The tapping of the rain, sounding like soft drums against the roof of the car, each drop lulling me deeper into my exhaustion. My eyes close, and I start to drift—

BZZZ!!! BZZZ!!!

The vibration in my pocket pulls me back. I take my hands off my face and reach for my phone. Mom’s icon lights up the screen, calling. I slide to answer.

“Hey Mom, how are the kids?” I say before she can start on a tangent.

“They are fine, but remember to pick up the groceries, dear.”

Her words hit, and I realize I forgot to grab stuff for the house.

“Of course, Mom. I’m heading there now. I’ll call you when I’m home.”

I hang up and lean forward, resting my head on the steering wheel—too hard.

HOOONK!

The horn blasts through the quiet rain. My head snaps up, heat rushing to my face. Outside, a man in a hood turns at the sound. He glances back at me, lifts a hand in a casual wave.

I muster a polite smile, embarrassed, and he turns forward again, walking on through the rain, farther down the street.

After rubbing my head, I mutter, ‘Alright, let’s do this,’ as I buckle my seatbelt. Still an hour before the store closes. Plenty of time.

To pass the time, I turn on the radio and hum along to the tunes playing softly. Soon, I pull into the parking lot. Not many cars are here, just a few scattered here and there.

As I park, I notice a man leaning against his car, smoking. When I step out, he flicks his cigarette to the ground and flashes me a grin, yellow teeth catching the dim light, then slides into his car and drives off.

I pay him no mind. I grab the bags from my back seat and head toward the store entrance.

***

The rain is heavier than when I went in. I get ready to leave.

Nodding my head at the worker by the exit, I walk to my car, noticing someone parked close to me. I push my cart along the trunk of my car. When I finish loading the groceries into the trunk, I hear two car doors open and shut.

Two men approach. One — I recognize him as the man with the yellow teeth.

“Hey, pretty lady. I saw you smiling at me earlier,” he says, flashing a disgusting grin.

He shifts his hat on his head while his friend beside him has a sly smile. I position the cart between us.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir, but I should be going. I need to get back to my family,” I say politely, keeping both of them in view and slowly backing toward my car.

The man with the hat frowns. His friend chuckles. A glance passes between them—and his grin twists into something meaner.

“Why do you have to lie, bitch? I was being polite since my friend was here. Why don’t you come have fun with me? Since I let you put that shit away,” he says.

He reaches out for me. I push the cart toward him. He grabs it and tosses it aside. I make a dash for my car door, but he lunges and grabs me.

I scratch his face. He yells, clutching it. “You dumb bitch!”

He reaches for me again. I barely dodge.

“Tom! Help with this slut!” he shouts, anger in his voice.

His friend hesitates, frozen, but the yelling pushes him to move. As he approaches, I scream, hoping the worker at the front notices and comes to help.

“HELP!”