“Any special directions?” he asked, somehow reading her mind. She shook her head.
“Nothing you don’t already know,” she returned, winking. She washed her hands.
“Tiffany, this is my buddy Scott,” Satira said, draping an arm around the shoulders of the man who had just walked in. Tiffany raised her eyebrow, looking from this man to Scottie and back. She pointed to each of them. Satira laughed. “Yes, they’re both Scotts. That’s Scottie,” she pointed to the blond man, “and this is Scott,” she laughed again as Tiffany nodded.
“Pardon me if I get ya’ll confused,” she said with a chuckle. Mark shook his head, laughing. “I’ll just start calling everyone Scott.” Everyone laughed.

***

“So what do you think?” Satira looked up at Tiffany, who was sitting on Satira’s kitchen counter.
“What do I think of what?” Tiffany asked, taking a sip of her beer.
“Them?” Satira nodded toward the living room, where Mark, Scottie, and Scott were sitting, chatting.
“They’re cool. Why?” She gave Satira a weird look.
“Just wondering. Scottie thinks you’re cute.”
“Which Scott is that, the blond one?” Tiffany giggled. Satira shook her head with a smile.
“Yes, he’s the blond one – the one who got the tattoo.”
“I know, I know. I’m just playing this up for all it’s worth. So he thinks I’m cute, huh?” Satira nodded. “Look, Tira, you know I have a man. He might not be the best man in the world, but I’m taken.” Satira rolled her eyes.
“Tiffany,” she whined, “you and I both know you’re unhappy with the asshole and you need a new man. Jeff isn’t a man – he’s a bitch.” Tiffany nodded, lighting a cigarette. “Just break up with him.” Tiffany sighed.
“You know I can’t do that,” Tiffany said, her voice suddenly small and timid. Satira sighed, shaking her head.
“If he can’t find you he can’t hurt you.”
“He knows where I work, Tira. It’s not that simple.” Satira was quiet for a minute. The phone rang, and she reached to pick it up.
“Hello?” Her features darkened and she handed the phone to Tiffany with a scowl. Tiffany sighed to herself and took the phone.
“Hello? Yeah, I’m over here… no… no… I told you I probably would… why are you---… yeah… okay… I’ll call you as soon as I’m leaving okay?… why?… Jeff… God, Jeff, why don’t you trust me?…” She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Okay, fine. Bye.” She clicked the phone off. “I have to go home,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Tiffany---” Satira sighed as she watched Tiffany walk out of the kitchen and through the living room without a word. Satira plopped onto the couch next to Mark and sighed, leaning forward as she ran her fingers through her dark hair.
“What was that all about?” Scottie asked, obviously confused.
“Her boyfriend yanked on her leash and told her to come home,” Satira said, her green eyes flashing angrily.
“Is he always like that?” Scott asked, concerned. Satira nodded.
“He’s a jackass,” she said quietly. “She’s probably gonna come into work tomorrow with a black eye or missing jewelry or something.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m really starting to worry about her.”

*** Two Hours Later***

“Hello?” Satira said after she picked up the phone.
“Tira?”
“Yes?” Mark looked up at Satira, his eyes questioning her. “Tiffany?”
“Yeah, look, Jeff left the house for a while. Something about needing some air. Do you think you could come and help me get some stuff out before he gets home?”
“Sure thing, sweetie. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“We…”
“Mark and the two Scotts are still here. They’re coming with me.”
“No.”
“Tiffany, if Jeff comes back---”
“No!” Tiffany interrupted forcefully. “Just you. If Jeff comes back, I’ll be dead. I’ll probably be dead anyway. Just get here fast, okay?”
“Okay, babe. I’ll be there in five minutes tops.” Satira sighed as she hung up the phone.
“What’s up?”
“I need one of you to come with me in case her psycho boyfriend decides to come back early. Just one. Tiff will flip anyway, but she’d go ballistic if I bring all of you.” Scottie stood, running his fingers through his hair.
“I’ll go,” he said. Satira nodded and grabbed her keys.

***

Satira pulled into a parking spot with a sigh. She put the car in park and brushed her hair out of her eyes. She looked over at Scottie with a sheepish look on her face. He forced a smile and breathed in heavily.
“You ready?” he asked, his blue eyes now gray and dark.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied, opening her door and standing. Tiffany’s door was already open, and there were two suitcases tossed hurriedly in front of the couch. “Tiff?” Satira looked into the apartment cautiously.
“In the bedroom.”
“You okay?” Satira rounded the corner and breathed a quick gasp. Tiffany was sitting on the bed, leaning over to zip another duffel bag. A large bruise was already forming on her back. It was obvious that Jeff had thrown her into a doorframe. The bruise was a perfectly straight line almost in line with her spine, already a dark purple color.
“Am I ever okay?” she asked quietly. “Could you get Sampson and Delilah for me? I’ve got a box to put them in next to the aquarium.” Satira nodded, carefully reaching into the aquarium to take out Tiffany’s pet albino milk snakes. She planted a quick kiss on one snake’s head and put him into the box, then replaced the lid and took them to Scottie, who had just returned from taking the suitcases in front of the couch out to the car. She returned to the bedroom, where Tiffany was still struggling to get the duffel zipped. She bent down and helped her, glancing up to survey the damage. She already had a black eye forming, and a deep cut on her forehead. She hadn’t even bothered to clean the wound yet.
“Tiffany, let’s get you into the kitchen and clean you up, okay?” Satira said quietly. Tiffany shook her head.
“We can do that at your house. I want to get out of here before he gets back.”
“Scottie can finish packing up your stuff.” Tiffany’s eyes shot up angrily. “I just want to get the blood off your face for now. We can do the rest later.”
“I told you not to bring anyone.”
“I knew I couldn’t do this by myself, okay? He’s the only one I brought. I told Mark and Scott to call the police if we weren’t back in two hours.” Tiffany sighed and shook her head.
“I’m fine. Let’s just pack, okay?” Satira reluctantly agreed, standing to pull another bag from Tiffany’s closet. “Make sure you take the aquarium, too,” she directed almost silently. She saw Scottie’s form in the doorway, and pushed a duffel bag in his direction. He threw it over his shoulder and grabbed the aquarium. Five minutes later, Tiffany was packing the last of her belongings. With a heavy sigh, she tossed her backpack over her shoulder and left the apartment, carefully walking down the steps to the car. They pulled out of the parking lot silently, the apartment door still standing open.

On to Part Four