𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐇// 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐗𝐎𝐂

𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐱. 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

JANUARY, 1986; CHANCE

"Sweetheart, how much?!" A man called out as I walked down the streets of San Francisco, the city built on a hill. I could taste sea salt on my tongue, still lingering from the pier. I had been so absorbed in my buddy daydreams that I hadn't paid any attention to the man. None at all.

All that was on my mind was the clam chowder I had earlier, the waves crashing on those craggy rocks in the bay, and the height of the Golden Gate Bridge.

"Hey, you hear me?" His voice snapped me back to reality. Even now I can't remember what he looked like. Probably like how most men did. Taller, scruffier, and meaner. "You hear me?! Huh, you deaf or something?!"

I picked up my pace, speed walking. The hostel I was staying at was in view, just a block away.

"Hey, Sweetheart, where you going? Why aren't you answering me?!" His feet pounded the pavement behind me. The streetlights rained down the light they could, shining brighter as I neared the hostel.

"You live around here? You showing me where you live?" He boomed, his steps coming down like cracks of thunder. He was close. Too close. I tried to run...he caught me.

The man stole away my air, snatching the back of my cardigan. I was in motion, being thrown into an alley. It was cold. It was damp. The hostel was so close. His face was a shadow, covered up by the hat that he wore. I tried to run...he caught me.

My hair this time. He gnarled his fingers through my hair, ripping me back to him.

What do I do?!
What do I do?!
What do I do?!

"Leave me alone!" I screamed, landing a punch straight up into his throat. The flesh was soft, doughy. "Go away!" My fist sank into his stomach. He doubled over, groaning as he staggered around the alley. I tried to run...he caught me.

His hands dug into the side of my hips, jerking me back into the darkness. It swallowed me whole. No street lights illuminated the area. The man. He was there. He was the shadows. He was the darkness. He was angry. So very angry.

"You tryna run from me, you little slut!" He hit me then. I had never been hit before. Not like that. It hurt. God damn it hurt. Part of my hair, from the nape of my neck, had been torn from me as easily as a person could pick off lint from a sweater. A clump of it remained in his fist. The same fist he smashed into my face.

It was messy. A gutter fight. With nothing but teeth and nails and rips and screams and elbows and feet and knees.

A police officer intervened. He tased the man. More than once. The baton he carried struck the man's flesh. My face was purpling. I was panting, curled up in a puddle of rain water.

The man was beat on. Over and over until he gave up. He was handcuffed. Put in the back of a car. Blood ran freely. I tried walking back to the hostel but it was too late. The officer recognized my face. My California high had already peaked, starting it's descent. All the way back to Indiana.

FEBRUARY, 1986; CHANCE

"Mmh, God, you are my goddess." Nash mumbled between kisses. My eyes were locked on the cross above him, focused on Jesus's mangled body nailed into the wood. Thoughts bubbled into my head as my boyfriend continued making out with me.