❝ Maybe our favorite quotations say more about us than about the stories and people we're quoting. ❞

- John Green

"God, don't touch me, you piece of shit!" She's fighting against the man grasping at her as much as she can, but he's taller and much larger than her. Adrenaline is pumping through her veins and she finds herself scratching at him. The man growls and clutches at his face, where his cheek had been cut. He responded by giving her a sharp hit to the face, one that knocked her right to the ground. She was recovering from it when she felt him on top of her, grasping at her clothes as he had been just moments ago. She started protesting again, clawing at him. She received another hit and gave a groan, watching as her vision blurred and her head started to feel woozy from being hit so many times. She reaches underneath her skirt and removes the knife from the sheath strapped to her thigh and is about to slide it from underneath her skirt when the man is grabbed from the top of her and slammed against the wall across from them. She immediately scoots back to the wall behind her, keeping the blade out just in case.

"Fuckin' piece of garbage!" She watches as her rescuer hits the attacker, knocking him to the ground. She grasps at her coat, pulling it to cover her chest, anxiety and self-consciousness overcoming her now that she felt safe. She watched as he turned around and pushed a stray piece of dark hair from his face. He had dark brown, almost black, hair and matching (rather thick) eyebrows and his eyes were dark and in that moment, filled with a rage unlike any other. It didn't scare her, as much as she was sure it should. Slowly, he appeared to calm down, clenched fist at his side relaxing.

"I had it, thanks." She responds, standing up, pulling the coat even more around herself, feeling exposed. He looked down, seeing the blade shine beneath the sunlight, then back at her face, which was already beginning to bruise and she could feel her lip was split and beginning to bleed. He nods and shrugs, a bit sarcastically.

"I can tell." He says, chuckling slightly.

She slides the knife back into its sheath and sizes him up, watching as he removed his coat and offered it to her. She shook her head, but he still held it out to her. A heavy sigh and she takes it, putting it on and pulling it around her. The familiar scent of man and unfamiliar scent of this man envelopes her and it makes her a little uncomfortable but at the same time, safe. It's always been this way for her because of her experience with men. She rubs her arms as she looks over at him, watching as he did the same.

"Listen, I'm a police officer so if you want to file charges—"

"I don't, thanks."

"And why's that?" He asks.

"Well, if I filed charges against every guy that did that, I'd be going to court a lot. Trust me. Anyway, it was nice to meet you and thanks for the coat, but I have to go. I'm sorry." She pushes dark hair behind her ear, and moves to leave the alley, shooting a glare to the guy lying on the ground groaning and clutching at his face from where the other had punched him.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to arrest you for carrying a concealed weapon unless you can show me you have a permit?" She gasps as she feels handcuffs lock around her wrists.

"Dude! What the fuck?" She fights against him, causing his coat to shrug off her shoulders and fall about her cuffed wrists.

"Don't make me add resisting arrest to the list." He says, holding her by the shoulder and leading her to a police car by the curb.

"Do you always put a girl in cuffs when you first meet her?" She rubs her wrists before letting them fall on the desk, glaring over at the other.

"No, not always. You're special." He says, taking a seat across from her and setting the handcuffs he just released her from down on the desk. He sighs and watches as the guy from earlier (who he had the honor of punching) is muscled by another officer past them. Her own eyes find the guy and she glares a little before finding him again.

"This isn't the best way to get my attention or affection, 'y know." She leans back in the seat and crosses her arms over her chest, which was rather revealed despite the fact that she was wearing two coats, including his.

"Who says I'm trying to?" He queries, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk.

"Oh, c'mon, it's so obvious. Why else would you arrest me?"

"Maybe I just want you to press charges against that douchebag for attacking and trying to rape you."

"Maybe..." She tilts her head as she leans forward and rests her own elbows on the desk, staring into his eyes. "If I press charges, will you let me go?"

"Maybe."

"Okay, then I'd like to press charges."