Stella and the Boxer

Chapter 3

He looks at me with wide, brown eyes, “Oh, are you sure, Stella? It could take you a while and I don’t want to be a burden to you. I’m sure you have plans.”

“I don’t have plans, go on! I’m happy to do it,” I say, and I mean it.

“Thank you so much. That’s a huge help, really it is,” He says, gathering his jacket, wallet and keys. He wishes me a good night and leaves in a clumsy rush.

I never realized how much Jimmy did every night before leaving. By the time I lock the doors, it’s past eleven and completely dark. I double check the lock on the front door before starting to my car. As I do, I notice a dark silhouette turn from the furthest side of the building and begin walking behind me.

I remember the promise that I made to myself after last night's shower, and I stay surprisingly calm. Someone starting in the same direction, at the same time as me – it's only a coincidence, I'm sure. No need to become bothered by coincidence.

I am proud of myself, until I hear the person’s pace quickening behind me. I hadn’t turned around yet, but I decide I should. It could be someone noticeably harmless, and that would keep me from feeling anxious. I keep walking but turn my head around.

I find a man smiling at me with a dirty, crooked grin. His skin is a sickly looking pale. He has long, thin, greying hair that hangs out from his knitted hat, and rough facial hair. He is dressed sloppily, and is certainly not as harmless looking as I’d hoped he would be.

I am trying to convince myself that my judgment is cruel when he speaks, “Hey baby, care to give me a ride?” And the guilt ceases.

I also don’t recoil; I hold my quick, but controlled pace. I am happy that I don’t start to cry or shake, either.

“Stay away, sir,” I say, facing forward again, “Someone is picking me up just down the street.”

“Is that so, pretty girl? I think I see your car just there.” He says, and I know then that he’s watched me before. How could I have missed him? I am always so careful. I realize that I’ve stopped in the street and I turn my head back around. I am in the exact middle between my car and where he stands, but I don’t have much time because he is still walking towards me. I turn and run, digging in the small satchel that hangs at my side for my keys. I hear him laugh. There is no one else on the street, but there are houses nearby and businesses behind me, all around the café. Surely someone will hear my scream.

I try to yell, but my throat is tight and my voice, weak. I no longer hear his footsteps, but when my hand touches the silver door of my car, I know that he’s just behind me. I feel his cold, sticky hand wrap tightly around my arm. He spins me around and slams my back against the car.

His long, dirty face is only inches from mine as he closes his eyes and nuzzles his bony nose against my cheek. I am gasping for air so loudly that I can’t hear anything else and I close my eyes. I am too shocked to even cry.

“You smell like strawberries, pretty girl.”

I swallow hard, feeling as though I'm suffocating in stale air. Then, I'm somehow able to block my senses and fear. I calculate how quickly I can move my knee and try to gage my target. In that moment, I am only in my mind. I no longer see his face, or hear what he is whispering. I close my eyes, and with one steady movement, I pound my knee into him and he jerks violently away from me, losing his grip on my arm. Did I really kick him that hard? I hear him scream, and when I open my eyes, I realize that I am no longer alone in my fight.

He is standing tall above the old man, who is now on his knees. Both are facing me the at first, but the boy lifts the man up by his shoulders, turning his entire, frail looking body around to face the boy's own scowling, midnight eyes. He says nothing that I can hear, but throws the man back onto the ground before him.