GRACE
"Don't call me that." Mom called me Gracie because she knew it made me feel like a little kid. It reminded me that she didn't respect me as a person. Neither did Butch. I tried to yank my arm away, but his fingers were like stone, hard and heavy. He tightened his grip to the point of pain. "Ow! You're hurting me."
"You ain't seen nothing yet," Butch whispered harshly. "Gracie."
The bell on the entrance door rang, but Butch held on to me, his gaze bold as he took inventory of my body. I have never felt so vulnerable and violated. I swallowed the bile lurching up my throat and squeezed back hot tears.
"Coffee," said a man, sitting next to Butch despite the availability of other counter seating.
I glanced at the new customer, and saw Mystery Man. I don't know why, but my fear dissipated. I was so happy to see him. I knew he wouldn't let Butch hurt me.
"No cream, no sugar, right?" I asked.
