Love Rents A Room
Chapter 130: In Need of Help

Chapter 130: In Need of Help

The stadium roared with life—the announcer’s voice booming through the speakers, the crowd erupting in cheers, and the rhythmic chant of the game pulsing like a heartbeat through the air. Joanne felt suffocated by the noise, by the weight of too many stares. She needed a moment to breathe.

On her way to the ladies’ room, she caught whispers trailing behind her. Some eyes held pity. Others, judgment. A few sneered, relishing whatever gossip surrounded her name.

But then there were those who stopped to talk to her—friends, acquaintances—offering words of comfort, small gestures of kindness. She spoke to them, nodded, thanked them. She appreciated those who cared. As for the rest? They didn’t matter.

Inside, the ladies’ room was blissfully quiet, the walls thick enough to muffle the chaos outside. It was early in the game—most of the crowd was still glued to their seats. Joanne exhaled.

Leaning against the sink, she scrolled through her phone, her thumb hovering over Jeffrey’s contact. Her unread messages stared back at her. No response. Just as she was about to call him, the last occupied stall opened.

A woman exited, washed her hands quickly, and left. For a moment, Joanne was alone. Then the door creaked open. She didn’t look up at first. This was a safe place—what could possibly happen in a ladies’ room?

But then she heard the footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Something was wrong. A chill ran up her spine as she turned her head. There he was... Tom Sullivan. And in his hand, a baseball bat.

Every instinct screamed at her. Joanne’s pulse spiked as her gaze flickered to the counter. Her purse. Inside was her gun. If there was ever a time to use it... it was now. She swallowed hard, forcing her expression to remain neutral.

"Can’t read? This is the ladies’ room. Or was that the confusion?" she asked, her voice steady despite the panic crawling up her throat.

Tom smirked, taking another step forward. The fluorescent light overhead cast sharp shadows across his face, making the malice in his eyes even more unsettling.

"I read well, sweetheart," he said, tapping the end of the bat against his palm. "I just thought we should have a little... talk."

Joanne fought to keep her breathing even. Every second counted. Every move had to be calculated. She needed to get to her purse.

Feigning nonchalance, she straightened, brushing imaginary dust from her shirt. "If you want to talk, you picked the wrong place," she said, stepping toward the counter, as if to leave. "Now, if you don’t mind~"

Tom moved fast. He lunged, blocking her path before she could grab her bag. The bat was raised slightly, a warning, a promise. Joanne’s heart pounded.

"I don’t think we’re done," he murmured. Her fingers twitched at her sides. She was so close. Inches away from her purse. From safety.

She took a slow breath. "And what exactly do you want, Tom?"

He tilted his head, studying her like a predator would its prey. "I want you to learn your place."

Joanne didn’t blink. Didn’t let him see the fear tightening around her lungs.

"Is that so?" she murmured, forcing a smirk of her own. "Well, here’s the thing, Tom...You’re the one in the wrong place!"

His eyes darkened. His lips curved to a smirk. "Scared now, are we?"

There. That was the push she needed. He moved, a flicker of anger flashing across his face, and in that split second, she darted forward...

Her fingers closed around her purse. She yanked it toward her, unzipping it in one frantic motion...

But Tom was faster. Before she could pull out her gun, pain exploded across her skull.

The world tilted. Stars burst in her vision.

She barely registered the sickening thud of the bat meeting her head before her knees buckled. The cold tile met her body as she collapsed, a warm trickle of blood trailing down her temple.

Her vision swam, the edges of the room blurring.

Tom loomed over her and grabbed her blood-drenched hair. "Should I prove to you that I am a man?" he asked, biting his lip. His eyes hungrily leered over her. He had wanted her from when she was young. How come his brother was the only one who tasted this tasty pie? Shouldn’t he get a share too?

His rough hand grabbed her tush and slowly grazed south to the hem of her dress.

Joanne gritted her teeth. She wasn’t done. Blood dripped into her eyes, obscuring her vision, but she was not going to offer herself up to someone like Tom.

Dazed, her fingers fumbled inside her purse, her breaths shallow.

Then...

Her grip tightened around cold steel. His rough hand slowly slid under her skirt.

She couldn’t bear it anymore.

With the last ounce of strength she had, Joanne scooted away, raised the gun, her arm shaking but steady enough.

Her finger hovered over the trigger.

Tom froze.

For a second, he hesitated. His eyes flickered between her and the weapon in her hands. He tried to wave the bat at her, but Joanne turned off the safety.

Then he made his choice.

He ran.

Joanne watched as he bolted through the door, disappearing into the hall.

Her head throbbed. The pain was unbearable. But she didn’t lower the gun. Not yet.

Not until she was sure he was gone.

Then, with a ragged breath, she let herself collapse against the floor, the weight of everything finally crashing down on her.

Help... someone help me...

She couldn’t scream, and no one else came. Through her blurred vision, she searched desperately for her phone. Her fingers fumbled against the cold tile until they found it. She needed to call someone—anyone.

But when she tried to focus on the screen, the letters and numbers swam together, a distorted mess. She felt like she was underwater, hearing distant noises that she couldn’t quite figure.

She blinked, hard, willing her vision to clear. It didn’t. The pounding in her skull was too intense.

Joanne gritted her teeth and tried to stand, to at least wash the blood from her face. Her body refused. Her limbs trembled violently, wracked with shock. The room spun, and she collapsed back against the wall, gasping for air.

She had been hurt before. She had been bruised, broken, and beaten by life. But this? This wasn’t just pain. It was something deeper, something that crawled under her skin and festered like an open wound.

The places where Tom had touched her burned with disgust. No amount of scrubbing could rid her of the filth he had left behind. The violation of his hands, the weight of his presence—it made her skin crawl.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, forcing herself to breathe.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Hope flared in her chest.

Help.

But just as quickly as they came... they left.

Joanne’s stomach twisted. She swallowed back the lump in her throat, pressing her forehead against the cold tile.

"Jeffrey..." she whispered, her voice cracking. "Where are you?"