Pebbles: A Collection of Short Stories

Heartbreaker

It's easy to think that I should've known better as my lungs are burning for breath and my knees are screaming with rawness from repeated stumbles. Many consequences are facing me now. I could have worn jeans, tough skin-protecting jeans. But I wore the skater skirt with black tights. You know what doesn't protect your knees, tights; the tattered remnants rip deeper into the matching gashes my knees share. I could've run back to the well-lit neighborhood instead of the shielding darkness of the woods. The woods have trees, and logs, and roots; all things I trip over with every panicked step. Speaking of panicked paces, chunky boots, that's what I wore tonight. The white-hot burning in my thighs is a reminder that heavy boots were also a terrible decision.

None of these is the biggest regret; that was the heartbreaker himself. It was so easy to get to know him, another sarcastic malcontent to share my disdain for all things Halloween. A contrived holiday of skimpy or obnoxiously punny outfits, so far from the origins of bonfires and costumes to ward off ghosts, the world deserves hauntings. Did I convince myself I deserve this? He was friendly, funny with a bite, just the way I like my guys. I departed feeling slightly better about the holiday in general.

As soon as I left, I started to feel it, that prickling feeling of unseen eyes monitoring my moves. I quickened my pace even in the brick-like boots that I insisted my legs lift. The panic rose-up from my stomach like cement and strangled my lungs. It wasn't dire from the early speed walking, just a slight pant as my heart rate rose, banging loudly on its request for more oxygen.

I neared the wooded shortcut to my apartment, and I dared a single glance back. Why would I confirm my panic? He was there, far enough to be distorted in the moonlight from the charming placid-faced guy that bought me a drink to a teeth-baring psycho growing dangerously close. Was he laughing in a toying way, or were my ears just tired of focusing on the unbearable drumming of my heart? One thing was certain: he was a heartbreaker. Not in the love-at-first-sight sap sense; in the should've-done-more-cardio, my-heart-is-about-to-explode-in-terror sense.

And here I am, running now in the ridiculous boots with gory knees and bloody palms desperately trying to squeeze a breath into my lungs. I give up on my frantic thrashing; I won't outrun him in his sensible sneakers and jeans. I take advantage of one last clumsy fall to roll behind a log. I can hear his footsteps, annoyingly calm as they approach. I try to calm my desperate lungs, but the thudding of my heart is less easy to dissuade. The last thing I see is his hand plunging to me as his wholly composed face smiles down at me, slightly bearing his animalistic teeth.