I stepped out into the cold and bitter January air, wrapping my mother's old shawl around my upper torso as I attempted to keep my body warm. How I managed to get through the past month with such a thin layer of clothing as the only barrier between the dropping temperatures and I, I wasn't quite sure. My body shivers involuntarily as the shawl itself isn't enough to keep the cold at bay. Thank God the house was only a few blocks away with the shortcut I knew. And with that, I started my walk home.
My shortcut consisted of going through the back alleyways leading to our small but cozy apartment building. It was easier that way, since there wasn't anyone to disrupt my walk back. Plus with the riots starting whenever and wherever, it was safer to keep my distance.
I hurried home, not wanting to spend any more time than I need to out in the cold. I could feel my cheeks and my nose starting to heat up as Jack Frost nips at them. I sharply exhaled, seeing my breath come out as a cloud of vapor when I suddenly heard something crunch behind me. I immediately turned around to check on what or who it was. Nothing. Not giving it a second thought, I continued my way home.
Almost a block later, I heard distant footsteps behind me. I turned around again, taking time to check my surroundings as I was now aware I was being followed. I stopped right behind the blacksmith's shop, which was closed for today. Grabbing my shawl tightly in the palm of my hand, I slowly walked over to the large boxes and barrels I had previously passed by near the shop's backdoor. As I neared the wooden crates, I felt a firm hand grasp my left shoulder, and was forced to turn around to face the same man from the pub.
"Hello, sweetheart." He whispered a little too closely to my face. I turned my face away, disgusted by the stench of alcohol in his breath. "Get your hands off me!" I tried to push his face away to no avail as he grabbed my hands in his tightly until it hurt. He then pushed me hard against the wall. I gasped abrubtly as my head made contact with the hard wall, causing my vision to blur slightly. I was trapped. He towered over my small frame easily while the stone wall prevented me from going anywhere. "P-please," I managed to mumble out, begging him, "don't do this."
A sly smirk appeared on his face as he simply rested his head on the crook of my neck, breathing in my scent "Don't fret, love. It won't take long," he said before starting to plant wet and sloppy kisses up my neck to my jawline. I felt my body tense up, not knowing what to do. My eyesight began to fog up as tears threaten to spill out. His hand fumbled with the buttons of the square neckline of my dress, trying to pry them open before gripping and ripping the material. I was speechless and scared, paralyzed in my own body. I closed my eyes and turned my head away from him. Please, God. Don't let him do this to me.
Out of nowhere, I feel the man's body lifted off mine before hearing the wooden crates break a second later. I opened my eyes to the back of a familiar blue hood standing protectively in front of me, putting distance between the man, who was now lying on the pile of broken crates, and myself. "Who do you think you a-" the man attempted to get out before my savior pulled him up by his collar with just his one hand. I saw the other hand come up just as a blade retracts from underneath his sleeve. My eyes widened, not believing the scene playing out in front of me. Apparently, neither did the man, as he continued to babble on much faster now. "S'il vous plait (Please), don-don't kill me! I have money to give!" He begged, hoping, praying the blue hooded man would spare him. Instead, I saw him turn to glance at me under his beaked hood, as if asking me to decide his fate. I gladly obliged, but not in the way he wanted.
I walked over to the both of them as calmly as I could, before swinging my fist back and punching that disgusting man square on his jaw, knocking him unconscious. Surprised by my choice of action, the hooded man simply dropped the man on the alley floor as if he were just trash that needed to be taken out. My knuckles ached, knowing that I used as much strength as I could in that punch but I wasn't going to let him know that. I discreetly tried to hide my throbbing hand behind my back, but before I could, the hooded man reaches for my hand, checking for any signs of damage.
"That was a good swing," he said as he continued to inspect my fingers one by one, "perhaps too good. You're starting to bruise." I looked over at my hand, which he was gently caressing in his with his thumb. I felt my cheeks start to blush, but he was right. The base of my fingers were starting to turn a shade of purple as the aftermaths of my aggressiveness begins to show. I shrugged as casually as I could, wanting to give the impression that it was something I was used to. "I guess my anger got the best of me." I said coolly. The man turned to look at me and I realized that he was the man I last saw at the pub earlier on. I was about to point that out to him, when the back of my head started to feel like it was throbbing. It hurt, and it felt like I could hear it just pounding at my brain. The saw the man's lips move as he spoke, but I couldn't clearly hear the words coming out of his mouth.
I felt my knees grow weak and the man's hold on my hand tighten as he realized I was about to fall. His hands reach underneath me as if to steady me, but to no use. I grew weary, my eyelids about to close.
The last thing I heard was the man's distant voice calling out to me.