The 6 Greatest Errors of All Time | ✓

XXXIII. the storm

Four years later.

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I STAYED UNTIL THE LIGHTS WERE OUT. The loungers had all already shuffled out an hour earlier, but the workers spared me an extra hour before they closed down the bar. A few men remained outside by the door, perching like hungry hawks until I finished my sixth glass.

It was too quiet on the streets. I remained in the bar, headphones in, and then I heard the door open and footsteps echoing on the creaky tile floor. My eyes narrowed slightly before me as I took the wine bottle and poured myself a seventh glass.

The hooded figure came to a gradual stop from behind. It took a seat beside me, reached over for a different flavored bottle behind the counter, and poured itself a glass in silence. Not interested in small talk and someone who seemed like they couldn't hold their liquor, I took my bottle and swung my legs off the high-end stool. I didn't look back for who it was, or what it was. Maybe I had one too many shots and I was hallucinating a man.

As soon as I reached outside, I was barricaded by a ring of male drunks, some with paralyzed and drugged girls slugging off their arms. I turned down the music from my phone and waited for them to move. One grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the door, shouting aggressive German.

I inclined my head and a foreign response echoed from my mouth into the streets, but that invited a brawl that I didn't sign up for. All behind an alleyway. What they didn't know was this was my alleyway. I've lived here for 23 years. In the past, I received my tasks right in this damn spot. Inhumane howls echoed into the night as the unconscious body counts rose from one, to six, to nine. I emerged out of the narrow passage not too long later, heading home.

My phone rang coincidentally with the first drizzles of rain. I opened the umbrella in my possession and placed it over my head while picking up the call. After a moment of silence for the lines to connect, my eyes softened.

"Похоже, там идет дождь. Есть ли у вас зонтик?" [seems like it's raining over there. you have an umbrella?]

A sigh of relief escaped my lips before I transferred the phone to my other ear, the one that wasn't burning up. "Да, у меня есть это." [yeah, I have it.]

I could picture him smiling on the other end. In a few seconds, his voice turned clearer and lower as he switched languages. "That's my girl. Being an escort interpreter does pay off, huh."

I playfully rolled my eyes as I mentally took note that we had just passed our fiftieth round of him testing me on my language skills each time that we called. "Are you off work?" I queried back in English. "Why are you calling me during office hours?"

"Because I'm getting my daily dose of vitamin D from you. Not like you're preoccupied with something at this time of night, are you? Unless you went out of your way to beat people up."

I scoffed at the spot-on irony. "I know you meant it as a joke, but why did it hit bullseye with that one?"

"Risa." I could hear him automatically switch to his concerned demeanor. Usually, I'd voluntarily share with him my experiences, but there was something about tonight that told me it wouldn't be as significant. He was probably worn out from being rushed into the operation tables late into the night. That was inevitable when your man was taking cover as an emergency medicine specialist.