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The girl said, “Holy shit,” but her boyfriend had his back to the other man and didn’t see it coming when a big hand closed around his neck, turned him and backed him up against the wall behind them. Laurel turned as a huge man passed in front of her, striding toward the fighting couple. Laurel grabbed her bag and fished for her phone, ready to announce her intentions to call the cops, but steps interrupted her-heavy, purposeful footfalls on the wooden walkway. Laurel heard the squeak of a sneaker and whipped her head around as the guy grasped his girlfriend by her fleshy upper arm, rough enough to bruise. She felt powerless and pissed and worthless, probably just how this obnoxious girl felt. “I know you fucked him, so just admit to it.”
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Laurel gave them each a disgusted look and pretended to go back to her reading, praying she’d at least embarrassed or annoyed them enough to prompt a relocation. The woman crossed her arms and cocked her head. “Don’t touch her like that,” Laurel said, hoping she sounded assertive, glad her voice wasn’t as shaky as her hands. The guy turned to give her a cursory study. “Why you foolin’ with me?” the guy demanded, shaking his girlfriend by the shoulders. The altercation paused until the woman had gone, then escalated. The walker, a middle-aged woman dressed for the office, gave them a wide berth, also pretending to ignore the fight.
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A walker entered her periphery and Laurel’s cheeks burned, embarrassed to be here, acting as if she couldn’t see what was going on. He had a mean, dog-fight look about him and the fact he was posturing made him seem even more likely to snap. She wanted to find the balls to say something, to do the right thing, but she was afraid of the guy. “An’ you need to tell me the fuckin’ truth.”