Letters to The Fighter ✔

18. Miranda

Dear Peter,

I'll just pick up where I left off. This day is one that I think about more than I'd like to admit.

It was cold, dark, and scary. I was in an alley, in NYC, my back pressed back onto a brick wall, wishing that I could somehow pass through it. There was a figure approaching me, his features hidden, but a cross necklace illuminated the alley.

He placed one foot in front of another, walking towards me in an agonizingly slow pace. My head darted left, right, up, but there was nowhere that I could go. I was stuck. I could have screamed, but I was frozen, and almost certain that no one would hear me.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

My heart was beating so hard that I was afraid it would leap out of my chest. I squeezed my eyes closed as hard as I could, trying to muster up as much courage as possible. I thought back to how Nana once fought off a group of muggers with just her umbrella, purse, and her feisty demeanor. I remembered how, when Zoya was in seventh grade, a group of boys tried to bully her and she spoke up for herself. And then, I thought of you. You fought every day, not only on the ring, but your own battles. You fought with whatever was the cause of the darkness that succumbed you.

You were wrong, Peter. You were capable of being an inspiration.

"What do you want?" I finally asked, my voice surprisingly strong. I'm not sure why, Peter, but I'd stopped crying. My hands clenched into fists. I was calm, but ready to fight if it came down to it.

I knew who it was, but I refused to address him by his name.

He finally came close enough that he walked right into a spot where light fell on his body, giving away his features. My suspicions were confirmed. It was Brian, and he had the most cynical, disturbing smile on his lips.

He laughed, cocking his head to the side in amusement.

"I just wanted to introduce myself to Peter's new girl, of course," he said, pacing slowly in front of me. He wanted to drag this out; he wanted to make it as painfully suspenseful as possible. He wanted to enjoy it.

I try not to think of all of the things that could have happened that night. A girl going missing in the middle of the night was not important news in New York City. It was just another day. People would see the headline, shake their heads at how some things never change, and flip to the sports section. It's just another thing that's wrong with the world.

I'm not sure if Peter told you..." Brian stepped closer, so that there were maybe four feet between us. I tried to think of something I could use as a weapon. My bag was full of flowers, paper, and pens. Those wouldn't do me much good.

"We go way back. We're best buds, of course," he said smugly. I had a feeling he was lying. "He has mentioned me, hasn't he?"

I mustered the best smile that I could, trying to steady my trembling hands.

"I have a feeling that's not true," I said, looking him dead in the eyes. His eyes were dark and beady. He wasn't an attractive man, but I felt like that didn't have much to do with his looks. It was his personality that made him seem toxic. I feigned a smile, trying to show him that I wasn't scared of him.

He looked shocked, only for a second.

"You're smiling?" he asked, bringing a hand to his chin. "You're a strange one, aren't you?"

He inched closer, rubbing his hands together and licking his dry, thin lips.

"I'm not scared of you," I pointed out, not tearing my gaze from his.