Olivia Vitale is trying her best to get her life back on track. After escaping an abusive relationship, she moves back to her home city of Joy. She promises her roommate Carol to take it slow with relationships. That promise becomes harder to keep a...
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« 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑶𝒏𝒆: 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 »
𝐓𝐡𝐞 sidewalk, in all its glorious decrepitude, is dotted in mistakes. Thick pieces of gum stuck to the pavement, cigarette filters mushed into the ground between the cobweb pieces of asphalt. It looks like someone has taken a sledgehammer to every piece, creating a network of cracks.
Olivia's short legs are having trouble avoiding them. The thick sneakers she's wearing aren't enough to protect her worn feet. Her frame wobbles on the two unsteady pillars, but she determinedly continues. The only thought in her mind is getting home, getting inside, and getting into her bed. The twelve-hour shifts are taking their toll. Not just on her body, but on her mind as well.
At the end of the week, she feels more dead than alive. Still, it's better than how her life used to be. The job at the hospital was the only available one, it's below her pay grade, but it's better than nothing. Her life has been stalling for the last two years because of Brock, and explaining that sort of thing to an employer isn't easy.
Her fried mind might be the reason she doesn't notice the figure closing in on her from behind. Olivia stumbles down the street. Away from the bar and mechanic's shop. Carol said she made spaghetti and left some for her on the stove. She can't wait to get home and devour the rest of it. That damn spaghetti is the first thing on her mind.
"Give me your money!"
Her blood runs cold. She freezes, turning around. Olivia stares down the barrel of a gun, and she slowly closes her eyes. On this night, of all the fucking nights to get mugged, it had to be this one.
"I don't have any," she sighs in annoyance and turns her pockets inside out. It's a young guy, large bags under his eyes, red-rimmed. His beard is patchy, and the threadbare hoodie is too stained to properly show the logo on the front. He's an addict.
"Then—give me your jewellery!" He spits, and her heartbeat picks up. Her earrings are the ones she got from her mom before she passed. The fear rushes through her.
"Look, I can give you my watch. That's worth a lot, but please let me keep my earrings," she tiredly tries to bargain. The man looks terrified and it's scaring her. His trembling hand could accidentally pull the trigger.
"Fucking, just give it!" He says and sticks a muddy palm forward. Olivia gulps. Tears rise in her eyes. Of all the damn nights. Her movements are slow as she unclasps her watch.
"Hey, what's goin' on!"
A tall leather-clad figure struts towards them. Somewhat drunkenly, and with a hand held high. The lights behind him allow no illumination of his face or features. She notices a strange gleam of his left hand.
"Give me the fucking watch!" The man hisses and points the gun right between her eyes.
Olivia hesitates. The man's eyes go wide. The leather-clad figure sets into a spring, rushing up, and the gleaming hand rears back. She squeaks as the smaller man crashes into the metal trash cans behind them. A shot goes off and she cowers, ducking.
