Page 167 of My Heart Still Beats
I look down at the screen and start to tap in the number for the DA’s office. Then I pause, my finger hovering above the keypad.
I look back at Garrett.
He leers at me. “You going to do it, or do I have to chop your fingers off and put the number in myself?”
“Yes, sorry.” I blink several times and look toward the ceiling. “Just can’t remember the number offhand. And I don’t have it saved in my contacts.”
“Look in your recent calls. You’ve called them before, haven’t you?”
I nod my head slowly.
He raises a fist. “Thenmove it,bitch.”
I recoil at his fist. Where is the justice here? How can I allow this man, this rapist, to roam the streets free? He won’t be able to slake his thirst with my body alone. Don’t I owe it to his future female victims to take a stand here?
“I swear to God, if you don’t call that motherfucker rightnow…”
I put up a hand in defense. “I’m going.”
But I don’t type anything into the phone. I tap the screen a few times, then put the phone to my ear.
I’ve called this number several times. It’s an automated line. First they ask for my extension, and then I’m connected directly to Trish.
I wait a few seconds and then pretend to type a few more numbers. “I’m putting in her extension,” I explain.
Garrett doesn’t respond.
I wait a few more seconds. Then I start speaking.
“Hi, Trish. This is Tessa. Tessa Logan.”
I pause for what I hope is a believable amount of time.
“Yes, I’m calling about my complaint regarding Mr. Garrett Ramirez.”
Another pause.
“Yes, I would like to withdraw—”
But I’m cut off by my phone’s ringtone. I look in horror to see that my mother is calling me. Probably checking up on me after the funeral, making sure I’m doing all right.
God, she has no idea how much she just fucked me over.
Garrett reacts immediately and pounces. He tackles me to the ground, his hands wrapped tightly around my wrists. My phone clatters to the floor.
“Do you think I’m a fuckingmoron?” he asks through gritted teeth.
My whole body trembles underneath him. “No…of course not…”
“You think you’re clever, you little slut?”
I shake my head. “My phone…it’s…”
He chuckles. “What are you going to say? It’s broken? It has some weird defect where incoming calls interrupt ongoing calls? Do you think I’m that fucking dumb?”
I don’t answer.
He slaps me across the face, hard. Then he lets go of my wrists and clamors for my phone.
