him to life.
The tweaker snickered. “We’re taking both yo’ shit, motherfucker.”
Once Tweaker had me pinned up against the brick wall, he rifled through my purse, opening my wallet and upending it.
“Where’s the fuckin’ cash?”
“I don’t know . . . that’s all I have,” I lied. I was screwed no matter what, and I wouldn’t give them my money so easily. He was unsatisfied and patted my waist, like I was the criminal. Fear rose from my gut, to my chest, and filled my head, causing a pressure so strong it was hard to think or breathe.
“Damn Scarface, you got a nice fucking body,” he said, his putrid breath rolling along my cheek like a poisonous fog. His hands on my torso shifted from impersonal and hasty to slow and invasive, surveying my waistline and moving up over the small mounds of my breasts, clenching one in his filthy hand.
“No!” I said, swatting his hand away. He caught my arm by the wrist and pinned it to my side.
“Say hello to my leeetle frien.” He whispered against my ear as he rubbed himself against me, causing my stomach to revolt. “I’m gonna make your friend over there watch.”
An eruption of movement exploded on the wall opposite where I was pinned. Junkie-friend hit the floor hard, landing on his ass, and my new homeless ally sent a sweeping kick to his jaw. The junkie fell over with a sickening thud.
“Run!” he shouted, but I stood there frozen, my legs nearly paralyzed with a cocktail of fear and adrenaline. The junkie lay on the floor moaning.
“Watch out!” I screamed as Tweaker released me and tackled my new friend to the floor.
I screamed for help as they wrestled. They rolled around on the ground as I shouted and felt the filthy cement for my cell phone to call for help. But, the scuffle stopped abruptly. Tweaker stood up, something glinting in his hand as he let it fall to the ground. The clinking of metal echoed between the buildings.
Tweaker ran up to Junkie, who had come to and was trying to regain his bearings. “Come on, we gotta get the fuck outta here!” He pulled on his friend’s T-shirt, but the disoriented mugger could barely make it to his feet. “Fuck this,” Tweaker said, taking off and leaving his “friend” behind.
My attention went back to the guy who saved me, as he stumbled to his feet, clenching at his side. Dark liquid oozed through the seams of his fingers.
“Oh my god,” I said under my breath, realizing he had been stabbed. I ran over him, my shaking hands hovering over his body, unsure of how to help. A sliver of amber light illuminated his face. He looked up and our eyes met. I almost gasped when I saw them: a shockingly perfect sage surrounding black pupils. I know it was shallow, but the thought occurred to me that no one with eyes that piercing should be on the street. I mean, no one should be homeless, of course, but he just looked so young, and so . . . vibrant, even underneath the unkempt beard.
“I told you to run,” he gasped, as he collapsed onto one knee. “What you did was stupid.” I was both impressed and insulted by his ability to scold me after being stabbed. I’d at least expected a thank you for my valiant impulse.
Sirens filled the air as red, white and blue strobed throughout the dark alley. Someone did see Tweaker drag me in, but it would have already been too late if it wasn’t for the stranger who fought to protect me from the unimaginable.
ASH
I had never been sentimental. It’s not that emotions don’t matter to me, quite the opposite actually. I am affected deeply by the things I feel, almost to a fault. But I tried to live through my daily actions. To do, create, and be inspired by the present, not wax nostalgic. Objects, holidays, dates on a calendar, those were meaningless to me.
Except Sarah was dead, and I had no choice with her. I couldn’t see her, laugh with her, fight with her. I had become a lot more sentimental since she had died. So as the holidays approached, I found myself in a hole—spinning, falling, unable to grip onto something and crawl out of the despair.
I wondered how things would be if it had been me who had died instead of her. Or how things would have been if she had never died. I’d probably