Story title taken from Shakin' Off The Rust by The Blue Stones
"I think I broke just a little bit
Walked through the fire, made it back again
Lord knows I tried everything I can
And I'm shaking off the rust
Yeah, I'm shaking off the rust"
Speaking of rusty, I'm beyond rusty when it comes to writing, especially creative writing. So I figured the only way to get better is to write, so here I am. I've been on a Classic TR kick recently and thought it would be good to use, classic, Lara Croft as my inspiration. Let's see where this goes.
"What am I doing...?" I murmured to myself as I sat watching the scenery, out the window of the taxi I was in, past by in a watery blur. The low sound of a rock song was the only thing that kept me from resting my head on the glass and closing my eyes. Well that and the unease of being in an American taxi, in a city I've never been also had stopped me from relaxing fully. But after 15 hours of traveling, the nightmares plaguing my head for the last year, insomnia amongst other things, I was exhausted not only physically but mentally. The darkness and rain just made me want to rest but I knew only nightmares would plague me if I dared close my eyes.
Before I could even start to think about the nightmares, the taxi made a turn and started to slow to a stop in front of a row of rundown brick style townhomes.
The gruff voice of the driver pulled me out of my head.
"We're here...Are you sure this is where you wanted to be, lady? This isn't the kind place a nice lady should be", the driver said in a concerned tone.
Before answering, I surveyed my location out the window. It was a rundown area that was a mix of commercial and residential. Cars that have seen better days were parked on the left-hand side street in front of stores that were mostly graffiti-covered, some of the doors and windows of the buildings were blocked up with wood and the ones that weren't were either locked up or broken down. The area on the other side of the street, the residential side, was surprisingly active with people considering it was 3:30 in the morning. There were a couple of small groups of people sitting on the stoops of the homes talking and staring and I saw a few heads poke out of the alleys in between of some of the stores. All watching my taxi, like they never seen someone willingly come to this neighborhood.
It all honestly made me a bit uneasy but I wasn't going to let that show. I took a breath and made eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror and said with the cold arrogance that has taken over me these last few years.
"If this is 626 Hunter Avenue., then this is exactly where I should be."
I didn't wait for a response, I grabbed my worn leather carry on and my newly acquired backpack, as my previous one was lost to the damn police dogs in Paris, and left the taxi. Before I closed the door and the driver could say anything, I threw him $50 and slammed the car door and began my journey to 626 Hunter Avenue.
As I made my way up the puddle infested path to stairs that lead to the townhome I flew halfway around the world to visit. My thoughts were a mess. One moment the voice in my head was yelling at me for being an idiot for coming here and I should have stayed in England and the next moment it was praising me for finally leaving the manor. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, as I stomped through a rather deep puddle right at the base of the stairs. I ignored the eyes of the taxi driver on my back and the eyes, and whistles, of the people out on their stoops around me. They weren't of any concern for me and they didn't know what I was capable of.
I climbed the six steps and walked across the small rundown porch to the dark wooden door. I almost turned around and left but I had to do this. It was the only way I could think to get myself out of the darkness I've been swimming in.
Taking a deep breath, I raised my hand and knocked heavily on the door. It was a surprisingly sturdy door for this run down-home. I'm guessing the owner made a few secret upgrades to this place to stop any intruders...
After waiting a few moments and hearing nothing, except a few hushed whispers from the random people on the stoops around me. I knocked on the door harder, not caring if I drew more attention. A few moments later I hear the familiar sound of a gun being cocked, then a voice I haven't heard in over a year.
"Who are you and what the fuck do you want?", came a tired and agitated voice from the other side of the door.
"Is that any way to talk to a lady, stranger?" I said in an equally tired but sarcastic tone.
As soon as the words left my mouth the heavy door swung open and I was greeted with the gun I heard, the infamous Boran X, and a very rumpled and barely dressed Kurtis Trent with a stunned look on his face.