paid her twenty dollars to ride with her south to West Virginia.

I bounced around several homeless shelters, and eventually stole an ID from a woman who looked similar enough to me. I went to a free clinic that helped me fill out paperwork to start receiving services. It was easy to become someone else, they thought I was a few years older than I was, and eventually I moved into a low-income apartment building. I slept on an air mattress for the first year, with little Gunner tucked close to me. A part of me was always afraid that the cops would come after me for shooting the twins, so I lived in fear and did the best I could to stay under the radar. I didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby, but I did the best I could. I was incredibly grateful for the Medicaid. It helped me feed Gun. Organizations like Catholic Charities, which helped clothe me as a child, also helped me clothe him. Talk about the past repeating itself. I don’t know what I would’ve done without the help.

Eventually, I met Mrs. Warner, who was nice enough. She didn’t ask questions, and she needed the extra cash as much as I needed help with Gun.

I sighed and looked at my boy again. I hated waking him. I lifted him and held him close. God, this boy was heavy. I knew I shouldn't be lifting him any more, he was much too big. Even though I worked out, I knew carrying a seven-year old was not something I should be doing. “Mom,” he mumbled sleepily.