When I was born, my parents gave me up; I don’t even know their names. Apparently, I was dropped off in front of a church, only a few days old. The nuns took me in, and I bounced from one foster home to another, until I eventually aged out of the system. My age left me homeless and living on park benches. Just me and my plastic bag full of clothes.
I remember walking the streets, looking for a safe place to sleep when I stumbled upon the cafe. The sign in the window caught my attention – they were looking for help. To this day, I believe I must have been in the right place at the right time because when I walked in and asked about the job, the owner just tossed me an apron and told me to start straight away as they were overrun with the lunch crowd. I have worked there ever since.
A little lost in my thoughts, I carry on walking, eager to get back home. As I reach the corner of the building, I’m about to turn up the alleyway when I see a man, leaning against the side of the building.
The smell of his smoke hanging from his lip’s wafts to me. He moves off the wall he is leaning on, and I quickly turn up the alleyway. I can hear his footsteps coming behind me before I feel a tug backward.
I scream, as I feel his gloved hand go over my mouth.
“No. Come now, pretty, be a good girl and stay quiet.”
I nod my head, thinking he is going to rob me. Reaching into my handbag, I feel around it and pull my wallet out. It has little in it, but he can have it.
I wave it in front of his face, and he knocks it out of my hand. His next words make my blood run colder than the snow sinking into my shoes. “I don’t want your money; I want something else,” he whispers, his whiskey-filled breath wafting over my face.
I struggle against him, realizing he has more sinister intentions than just robbing me.
He throws me to the ground, and I let out the loudest scream I can muster, hoping that someone will hear me, he slaps my face. My head whips to the side as his palm connects with my cheek, making my vision blur for a second.
He starts ripping my black slacks down, and I fight, kicking, hitting, and scratching anything I can. All I can think of is the need to escape him, so I dig my fingers into his eyes. He grunts, grabs my hair, and slams my head into the pavement. The force makes my teeth rattle, but I continue to thrash, as he continues trying to undress me.
As the cold snow seeps into my clothes it makes my muscles ache, and fighting against him becomes harder with every passing second. But then, all of a sudden, his weight is gone. I stare, shocked for a second after he completely vanishes.
When I hear the grunting and obnoxious sound of flesh on flesh, I start yanking my pants up my legs.
As I look toward the alleyway, I see a man, or perhaps that is the wrong word for him. I didn’t think I would meet a bigger monster than the man that just tried raping me, but I also don’t know what else you would call him. He is literally ripping the man to pieces. I have to hold my stomach as I feel it lurch when I see one of his arms fly off and hit the snow.
Blood coats the ground, as the man punches his face until it is unrecognizable. The snow turns red. I clench my eyes shut, unable to handle what I am witnessing.
It is like something out of a horror movie. I shake like a leaf, my teeth chattering from the cold as I sit frozen with fear. Fight or flight is kicking in, and here I am, paralyzed by my fear. Scared that I am next, I keep my eyes closed, waiting for death.
The noise stops, I look up and two men are staring down at me. One holds his hand out and I smack it away, covering my head with my hands, fearing him belting me and inflicting what he just did to the man in the alley.
“Please, I won’t tell. Just let me go. I saw nothing, I promise,” I beg them, as sobs wrack my body.
The biggest man kneels in front of me, moving my hair away from my face and brushing it over my shoulder. Looking up, I see pitch-black eyes staring at me; eyes so dark I am afraid they will swallow me whole. I turn my gaze to the ground, not wanting to see my death through his eyes. He holds his large hand out for me to take and I cringe away from him, flinching as he tries to reach forward.
“Ours,” he gasps, and I almost think I heard it wrong. Are they going to finish what the other man couldn’t?
“We are scaring her,” the man who brutally slaughtered my attacker says, making me look at him. He is drenched in blood; it is dying his skin a scarlet color. The smell of death is so pungent on him that I can almost taste it.
“Go,” the man with onyx eyes says. He is watching the other man, who I see nod to him.
I take off running down the alleyway, thanking God, they let me go. I run the entire way home, like my ass is on fire. I bolt through the trailer park until I finally reach my tin can. Never in my life have I been as thankful to see my shitty, graffiti covered van. It’s falling apart, but it’s screaming safety right about now.
Just as I reach the door, I finally lose my stomach, doubling over and puking the contents into the snow. I retch for a few minutes, trying to rid my mouth of the taste. My face grows hot from throwing up, and the back of my throat burns from my stomach acids.
I must be making a fair amount of noise because I see the trailer beside mine flick on its lights, and I quickly slip inside before my neighbors see me through their window.