Like Gravity(71)

I shuddered, fear and disgust overtaking me for a moment, before they were pushed out – overridden by an intense, all-consuming rage at this man, this stranger, who was going to take everything from me.

I wasn’t just angry; I was enraged, I was incensed.

I was furious.

Bending my right knee, I curled my leg up and sent a powerful kick in the direction of my attacker. In my first stroke of luck all night, my stiletto landed a perfect blow to what I believed was his face, and his hands released me instantly. If the howl of pain he emitted was any indication, I’d caused some significant damage.

I was absently wondering if I’d punctured one of his eyes with the sharp heel of my shoe, when I snapped to my senses and sprang to my feet. Throwing out one hand so I was touching the brick wall, I ran flat-out, ignoring the burning pain in my ravaged knees. The wall beneath my hand was my only guide, keeping me upright as I sprinted for the faint light emanating from the end of the alleyway.

I could hear him behind me, cursing and noisily clamoring to his feet. Then, the pounding of his footsteps echoed in the night as he charged after me, gaining ground with each passing second.

I was getting closer to safety. I could finally make out the street at the mouth of the alley where people were waiting to get into Styx, faintly illuminated by the yellow streetlights overhead. As I ran, I stumbled twice on loose cobblestones and nearly fell over. I would have been a goner, had I not had one hand on the wall to catch myself. My other hand was preoccupied, still tightly clasped around the stone shard I’d pried from the ground.

He was faster than me, even with the injuries I’d inflicted. I desperately wanted to stop and take off my stilettos, aware they were slowing me down, but I was too afraid to pause even for a moment. I knew that each time I’d tripped, I’d lost a bit of my lead, and he was going to catch me again if I didn’t do something to slow his progress. Though I could see people ahead on the street, I knew there was still a good chance that they wouldn’t be able to hear my screams from this distance – or, worse, that they wouldn’t help me, even if they did hear my cries.

When I sensed he was close – less than ten feet away, if my perception was accurate – I twisted and hurled my sharp piece of cobblestone in what I thought was his general direction. I heard a thud as it made impact, and I prayed it had hit him in the head – or at least somewhere painful.

If I could just make it out of the alley, out of the dark, I’d be safe. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to follow me into a crowd of people.

I hoped.

I sprinted for the street with every ounce of energy I had left in my body. Legs throbbing, lungs aching, head swimming with the effort, I ran until my vision clouded with black spots.

I didn’t listen for him behind me. I didn’t scream for help. I didn’t even breathe.

I just ran.

Finally, miraculously, I broke through the entry of the alleyway and onto the semi-populated street. My legs gave out and I collapsed to my knees, my hands outstretched to brace my fall. Down on all fours, I lifted my head to look at the crowd of people standing in line for the club.

They stood there in their party clothes, looking down at me with their mouths hanging open in shock. Their faces were a kaleidoscope of emotions, ranging from confusion, to disbelief, to horrified comprehension.

I supposed, with my torn dress and bloodied knees, that I did look a bit of a mess.

“Help me,” I whispered, just before my limbs gave out completely and I crumpled to the pavement. “Please…help me.”

That’s when everything went black.

***

It was the drone of approaching the sirens that pulled me up into consciousness.

One cheek pressed to the cool pavement, I cracked open an eye and looked skyward. Two girls, both wearing too much makeup and clothed in identical painted-on dresses, were staring back at me with worried expressions on their faces. At least, I thought they looked worried – it was a little hard to tell, beneath all that foundation and bronzer.

From the looks of it, they were standing guard – in their platform pumps, no less – over my prone form. Apparently, they’d also called the police and an ambulance.

“Are you okay?” one of the girls asked, her eyes wide as they scanned down my body, coming to rest on the once glorious Dress, which was now in tatters. I ignored the questions in her eyes.

Was I okay? No.

I was horrified, traumatized, stunned – she could pick her poison.

I didn’t know if I’d ever be okay again.

“Yes,” I croaked out, with a cough. My throat felt raw, whether from screaming or sprinting, I didn’t know.

“The ambulance is on its way,” the other girl informed me, as if I couldn’t hear the ever-increasing wail of the siren. “We didn’t know what else to do.”

They looked uncertain, as though they thought I might be angry with them for calling in the cavalry.

“You did the right thing. Thank you,” I whispered, in a tone I hoped conveyed how appreciative I was. “Really.”

I didn’t get to tell them anything else or even ask their names, because the ambulance had arrived and, all at once, I was surrounded by a sea of paramedics and police officers.

With quiet efficiency, the paramedics rolled me over onto my back and examined my scraped legs and arms. None of the wounds were deep enough to require stitches, so they applied a stinging antiseptic and wrapped the worst of them tightly in white gauze. I think they tried to tell me some things or maybe ask what had happened to me, but I was adrift in my own private bubble; their voices sounded far away, muffled as though they were speaking to me through a clear Plexiglas wall.