She steps back, her heart stops and misses a beat as she feels the cold brick wall scrape her hands. The scream on her tongue never passes her lips as she feels a hand close around her wrist, twisting her around until she is trapped, her face pressed against the wall. She feels the breath on her neck, the hand snaking around her waist, the pain shooting through her wrist as it is fractured in the crushing grip of a calloused, rough hand. She doesn't know why or how but she finds herself spinning around, bringing her other hand up then down, connecting with the wrist bone that crushed her hand. A shriek pierced the silent night and she jerks free, pulling out a knife, clutching it with white knuckles. She snaps it open and lunges, dodging a wild kick and landing a punch of her own to the stomach. She raises her elbow and makes contact with the ribs, crushing them with a satisfying crack. She raises her other arm, wincing at the pain shooting her fractured wrist and, clutching the blade, sinks it into the leg that comes flying blindly at her. She stabs the arm that comes to clutch at the bleeding leg and she lunges again, completely taken over by adrenaline and fear, and stabs the stomach. She feels the knife breaking the skin and sinking into muscles, which contract, trying to force the foreign object out and he crumples to the ground. Her body smeared in blood, she screams one last time and runs. She turns to see an ambulance come and, gripped by fear, she turns and flees once more. Not until she is back, alone in a dark room, does she silently release the tears that built up, soaking her face, just as fear soaks her mind. Trails of tears wash away still-wet blood, revealing stripes of reddened skin. A sob rips through her as the knife clatters to the floor.