Stephanie C

Wretched

Stephanie C.

The screams of people running the streets at 4:00 am should have felt more normal to me after working in a bar for the past two years. But tonight, it was more annoying than anything. It being New Year's didn’t make it any better. That only meant that there were twice as many people out and ninety-eight percent of them were drunk. The bar was supposed to close at two, but my manager had insisted on staying open for a few tourists and regulars that had begged him to keep the lights on. The amber glow coming from the old light fixtures was starting to give me a headache. The mix of the smell of the alcohol-soaked wooden tables and bleach cleaning water made it hard to stay cheery. The group’s laughs roar through the small pub and echo off the 1970s-style wall paneling. Finally, one of the older male tourists wobbles over to me and apologizes for making me stay so late. Alcohol drips off the white hairs of his beard, as he slides a final tip across the countertop. The rest of his friends rise to their feet, as he walks back and they exit out of the side door, letting a small gust of wind brush up against my arm hair. Quickly, I walk over to the now vacant table with a serving tray and begin cleaning up the rest of the bar. With a wad of cash in my pocket from tonight’s tips, I walk to my car and check my phone for text messages. Connor had texted me twelve times asking where I was, and when I would be getting home. His last message came through at 3:24 am and read, “If you’re not home by five, I’m drinking all the wine.” Before coming into work, I had told him to just go to sleep without me, but he pushed to just let him stay up and wait for me. I fumble for my car keys in my purse and unlock my SUV from across the parking lot, checking for drunk drivers before walking across

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the ally. The heavy door closes loudly behind me as I climb into the car. A cold chill runs across my skin and down my back. The key in my hand approaches the ignition and a hand pushes against the side of my throat. His rough dry palm touches the side of my neck and the ice-cold steel of his knife pressed against my windpipe. Shallow and rough breathing comes from my backseat, terrifying me even more. I keep quiet, fearing that if I say anything, he will turn the blade and make a quick cut. Without a word, he moves his hand from my neck into my hair and pulls the knife away. In a deep voice I am commanded, “Turn the car on and drive around the block.” As I shakily turned the key, my car roars to life and the headlights flash against the brick building in front of the car. With no hesitation, I pull out of my parking spot like a million times before, and begin to drive. When we reach the first stoplight, I can feel his hand shaking against my skin, letting me know that he is just as scared as I am. People around us on the sidewalks continue to go about their night like nothing is going on. To them, everything is normal, and tonight is just another holiday for them to celebrate. I turn down an abandoned alley and put the car back in park. Both of my hands drop to my sides, and the atmosphere around me falls silent again. His long fingers leave my hair and touch my neck again. A callus on the inside of his ring finger swipes against my ear-almost as if he is trying to comfort me and make me no longer feel afraid, and in a strange way it is working. He shifts, making the leather seat squeak as it rubs up against his legs. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he claims in a raspy voice. My body goes cold as I try not to think about what he wants from me. The cash tips from the previous bar shift, the twelve-karat ring sitting on my left ring finger, or something much worse. The hand that is holding his knife is resting against my collarbone. A bus full of obnoxious tourists drive past our alley, the passengers drinking and laughing loudly and enjoying their time in New York, avoiding

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thoughts of having to go home and back to their normal everyday lives.

I, on the other hand, want more than anything to go home. I close my eyes and try to relax by thinking of all the things waiting for me once this night was over. The oversized king bed that is way too big for our studio apartment. The stone covered shower that would wash away everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Even the hole in the wall next to the bathroom door, that Connor had put there last week after a huge argument. Connor himself, everything about him from his short brown hair to the American Eagle hoodie he always wore. A heavy regret fills my body, as I remember that I never texted him back. He probably just thinks I am running late again or still at work; little does he know. The outside world is quiet around us, and the car feels as if it has been sitting in the same spot for weeks. My new friend sits back against the backseat, letting go of me completely and lets out a heavy breath. “You know, you’re not the person I was looking for. There’s this woman that works down at the gas station on 6th south. I’m supposed to be with her right now. She parks her car in the same spot every day and leaves every night at exactly midnight. Her name is Maddie, and she has the most beautiful curly burnt orange hair. For the past month, I’ve been buying a pack of cigarettes every few days from her. Funny thing is, I’ve never smoked a day in my life. But she was always there and sweet and flirting back. Then one day I ask her out and she laughs. Loudly. Then tells a coworker like it’s some old joke. It’s disgusting how cruel people can be in this world.” He stops speaking and makes a whimpering sound, as if he is crying. “Then today, I go to wait for her. To show her how funny it really is to make people feel like shit about themselves. And to my surprise, she isn’t working. What a twist in events, huh? Only problem is, I already had the knife in hand and a plan in motion.

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Just needed someone else to fill her spot. I’m sorry you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I really am,” the hushed low voice disappears again. “It’s not too late to just go home. You can just get out of the car, and I won’t tell anyone what happened.” I manage to choke up the words and hear him sit up. His blade once again stops right in front of my windpipe, and he lets out a sarcastic sigh. “Unfortunately, that’s not true. I'm one of those people that keeps going once they set their mind to something. Although, I was going to hurt her the way she hurt me. I’m not going to hurt you. You served me a few hours ago, Gin and Tonic with a twist on ice. When I handed you your tip, I watched you put it away and saw the wad of money you pulled out of your pocket. I just want the money. So, if you could just hand it over slowly, I can go.” All at once I feel my body relax. Every bit of fear I am feeling fades away, and I can finally breathe normally again. I clear my dry throat, “The money is in my apron on the passenger seat. I’m just going to lean over and grab it and hand it to you.” I reach over and pull open the sweat-covered apron pocket and feel the cash against my fingertips. In the silence, a car about a block away backfires and he jumps. The cold metal knife glides against my throat in a quick motion and makes my body go numb. My breathing slows down as my neck and chest become warm and wet. Suddenly, I am in the middle of Central Park, dancing to a local band with Connor. The summer heat is cooling down as it gets later, and our friends surround us dancing as well. The band comes to a stop after their third song ends, and he lets go of my hand. Then, the band plays our song as he falls to his knee and asks me to be his wife. The crowd around us cheers as I said yes, and he wraps me in his arms, swings me around, and holds me tight. I feel his lips press against mine, kissing me like it is the first time all over again. That perfect image begins to fade away and reality takes over my vision. My body falls limp against the driver’s seat, and I feel colder

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than I’ve ever felt before. The car’s back door flies open, and then the driver’s side door. For the first time tonight, I come face to face with my attacker. His black hair is long and unwashed, matching his overgrown facial hair. The pale skin on his face grows whiter when he sees what he has done. I begin blinking slower as the rest of my body slows down, and I slightly choke. He panics and looks around; whether he was looking for help or witnesses, I didn’t know. The large hand that had once been wrapped around my now-exposed neck touches my face for a split second, once again like he is comforting me. Then he disappears from my view and runs around to the other side of the car. He grabs my apron and runs off, getting exactly what he wanted. I am alone, sitting in a dark, abandoned alley with no one around and no one coming to look for me. My blood starts to stain my black and white shirt just like a horror film, making it look like I spilled a bottle of Bloody Mary juice down the front of me. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, my body starts to slip out of consciousness. Just as my mind starts to go blank, Connor’s ringtone goes off in the pocket of my jeans, and I drift off to the sound of an old slow song that we were supposed to dance to at our wedding.

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