Second Chance

The Planned Proposal

Tara pinged her yellow rubber gloves back towards the sink with a satisfying snap, before spinning around and sliding back into her room. Her socks glided softly across the wooden floor of her apartment, coming to a halt perfectly in front of her wardrobe.   

She was in extremely high spirits, her underlying nerves temporarily halted by the half bottle of wine sloshing around in her stomach. A solitary blue dress was draped carefully over a hanger, the silk edges curving down like calm waves on an evening sea. She slipped into the expensive fabric, taking enjoyment from the way it perfectly fit her body as she zipped up the back. She gave her hips a little shimmy to ensure that the material had just enough give, before slipping into a pair of matching heels.

"Shit!" she cursed, clip-clopping her way across the room to her bedside drawer and retrieving a small black box.

Tara held it delicately in her hand, as if the slightest movement could crush it. She ran her fingers across the seam and flipped the lid open, revealing a simple but elegant gold ring.

The band glistened under her bedroom light, just about illuminating a winding calligraphed inscription on the inside of the ring.

'Be happy- Mum'

Her boyfriend's mother had insisted upon the inscription as part of her blessing when she'd approved of the proposal. She had known that she had little time left after fighting cancer for years, and this was her way of being there on her son's wedding day.

She actually passed away only two weeks after Tara had gone to see her.

They had been very similar women in truth, both unwilling to conform to stereotypes or what was expected of them. She had been thrilled when Tara had informed her of her unconventional proposal plans.

Tara clicked the box shut and deposited it safely within her handbag just as three loud knocks echoed around the apartment.

She took one deep breath before striding towards the door, her heels clicking on the hard wood floor. She'd told her boyfriend to be here at seven, but knowing how early he always was, she made sure to be ready half an hour before.

She'd also made sure to clean her little apartment as best she could for the occasion, making a change from the usual life of squalor.

"Coming!" Tara called as she slid back the chain. "I knew you wouldn't be able to keep to my timings!"

However, as the door swung open, Tara wasn't greeted by her loving boyfriend, but instead a hooded stranger.

"Can I help you?" she asked confusedly.

"I'm sure you can," the man growled, planting a strong arm on the door and forcing his way in.

Tara went to scream but found her mouth muffled by a large gloved hand before even a peep could escape. Her muffled cries died in the evening air, as the stranger slammed the door shut behind him.

"I want all your money and jewellery in the next minute, and maybe, just maybe I won't hurt you," he whispered into her ear.

His warm breath spread across her face like a cloud of foul stench, engulfing her in a frozen state of shock.

"Is that clear?" he clarified, running a hand along her arm.

Tara nodded, her eyes stretched wide with uncontrollable fear.

"And you promise not to scream?"

Tara nodded again, calming herself down as best she could as the hand was removed from her face.

"HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE!" she screamed, planting a powerful right hook onto the bridge of the stranger's nose as she did so.

Mrs Faversham in the apartment below had gone on holiday a few days before, and Tara resided on the top floor of the block.

No-one could hear her. No-one would come.

"Little bitch!" he seethed, bundling her to the floor and shoving his hand forcefully back over her mouth, taming her screams into whimpers.

Tara cursed her pride, part of her was screaming to give him what he wanted, but the other half was determined not to roll over. She was stronger than this.

The man snatched up her fallen handbag and rifled through it as fast as he could, very aware of the fact that Tara's screams could have alerted any number of people.

"What have we got here?" he smiled, withdrawing the ring box and flicking it open. "Looks like this would have set you back a pretty penny!"

Tara tensed every muscle in her body, thrashing her limbs around as much as she could to free herself, but her body was pinned to floor.

Her throat was already hoarse with screamed protests, all of which went unheard, masked by the gloved muffler.

"You're lucky this is the only thing you're losing," the man spat as he released Tara and fled back towards the door.

"NOOO!" Tara yelled, planting a hand around his ankle and yanking him back.

"Get the hell off me, you little bitch!"

"Please, not that, anything but that!"

Tara stumbled to her feet, desperately trying to retrieve the box, but to no avail. She cracked a sharp slap across the man's face before pummelling his chest with her fists and tearing the hood from his face.

His eyes were dark, his pupils and irises almost one merging shade of black. His shaggy brown hair dropped over his face and a thin scar ran up the left side of his face.

"You did this," he said simply, as he withdrew a blade from his waistband and drove it deeply into her stomach, before he wrenched the door open and escaped into the night.

Tara crumpled to the floor, her hands clasped around the wound, desperately trying to stem the tidal wave of crimson pouring onto the blue of her dress.

Her eyes, once wide with panic, began to flicker shut as she faded into the welcoming arms of death.