Candle in The night (completed)

Being alone or fight together?

As I was walking in the street, I heard some people coming out of a pub, completely waisted. They were singing a song I wasn't even sure to recognise, and they were trying to figure out the road to get back home.
I walked pass them, ignoring their immature whistles. One of them started to get my attention calling after me, but I once again kept walking my way.

- C'mon young lady! You're not funny! He shouted drunkenly.

If only I could reply, but teasing him wasn't the solution if I wanted to be released of this annoying man. I kept walking on the side walk, ignoring the cold air hitting my face and the boring comments made toward me. I could hear them walking behind me with difficulties, but I knew this wasn't a good thing. Being followed by a bunch of drunk men during the night in London was never good news.
I sight, walking a little faster, trying to outrun them, without a real success. Like if I didn't had enough surprise for today with what I saw earlier, I had to get in trouble.

A year ago, I wouldn't had think twice before turning back and punching them. But a lot had changed since last year, and I promised myself I wouldn't punch anything or anyone anymore. And I would keep that promise, because it was one I made to myself as a part of my grief, and I would make it right, for him. All I could to right now was to run and hope I would escape them, even if I highly doubted that. And so I did as I thought and started running through the streets taking directions of my apartment.

As expected, they reached me a few streets after, pushing me against the wall with strength. My back hit the bricks hardly, making me suffer for a split second. I could smell their bad breaths from where I was, making me want to throw up.

- why did you tried to escape? Asked one of them with a dirty look on me. We just wanted to have a little fun with you, but now, we will have to punish you instead!

I repressed a shiver running down my spine, looking at them with what I hoped was a poker face. They didn't seemed to appreciate my lack of fear as one of them slapped me across the face. I closed my eyes for a second repressing the urge to get back to him and bit him.
I turned my face back to them, keeping my face blank one again. The same one clenched his fist before hitting my jawbone hardly, making me bit my tongue to blood.

I could feel the pain growing by the second as I spitted some blood before turning my face to them once again. I knew I were defying them, but I was proud, and I was an ex fighter, I couldn't help it. It was was I always did to my opponent, giving them a look saying they were nothing but sh*t to me.
The three of the started punching me all at the same time, not caring that. I was a woman. They were hitting my face, arms, stomach, every piece of me they could reach. And I stood there, not moving, not reacting. I closed my eyes, as I felt my body getting weaker, my legs started to shake.

I was used to punches after all the fights I did, but I was still human, and after a dozen of punches from them, I lamely felt on the floor. My legs were too weak to support me any longer, and my body was hurting me a little more every seconds.
I was laying on the floor and they were now kicking me with their feet, pushing me again and again against the wall. I closed my eyes, begin the sky to make it stop.

I didn't believed in anything or anyone, but I would do anything to make it stop. Anything but fight back, but I wasn't even physically able to do it anymore anyway. I started mentally apologise to my father, for not telling him straight away what mom did, I was sorry to my friends, the olds like the new ones, for not being so expressive or passionate as other people were.
I also apologised to him, for not fighting back. Maybe today would be my last day, I would die here alone, in this dark street of London. I knew he would have wanted to see me fighting back for my life, and punching these men to get away. But my love for him stopped me, I weren't done with my grief, and going against it may signify that he couldn't rest in peace. And I couldn't accept the idea that he wasn't in peace, it was the least I could do for him.

I could feel every inches of my body burning and hurting me as hell, the taste of blood in my mouth. I didn't wanted to die just yet, but I couldn't make a move. A few more punches and I would be knocked out, and a few others and I would be dead.
My head was pounding and my arms and legs felt heavy as hell, like an elephant were sitting casually on top of me. The pain I was feeling was a billion times harder than hitting my toe on the corner of my desk and I promised myself that if I survived, I wouldn't complain about that anymore. It was like knifes were hitting me repeatedly, and I couldn't do anything about it. It was frustrating and scary.

I could feel adrenaline through my veins, but even this wasn't enough to make me move a finger. All my senses were in alert, and the more seconds were passing by, the more hopeless I was feeling. I was getting more and more sure that I would be dead within seconds, I was giving up, and so was my body.
But at the moment I decided it was time for me to let go, I felt like one of them stopped, and then a second one, and the third one stopped as well. I first felt relieved, before I started wondering why they suddenly decided to stop.

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