When Death Falls

Life

I had a feeling the code word would be used tonight, there may also be a hanger on a doorknob. Hannah was sliding around some sweet bit of man candy, and I knew all her moves. So it was no surprise when Hannah stopped sweet talking man candy and pulled me to the side.

"Strawberries! Dear lord, strawberries! Do you have cab fare?" I laughed at her face, which looked kind of funny with the desperate plea in them. Rule#23. Whenever you go out, always keep cab fare handy.

"Of course, babydolls." Her eyes got stern for a second. "Okay, I promise to leave in a couple of minutes!" Another item of the buddy code. When one leaves. So does the other. No hanging behind. Yes, we were young, and admittedly stupid sometimes, but we were not naïve. Bad things could definitely happen to young girls alone in a club. She smiled and headed towards her flavor of the week, and I made my way after her. The line for the cabs wasn't too bad yet, so it wasn't that long before Hannah was off. Please let them make it to her room this time, I prayed in my head. Awkwardness unleashed the one time they didn't. I saw more of her date then I really needed to.

Like the masters of the universe had it in for me, the never ending flow of cabs stopped at my turn though. Just perfect. Another night alone, and now, I'm stuck in a cab line. Just perfect. I looked around the now deserted street and fought a battle within myself. Do I wait who knows how long for a cab, or do I walk a few blocks to the more inhabited downtown district. Stay here, in the dark, alone; outside a questionable club filled with who knows how many questionable dudes, or walk a few blocks to my fave coffee house and wait there. In comfort. With coffee. The coffee sealed the deal.

Against my better judgement, I headed toward the brighter lights of the downtown district. The lure of coffee and comfy seats, drove me on. I tried to use all the safety training Dad had made me learn. Keep alert. Listen to your surroundings. Look around. I did, walking as fast as I could in my heels, avoiding looking too deep in the dark alleys, and avoiding any and all eye contact. All the while judging how fast I could make said shoe a weapon. Heels were more than decoration. I grabbed my keys out of my purse, my fingers clasping the supple black and pink leather of my pepper spray case. It was comforting.

It did prove useful when the hand reached out from the alleyway, grabbing my arm. It pulled me closer to the darkness and I responded with a mighty scream and a spray of peppery goodness. Dàmnit! I should have waited in the line! A garbled scream came out of the darkness, and I could see the man who had grabbed me as he stumbled toward me. A tall, older guy, kinda skinny. I recorded as much as I could before I pulled some moves. Slamming my heel into his foot, making him bend. Classic textbook slam of my combined fists to the back of his neck bent him lower, followed by a knee to his face flipped him over onto his back. Thank you Daddy!

I kicked at him one last time before dashing off. Unfortunately, the crackhead must have been on something, because he recovered quicker than I could run in those dàmn shoes. He tackled me to the ground a block away, fifty feet or so, from my goal. Fifty feet from witnesses. From help. Flipping me over, he batted at my hands aiming for his throat or his eyes. I tried to remember every fúcking move I knew. My hands slowed though when he pulled the knife out.

That was a game changer. We have gone from defend yourself, to fight for your life. I was going to lose it all over a fúcking cup of coffee and a cab. Not cool coffee. Not cool.

"Fúckin bìtch! I'll show you. I'll show them all." The bad man growled at me, showing his nasty teeth and gross breath. The knife flashed down. So caught up in fighting him off, I barely felt the tear of my shirt, the piercing of my skin. I did feel the blood, pouring warm over me. Forget the face, I grabbed for his knife. We wrestled. I mean wrestled. I pulled some Shera-Superwoman out of me from somewhere and was able to shove up with my shoulder and knee and flip us over.

We still grappled for the knife, my blood making the handle slippery, which helped me twist the pointy end away from me. Thankfully, I did. At the moment, that sharp bit was not aimed my way, he flipped us again. I lost my breath for a moment as his weight landed on me. He made some choking sounds, then went still.

I laid there under him for a few moments, confused. Why wasn't he moving? He just gurgled in my ear, and believe me when I say, it was really icky. I shoved him off me one last time. That was when I saw it. The knife that he had stuck me with was lodged in his chest. A dark red, almost purple color dripping from the wound and his mouth. I had a hysterical, and not the funny kind, of thought. If my blood was on the knife, and is now mixed with his blood, does that make us blood buddies? A laugh of tension, high and a little crazy, escaped at the thought.

Then it hit me. I killed a guy. Yes, in self defense, but I killed a guy.

"Holy shìt on a shingle! I killed him!" I shouted to the world. I blame that stupid move on shock.

"Not quite. But you did a good job of it." A smooth sexy voice came from behind me and I twirled around. There, not a foot away, stood a walking, talking, wet dream! Dark tousled hair, the ends coming over, shading his eyes a bit. Through the fringe of those dark pieces, his amber eyes burned nearly gold. His face a perfectly sculpted as a painting, with a straight nose and full lips. The black leather jacket couldn't hide his amazing body. Don't get me started on those jeans and how he filled them. Shīt girl, get it together. You just killed your potential killer. Did that make sense?

"Well, he looks pretty dead to me." I said to him. He seemed shocked at my words. He came close to me, his eyes piercing my soul.

"You can see me?" He asked. Well, aren't I attracting the crazies!

"Well, you are like in my face." Sarcasm. My first line of defense.

"Curious. Well, you should get that nick looked at." I looked down at my wound. Why does it only truly hurt till you look at it?

"Yeah, I guess I -" I looked up to finish speaking, but he was gone. What a gentleman. I shuffled my way to the finish line of the coffee shop. Gasps and shouts at my appearance. I played it cool though. I was getting what I came for.

"A café mocha to go and an ambulance please." I handed enough money over to the shell shocked barista and all the poor girl could do was nod, before shouting my order. Then she grabbed the phone and called for my other order. I wish Hannah would have been here. She would have laughed and called me a bad àss for drinking my coffee as they wheeled me away. Yeah, she would have loved it. I passed out in the ambulance, the void of darkness broken by amber eyes gleaming through a fringe of dark hair.