“Any of them,” I tell her, shaking my head at the shit reality women face.
“Daily.”
I freeze, looking over at her in shock. “Every day?”
“Well, that’s usually what daily means, baby brother.” She rolls her eyes at me like I’m an idiot, but I’m dumbstruck by her answer.
After a moment, I ask, “How do you deal with it?”
“Well,” she sighs, loading a tray with partially filled glasses and dirty, damp napkins. “Murder is illegal, so I try to ignore it because I couldn’t do hard time. I’m too pretty for that. If that fails, I usually have my pepper spray handy or have on a pair of steel-toed boots. A girl has to protect herself.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I whisper, blinking rapidly as I gawk at her.
“It’s reality, Brax. At least, it’s my reality. It must be nice to be a man and walk through life without a single care in the world.”
“I wouldn’t say I don’t have a care.”
“Do you worry someone’s going to snatch you?”
I stare at her without the ability to respond.
“Didn’t think so.”
“You worry someone’s going to take you?”
“It happens. Maybe I’ve watched too many true crime documentaries, but if some big, beefy guy wants to take me, I don’t have the build to fight him off. It’s why my pepper spray is always ready and I took some self-defense classes.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “That’s so sad.”
“Have you ever worried someone was going to sexually assault you?”
“Uh, no.” I grimace as soon as the words are out of my mouth.
Never in my life has it even crossed my mind. Neither of the things she’s mentioned have before. I guess I walk around clueless.
“Perfect example of male privilege,” she says, lifting the tray and resting it against her hip.
“Hyperaware in dark parking lots?”
I shake my head.
“Listen to music on our walk home from work with those fancy earbud thingies?” she asks.
“Sometimes.”
“Must be nice,” she whispers.
“I’ll start walking you home,” I tell her.
“Wylder does every time I leave the shop or bar after dark. He refuses to let me do it alone, which is nice, but also pisses me off at the same time.”
“I can understand that.”
“That’s life, though. As long as there are men around, we’ll have to look over our shoulders. No one told me they were the real boogeymen. Not the fakeones under our beds as kids, but the strangers on the street who think they can do whatever they want when they want.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, suddenly hating that I’m a guy, even though I’m not a creep.
“Don’t be,” she says as she passes by and hip bumps me. “You’re a good one, and I saw what you did for that woman. As long as the good ones are willing to stand up to the shitheads, there’s hope for society and a possibility of change so it won’t always be like this.”
