The Protection

Ten

The tiny dive bar was packed full of young, attractive people when I arrived. These were the DCU students who weren't afraid to sully their squeaky clean images and tarnish their flawless reputations. Other uptight DCU students would whisper about who was at Bash's over the weekend, who was kissing who, who was overly indulged. They pretended they had innocently heard the rumor from someone else and had never, in fact, stepped foot inside of the dingy bar. In reality, those same students sat in the dark corners of the bar sipping their vodka tonics, wishing they mattered enough to be gossiped about. I said hello to Beth and several others as I made my rounds. Student after student bought me shots to celebrate our victory, and I readily accepted them, throwing back the biting liquor as I waited for Ben to walk through the door, all the while pretending not to care. Hours passed and the bar grew impossibly more packed, but still without any sign of Ben. I finished my mixed gin drink in one large gulp, trying to curb my anxiety, until I felt my stomach suddenly churn, and I had to sprint to the bathroom.

I stared at the no disposal of tampons in the toilet sign as I wiped the vomit from my mouth with the back of my hand. I prayed it hadn't splattered into my long freshly straightened hair. Way to go Perry, you stupid little lush. I teetered as I stood up and flushed the toilet. It wasn't the proudest moment of my college career, but also wasn't the first time I threw up self-medicating over Ben either. Last summer when I wasn't lying in bed, I was slumped over on a barstool, only half coherent.

My phone buzzed somewhere in my small black clutch, but I ignored it, unlatching the bathroom stall door. I didn't need to talk to anyone in this state, and everyone I knew was already at Bash's. Except Brown Eyes. And Peter. And Ben. I stumbled to the bathroom counter and pulled out my phone that was annoyingly vibrating again. Unknown number. Must be a telemarketer. Great timing. I pushed the decline button and studied my reflection in the mirror. Despite all the shots and my vomit breath, I still looked pretty damn good. My reddish brown hair hung well past my chest and my dark eye makeup seemed to make the grey flecks in my eyes pop. I reapplied the peach lipstick from my clutch to my lips, trying to correct the spots missing thanks to regurgitated tequila shots.

I rubbed my lips together before pouting at my reflection in the mirror. If I played my cards right, I knew there was a chance I could get Ben to take me home tonight, and we could pick right up where we left off. My stomach flipped at the thought. Ben. My beautiful, handsome, devilish Ben. Beth promised he would be here tonight, but I still had yet to see him.

I swayed, slamming my shoulder against the dirty bathroom wall as I flipped my head upside down to add some more texture to my hair. I stood upright sheepishly, relieved I was the only one in the bathroom to witness my near fall. I braced myself and blinked a few times before I grabbed across the bathroom counter. Thank the Lord for the community mouthwash I thought and swished the minty liquid around my mouth, trying to get the vomit salad visual of my mind. Yuck.

My phone buzzed again, falling out of my purse and onto the grimy bathroom floor. I grabbed it quickly, checking the screen for any further cracks. It was my lucky night; not any more damage than usual. Once I was satisfied my thumbs wouldn't get stabbed by any errant glass, I checked to see who was calling. It was the same unknown number I had missed twice before. I wanted to ignore the incessant buzz, but curiosity got the better of me. Maybe Ben was having car trouble and borrowed a kind samaritan's phone to call me for help... I pushed the green button, accepting the call, and pushed my way out of the bathroom past two girls making out.

"Hello?" I screamed into the phone. I couldn't hear a thing in the bar. The house music mixed with the gossip and lies was too loud. I pressed my way out the back door and into the outdoor smokers patio. I waved my hands frantically trying to keep the smoke from penetrating my hair and clothing.

"Hello?" I repeated and the voice on the other end made my skin crawl.

"I know what happened on campus last Saturday night, you slut," the voice taunted. It was a deep male voice I couldn't place, and I could barely hear him. The drunk smokers were just as loud as the patrons inside. I saw a gate in the fencing and ran over to it, hoping it would lead me to a quieter place.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I shouted into the receiver, lying, glancing around as I exited the gate and entered into a small abandoned alleyway. Taking this phone call had been a mistake. It was just another judgemental DCU student who had been too cowardly to call with his real phone number. Plus, something about this dark alley gave me the heeby jeebies.

"I think you do," the man laughed and his deep booming laughter somehow sounded familiar. "You'll pay for what they did to Peter." The voice threatened smoothly and the line went dead. A chill moved up both my arms, my hair standing on end. How could the caller have known what happened to Peter, when I didn't even know what happened to him? The sick feeling suffocated my lungs as I realized I wasn't alone. A very large shadow was moving in the far corner of the alley, slowly morphing into a man. I froze as he made his way towards me. He was so dirty, a dark layer of filth coated his skin. His teeth were yellowed and his hair long, greasy, and unkempt. He floated like a ghost and I could faintly see a shiny piece of metal in his hand. A blade. The blade had to be at least six inches long. A serrated kitchen knife.

I was stuck in place, unable to scream, unable to do anything at all. It was as if he had a hold over me. He grabbed my wrist, the knife slicing into my skin, sawing back and forth as if he was cutting a loaf of bread. The pain was unimaginable and the gash ran deep. I screamed as my blood gushed onto the pavement. The disgusting man smiled, his yellow teeth sharp like daggers. He enjoyed the way I clutched at my arm, the blood now squirting through my fingers. He must have hit a major artery. I was losing too much blood too quickly. I was going to be the first murder in Dallas, in the US, since The Protectors became public. And this whole mess was all my stupid fault. I wandered my way into this sketchy ass alley and then just stood here, helpless, as the man made my arm look like a shredded piece of meat. He wove his dirty fingernails into my hair, and pulled me into him as he brought the large bloody knife up to my neck. The metal was cold against my pale skin, and his rancid breath was hot against my ear. I felt the overwhelming urge to vomit again.

"Tell Daddy I said hello," he gloated, his lips touching my earlobe. Daddy?! What the hell?!

Suddenly, the knife was gone from my neck, clattering across the pavement, and the man screamed as he flew through the air, crashing into the brick building behind us. His head made a sickening crunch as it smashed into the unforgiving wall and his body fell limply to the ground. I looked up and my eyes widened at the man who stood before me. He was so tall, at least six and a half feet, and he wore a black hoodie and cowboy boots. He turned, his smoldering carmel Brown Eyes distinctly piercing mine. I had definitely seen them before. He was the man who had haunted my every dream, who had continuously stirred my subconscious, standing here before me.

"You," I breathed, and his eyes narrowed into slits before I passed out in a crumpled bleeding mess on the concrete.