Say You're Mine

by Alexis Winter

  We always do well during the daytime hours, but nights have always been a bit slow, and I thought this would boost the night crowd.

  And boy, did it! So much so that once the night began, I didn’t stop serving drinks until we turned the lights up at 11. And luckily, there were no spills, breaks, or any other type of catastrophe today.

  Even though being the manager at Perks isn’t exactly my dream job, it was nice to feel a sense of accomplishment. Right now I have the same feeling I used to get when I finished a painting: the satisfaction of completing a project and seeing an idea come to life. It’s something many people take for granted. I used to. And I never will again.

  Life is too short to not celebrate the little victories. We aren’t promised a tomorrow.

  We were a skeleton crew, just me plus Kristina, a nice girl who works a few hours a week after school. Earlier in the day, someone had called in to say they couldn’t make it, and no one wanted to pick up a last-minute shift on a Friday night, so I got it. I’d rather not work on a Friday night either. But it’s not like I had anything else to do other than continue my latest Netflix binge with takeout Chinese food.

  The problem was that Kristina, still being 17, couldn’t stay after 10 p.m. So it was just me closing up the shop.

  I didn’t mind though. I cranked up my music as I counted the money in the drawers and disassembled the machines for the night.

  With a spring in my step, I shut off the lights and locked the door behind me. It wasn’t the first time I’d closed alone, and I usually got an uneasy feeling of being on the streets alone at midnight. But not tonight. Tonight I was too excited to let that get to me.

  I decided against getting an Uber or taking a cab home. I was too excited. Taking a few extra minutes to walk to the train station was exactly what I needed to get some of the energy out.

  And now here I am—headed home and lost in my thoughts. I might be an artist—or so I still like to tell myself—but I didn’t know much about pulling together a live music night. Ask me to put together an art show and I’ll do it for you in five minutes. But music? The idea had me in knots for weeks. But the two acts I lined up for tonight loved the atmosphere and have already asked to play again. One even said he’d tell his buddies about it and try to connect them with me.

  I can’t take all the credit though. Poor Tori got dragged into this without much of a choice. She had to hear me freak out about it daily and answer my “which flyer do you like better?” questions. I probably owe her lunch just for putting up with me.

  Oh! She had a date tonight! That’s why she couldn’t come in to help. I wonder how it went. I’ll have to call her tomorrow and get the scoop. I hope it went well. I need to live vicariously through her.

  As I smile at the thought of Tori and her date, I take a second to look around. It’s dark and the only light is straight ahead or behind me. This isn’t the normal route I take at night.

  Shit! I was thinking about so many other things that I accidentally cut down the alley—the one I only use in the daytime. But at this point, if I turn around, I’ll miss the train, and I really want to get home and help myself to a celebratory glass of pinot grigio from the finest $7 bottle of wine I could find at the corner market.

  I take a deep breath, pull my purse closer to my body, and start up the alley.

  During the day, this is a great way to cut my 15-minute walk down to 10, but at night, an extra five minutes is not worth it.

  I’m about halfway down, and I can see the intersection at the other end of the alley. I let out a small sigh of relief that I’m almost there.

  Crunch. Crunch.

  What was that?

  I freeze. I know I should keep walking, but I can’t. I turn around, but don’t see anything.

  Must be a rat. That’s what I’m going to tell myself.

  Knowing damn well I don’t want to see a rat tonight, I continue my brisk walk, but before I can take another step, a hand is on my mouth and another arm is around my neck.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God!

  Terror rips through me as the man who is covering my mouth brings me to his chest. I can’t see him, but his smell is something awful. I can almost taste the dirt on the hand covering my mouth.

  “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here all alone?” he hisses in my ear. It’s not like I can reply. I can barely think right now.

  I have no idea what to do. I’ve never been in a situation like this before. I have pepper spray in my purse, but after the high I was on tonight, I completely forgot to grab it.

  As my panic begins to rise, he keeps his hand on my mouth but releases my neck. Before I can wonder what he’s going to do next, I feel something sharp pressed against my back.

  Is that a knife?

  “When I first grabbed ya, I only wanted your purse. But now that I’ve felt you against me, maybe I should take a little more than that. Want to have some fun tonight?”

  He turns and forces me to walk deeper into the alley with him. But when he does, his hand slips from my mouth just a little. And I react.

  I bite.

  I bite his hand as hard as I can and somehow it’s enough for him to loosen his grip on me.

  I run.

  My small legs are carrying me as fast as they can. I know I don’t have much time, but maybe I can get to the end of the alley.

  I don’t look back. I just look forward. I’m going on adrenaline—that is, until I feel the ground beneath me shift.

  A pothole. I didn’t see it. I don’t think I’m hurt, but it’s awkward as I try to get up.

  I turn my head to see my attacker now standing over me, grabbing my arms and trying to pull me up. At this point, I’m just flailing and trying to get away, but it’s no use; he’s way stronger.

  But he hasn’t covered my mouth again, so I do the only thing left I can think to do.

  I scream as loud as my lungs will let me.

  4

  Jaxson

  “HELLLLPPPPPPP!”

  What was that?

  I’m waiting at a red light a few blocks from the gym, but even over my bike’s engine, I can hear a woman screaming. Or at least I think I do. It’s faint, but distinct.

  I wonder if Abigail was able to scream for help.

  I shake thoughts of my little sister from my head. I don’t know if what I heard was real, or all in my head, but I can’t NOT go and look.

  Hoping that whatever I heard was my imagination, I turn the bike off the street and set it against a building next to a dark alley. It’s the only place the scream could have come from. It’s after midnight, and despite the fact that this is a big city, there aren’t many people on the sidewalks.

  As I continue up the alley, I see a man straddling something—more like someone. I can’t see much because the alley is so fucking dark.

  I creep along the edge of a building, trying to stay out of sight. I’m about 30 yards away and the only thing I have on him is the element of surprise. He hasn’t heard me or looked around for anything. But as I get closer, I see a woman with red hair on the ground and he’s holding a knife to her throat.

  Fuck.

  I edge closer, trying to do my best to move quickly while not making a sound. She’s trying to wrestle away from him, but he’s got a knife to her throat, and with every move she makes, she gets closer to having her throat slit.

  I don’t even think. I just pounce. I couldn’t save Abigail, but I’ll save someone else.

  I jump out of the darkness and rip him off her. Before he realizes what’s happening, I kick him in the chin, sending him flying to his back. He drops the knife and I at least have the sense to kick it out of the way. Knowing that he can’t reach it, I decide to give his guy a taste of what it’s like to be on the bottom, and give him four good punches before I knock him out cold.

  It takes me a second to calm down, but then I realize I didn’t check on her. Fuck.

  When I turn around to look for her, she’s gone.
As I look up, I see a small figure running toward the street. Away from me.

  Red hair. Petite. She looks so tiny I bet I could fit her in my pocket.

  Holy shit. Is she the girl from the coffee shop? The sweet tiny redhead I can’t get out of my mind?

  I don’t know why I react to her the way I do. I’m not a relationship guy. I don’t date. I scratch the itch when I need to, and usually it’s with tall leather-clad girls with jet-black hair who know what they’re getting into when they come home with a guy like me. One night. That’s it.

  This girl? She’s definitely too innocent to be sucked into my fucked-up world. She oozes purity and goodness.

  I know I should let her run away, but I can’t seem to stop myself from calling out to her.

  “Hey! Are you okay?”

  She turns to look at me and only then seems to realize who I am, because her eyes bug out of her head. I know she’s noticed me in the café. I see the way she looks at me when I come in, even though we’ve never spoken. That’s on purpose. If I don’t speak to her, I won’t be tempted. It’s easier to just nod and walk away.

  And if I’m not mistaken, those are the first words I’ve ever said to her.

  “Yeah . . . yeah, I’m fine.”

  But before I can stand up and make sure she’s okay, she’s turned back around and is racing for the street.

  I try to follow her, but by the time I get closer, I see her flagging down a cab.

  At that moment, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. She might have run away from me like I was the one who attacked her, but at least she’s safe.

  I saved her. It doesn’t bring Abigail back, but at least tonight I won’t have another ghost haunting me.

  I turn my attention back to her attacker, who is moaning on the ground, slowly coming back to consciousness. I kneel down on one knee and pick up his knife. I place it firmly against his throat as I grab a fistful of his bloodied shirt.

  “You show your face around here again, I’ll kill you.”

  5

  Annabelle

  “Wait. So let me get this straight. You were attacked in an alley because you were walking home alone—not cool by the way, and we will discuss that in detail later—and when some guy was holding a knife to your throat, Mr. Dark and Dangerous came out of nowhere and saved the day?”

  It’s been five days since the attack, but this is the first time I’ve seen Tori since that night. Her date went a little too well, so she didn’t see my message until Sunday. Not wanting to tell her everything over the phone, I promised I’d fill her in during our next shift together.

  Once I realized who came riding in on the white horse, I panicked. I should have at least said thank you. I shouldn’t have run like a freaking coward. But between the attack, and just being near him, my body took over and sprinted to the street.

  After I hopped in the cab, all I wanted to do was go home, take a hot shower, and forget about the events of the night. But I knew the responsible thing to do was go to the hospital. I didn’t want to file a police report, so I made up a story about falling while I was walking home. Not a complete lie. And they were so busy, the ER bought it without asking questions.

  Luckily, there were no cuts from the knife, and I technically did fall when I was trying to run away from a freaking crazy robber person. I had some bruises that would take longer than normal to heal, plus a fractured rib. I was ordered to take a few days off from work and get plenty of rest.

  I pretty much slept through the weekend, with the events of Friday taking their toll on me. The pain medication didn’t hurt either.

  “Yeah. Honestly, when I screamed for help, I seriously doubted anyone would hear me, but it was all I could think to do. He saved my life, Tori. And the funny thing is, I still don’t know his name.”

  “I don’t know what I’m more mad at: you for walking home alone after midnight with your pepper spray in your purse, or not getting that fine man’s name!”

  We chuckle. It hurts to laugh, but it feels good at the same time. It means I’m alive. And I know it’s not a laughing matter. Leave it to Tori to lighten the mood.

  Without a doubt, that was the scariest thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life. I thought I was scared when my mom told me she was diagnosed with cancer. I thought I was scared when she died from it. But even that didn’t compare with the utter terror I felt thinking I was going to die in that alley—all because some guy wanted to take my purse.

  “Has he been in? Mr. Dark and Dangerous? Have you seen him since?”

  I shake my head. “No. And I’m both glad and mad about that. I want to thank him. I feel horrible for not saying it before I sprinted away. But at the same time, I’m sure, like always, I wouldn’t know how to talk and would probably blurt out something ridiculous.”

  “He’ll be in. It’s not like he comes in every day. But make sure that when he does, you find your voice, Ariel, and thank him. And while you’re at it, how about you introduce yourself and ask for his name too?”

  I nearly died a few days ago, but apparently that’s not stopping Tori from trying to get me to talk to my fantasy man. Or calling me by the name of my favorite Disney princess. I don’t know why I’m shocked by any of this.

  “Honestly, Tori, this whole situation has put a lot of things in perspective for me. When I told you about it, I felt embarrassed. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am. How could I not defend myself? How could I panic and do nothing?”

  “You didn’t ‘do nothing.’ You bit and you screamed. From how you described him, he had a foot and probably close to 150 pounds on you. You did what you could do.”

  “I want to do more. I don’t want to feel helpless if I’m ever in that situation again.”

  That’s one of the parts that was hardest to handle with all of this. I’ve always been small. I’m in decent shape, but I’m not exactly a gym person. But I hated that I couldn’t defend myself. It made me feel so weak.

  “Well, I might have a solution for you. On my way over here, I saw a flyer for a self-defense class at that MMA gym a few blocks from the café. ‘The Pit’ I think it’s called? Anyway, the class is for women, and the flyer says all skill levels are welcome. Why don’t you sign up?”

  “An MMA gym? Like those guys who fight in that cage thing? Tori, thanks, I appreciate it, but I don’t think I’d be very comfortable there. Maybe I can find a nice one at the Y or something?”

  “Annabelle, look at me,” Tori grabs my shoulders so she can give me a good staredown. She’s kind of frightening sometimes. “You just got done saying you don’t want to feel helpless again. Yes, you didn’t know how to fight back, but you know what else you didn’t—and don’t—have?”

  I shake my head. All of a sudden, my best friend is getting very real with me and I don’t think I like it.

  “Confidence,” she lets go of my shoulders and rubs my arms. “You’re beautiful. And talented. And everyone freaking loves you. But you downplay every compliment. You didn’t think you could pull off the new music event, and you blew that out of the water. I’ve seen your paintings and you are amazing at that. You won’t talk to Mr. Dark and Dangerous for Lord knows why. I bet that if you take these classes—do something out of your comfort zone—you won’t recognize the girl in the mirror. And that experience will help you not only with defending yourself, but with your confidence. I’ll even take them with you.”

  I hate it when she’s right. It’s not that I’m not confident—well, okay, fine, I have some self-esteem issues. Who doesn’t? But on top of that, I’m just not very extroverted. I’m an artist for goodness’ sake, and we aren’t exactly social people. Well, at least when it comes to the artists I’ve met. We’re better off in our studios, creating art, not peopling with people.

  But the more I think about it, the more I know this is what I should do. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I will gain a little bit of confidence. And I’m sure I’ll learn enough to feel safe again.

  �
�You’ll do it with me?” I might be willing to step out of my comfort zone, but I’ll need someone’s hand to hold as I do it.

  “Hell yeah. I could use some defense moves myself. And I’m sure the eye candy isn’t so bad either.”

  6

  Jaxson

  The heavy bag I’m doing damage to right now isn’t as good as being in the ring, but for today, it will have to do.

  Kalum, one of my best friends since we were kids, is holding the bag for me, but apparently, I don’t know what kind of power I’m throwing with my punches. After a nasty combination that ends with my patented right hook, he loses his footing and nearly falls on his ass when the bag is too much for him to keep steady.

  And that’s saying something, because Kalum isn’t exactly a small dude.

  I take that as a sign that I need a break. Thank fuck these bags can withstand some abuse, because for the last few days, this and my speed bag have taken the brunt of my frustrations.

  Since the night I found the coffee shop girl in the alley, my mind has been a fucking mess. Thank God he wasn’t able to seriously injure her. If I’m this messed up just from the threat of seeing a woman attacked, I don’t know what my brain would be like right now had I not been able to help her.

  Maybe I’m in a mood because I haven’t had my caffeine fix in a few days. I swear that coffee has crack in it. I’ve thought about going in, but I don’t know how I’d react if I saw her. And I don’t know if she wants to see me. I don’t want to make her feel awkward, and God knows I’m not exactly the chattiest person on the planet. So I’ve stayed away. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t wondered how she’s doing.

  “What’s eating at you, man?” Kalum asks as he takes a seat next to me on the bench. “And don’t give me this nothin’ bullshit. You know I won’t buy it.”