Destructive Tendencies

The Warehouse

Lizzy rolled around on the concrete for a little bit, trying to regain her bearings. She scanned her body internally from top to bottom, looking for any parts calling for attention. All was quiet.

Although there was no pain, there was definite distress within her head. It was as if the top half of her field of vision was slightly disconnected from the bottom half. Her eyes were having trouble focusing. She was trying to decide whether the numerous bits of light she was observing were some sort of head trauma or the actual stars. She also felt the wind, as slight as it was on this still night. The air that blew around her organized itself into a slow, inconsequential vortex.

Which was weird, because the last thing she could remember was hanging out in the old abandoned warehouse with Smith. Old as it was, the warehouse still had a roof and walls. At least, it used to.

She propped herself up on her elbow, her focus gradually returning. Her equilibrium, not so much. She had to take it slow. She felt as if she ran on a battery, and that battery had started warning her to plug herself in. She moved her arms and legs and encountered no resistance, stretching them out and inspecting them on both sides. She felt around her head for any blood or wounds. Nothing. Her denim skirt had gathered itself in a place she considered too high on her thighs. She smoothed it out and tugged on her satin blouse, which had also become crumpled. Everything was intact except for a missing button. The string that held it onto her shirt was still there, although tattered. The button was nowhere to be found.

Strangely, her next instinct was to dive for the hooded jacket that she had piled next to her before she passed out. Its dark fabric was the roadmap of her life, since before she went away. There were small, randomized clouds of spray paint, most prevalently on the sleeves. The back of the jacket hosted a makeshift patch Lizzy had to craft from a spare curtain she had found at the reform school. It was the only piece of fabric available that matched the black of the hoodie, even if it had faded over time. After her inspection, she swung it around her shoulders and zipped it up.

Her hands then moved up to the top of her head, expecting a jumble of strands jutting out from every available direction. It felt as smooth as when she left the house. She gave herself a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk. Hair is of considerable importance when you're out on a date...

Smith. Jesus...

"Smith! Smith, where are you?" she yelled, jumping up to her feet and then wobbling a bit once she got there. She couldn't tell if it was the ground that was unsteady or just her. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, becoming more rapid as she scanned the scene.

Looking around through her eyes' rapid blinking, she couldn't believe what she saw. The concrete foundation of the building was still smooth, although it had lost any shine it had years ago. Sheets of structural metal that made up the walls looked as if they had disconnected from themselves and now laid flat, away from Lizzy and the center of the warehouse. The roof looked like the top of a sardine can, pulled off and cast to the north side. Broken glass had arranged itself in piles that represented where the few windows once hung. The smell of natural gas drew Lizzy's attention to a pipe across from her that had been sliced. There was a small, bluish flame that turned gold as it grew. But it was the mangled steel and aluminum, lying flat as if pushed from the inside out, that puzzled her.

The entire warehouse had fallen around her, but somehow not on her. As her mind became clearer, she started hypothesizing about what happened.

Tornado? We would have heard the sirens, and the weather was really nice tonight. Plus the metal would be all over the place, picked up and moved. The only thing missing is the roof.

Gas explosion? The concrete has no scorch marks on it. How would I have survived unscratched, and Smith...

She couldn't think of any more possibilities. She lept haphazardly into lifting sheets of metal and nicked her index finger on a sharp edge. She winced. After that, she took her time and held the metal with her fingers. As she searched for Smith, she tried to recall what she could about the night.

We came here after the movie. He said it was a good place to be alone. We started kissing for a while, and then his hands started exploring. I had to keep moving them away, first off my chest and then off my thigh.

Lizzy moved to the nearest metal pile and started pulling the sheets away, gently at first but gaining speed as she went, almost as if the metal weighed nothing at all. She was tossing sheet metal the size of a small car about 20 feet. But she didn't notice.

"Smith! Are you here?" Still no response.

"Why did you come here if you didn't want to do it?" he asked me. "I'm just not ready yet. Especially on the third date." He held me down against the concrete. My brother told me to go for a guy's balls if he gets too fresh, but I really like him and I didn't want to get a reputation. I'm already the new kid in school. We struggled some more. His hands started traveling again, trying to get under my shirt. I screamed at him to stop. And that's it. Nothing until I woke up here in Armageddon.

She continued the search as carefully as she could, but the metal was pretty rusty and sharp. She surprised herself with the amount of effort she was putting in, considering the person who was missing might have... what? How far would it have gone? How long was she out? Minutes? Hours? She mainly just wanted to get out of here before anything else crazy happened, but she had to help the guy, even if he was a scumbag.

When she first came to town, no one paid any attention to her, which was fine with her. They put Lizzy in the classes with the struggling learners because she had no real school record. The kinds of places she's spent the past few years didn't keep those kinds of records. She was given one chance to make things right in her life, so she came here ready to work hard. It was starting to pay off and she was showing herself to be the best student in her classes. Which is how Smith noticed her.

He seemed like a nice guy. Just a little lazy. She caught him looking at her a few times. He would try to play it off, but she would smile at him when he would turn his head away. One day he kept tapping his pencil on his desk when he should have been writing answers on a quiz, so she helped him out a little. At lunch he bought her a cookie and they started going out. Her brother had told her that guys that age only had one thing on their mind, but she had never seen it herself. That's what you get for spending your teenage years at an all-girl alternative school.

But he still didn't deserve this.

What the hell happened to him? To this place?

She decided on an explosion, even though there was only one flame and it was barely enough to cook a hot dog. Why did she come away unhurt while Smith - apparently - didn't.

Sirens started in the distance, softly at first but gradually getting louder.

It must not have been that long since the explosion.

Her options dwindled. Option A: stay and hunt for Smith, the attempted rapist, while getting in a world of trouble with her brother. He told her not to be anywhere near this part of town. In fact, she's supposed to be studying at home while he works the night shift. If she got caught, and they had anything to do with whatever happened, she would be going back to St. Anne's, if not worse. She's worked too hard to make that chapter in her life history. But she couldn't help but think it was happening all over again. Getting in trouble for something she's never understood...

She chose option B: run. She lifted up the hood of her jacket and sprinted to the nearest exit, which was conveniently everywhere. She chose the metal pile in the opposite direction from the sirens, which were now insistently close to the wreckage. The pile acted as a trampoline when she jumped on, giving her an added boost of speed. She gave a quick glance back, hoping to see someone else emerge.

Sorry, Smith. I really did like you.