Chapter 5
Aliena
It seems that during the time Mattheo and I were in my room, the party ended and most people have left by now. Some are already cleaning up, although I’m sure they aren’t the ones that made the mess but hired people instead.
I make my way through the big apartment without interactions and head straight for the elevator. Maybe I should check if Lily is still here, but she’ll probably go home with Andrew anyway and I really want to get out of here before I run into the owner of the place again. No, one argument is enough for tonight.
I throw my black coat over my shoulders, grab my purse, and leave. A shudder wrecks my body as soon as the November chill surrounds me, making me draw the fabric closer around me. Yeah, it’s definitely time for a new coat. At the very least it’s not raining like it was when we arrived.
I walk for twenty minutes until I see a familiar, tall shadow in the distance that always makes my strides lengthen. Another shiver goes down my spine, this time not from the cold. The old phone booth standing at the corner of this mostly deserted street is way too creepy. It’s old and I doubt it even works anymore. The only reason it still stands is that only three houses are around, and even they look like they are empty so it’s simply not worth the trouble to remove it.
I’d like to sign a petition to get that away from my way home. In the dark and with the lack of street lights, I mistake it for a giant person every time I see it in the corner of my eye. That damn thing.
I quicken my pace and draw my coat around myself more tightly while my eyes flick around my surroundings. Hell, but I feel unsafe right now. I should have accepted Mattheo’s offer to give me a ride home. At the time, I just wanted to be alone and not mix things up further. I can deal with one-night stands just fine but part of that is being gone before the other person realizes it.
I never spend the night and I never take people to my place. Anything to avoid rejection and seeing the regret on someone’s face in the morning. No, I’ll pass. No one has to awkwardly tell me to leave. I never stick around that long.
But Mattheo is different anyway. He’s my friend and has given me rides home several times. I’m an idiot and now I have another twenty minutes of freezing my ass off ahead of me.
I turn the corner and finally get to put some distance between me and the horror cabin when I hear footsteps behind me. I don’t pretend not to hear it, not with the fast, urgent pace I can make out from the person behind me. Instead, I whirl around and come face to face with a hooded figure. A shriek claws its way out of my throat. Where the hell did this person just come from? Whatever they want, it can’t be good seeing as they are heading right for me.
I don’t try to run. Not with my heels on. There would be no use. Instead, I walk backward to keep an eye on the advancing stranger while searching my purse for my pepper spray or my phone. Whatever my fingers might grasp first.
The person starts running and my fingers are still searching. More panic borrows itself inside my stomach and I feel sick as I scramble back. “Stop!” I finally yell in a pathetic attempt to change their mind. They’re only mere feet away now. I scream again, this time for help.
Where’s my phone? Where’s my pepper spray? My numb fingers shake too much to identify the objects in my overstuffed handbag, and I curse myself for not having taken just a clutch with my essentials tonight.
I resort to clutching my bag’s handle with both hands and ready myself to swing it at the stranger. My heart is racing painfully in my chest and my hands are clammy around the handle. I’ve had more than enough violence tonight as it is. Why the hell is this happening now?
The person lunches for me and I yank the purse forward. Before it can make contact with my attacker, they have their hands on the item and pull at it instead. I stumble a step forward and try to hold my own, but with the strength behind my attacker’s yank, I’m guessing it’s a man.
A fresh wave of panic fills my veins. Why a man? Why is it always a man? More fears of possible outcomes of tonight flood my system, making my shrieking turn broken. It’s all I can do to hold on to my bag, the one thing between me and my attacker as if that might protect me. As if it could work as a shield.
Something dark flashes in the corner of my eye, but the danger doesn’t register until the fist collides with my jaw, making my head snap to the side. The taste of blood invades my mouth as my lip splits, and as I stumble, I fall back. My tailbone hits the pavement with so much force I see stars and the palms of my hands scrape over the tiny rocks on the ground as I move away from the attacker. Don’t focus on the pain. Get away.
But it seems like there was no reason for that last attempt anyway, seeing as the attacker is now running in the opposite direction with my belongings in tow. I watch his shadow disappear into the night, numb for a beat until the first broken sob falls from my split lips.
I didn’t feel the sound coming, and I startle myself as it pierces the otherwise silent night. One hand comes up to cover my mouth to stifle any more cries, but I can’t get myself to move otherwise.
The longer I sit there, the more the cold registers again and I realize I’m shivering. My jaw and the entire side of my face is throbbing numbly. The familiarity of it all is enough to make me cry even harder. I close my eyes and for a second, I’m not out here at all. Instead, I’m out in the garden with my father on a chilly Christmas eve many years ago.
My lip was bleeding then, too. Or maybe my eye was. And six-year-old me was crying and shivering just like I am now. But I was not alone then. No, my dad was with me, pacing the small, unkept lawn in an anxious habit. “You don’t understand. Just be quiet, Aliena. Just stop being so needy and asking for things you cannot have! You are agitating your mother!” he pleaded with me, as desperate as he was angry.
I didn’t understand back then. Didn’t understand how much he had to do to pay for our rent and make sure our little family had food on the table. He was grasping at straws, and there was little me, asking for more. I don’t even remember what it was. Some doll or something that my classmate talked about the week before at school .
I wanted that stupid toy so much that when my parents told me there were no presents, I made a scene. My dad, stressed as he was back then, saw that my mother became upset too and didn’t know what else to do but force me outside and punish me with a punch to make me shut up.
In retrospect, I know he didn’t mean any harm. He always cared about me. It’s just that he cared about mom too and nothing good ever followed when she was agitated. She had developed a habit, back then, and I was a stupid kid that didn’t understand that I only made things worse.
She lost her job and started stealing from dad, who was already struggling to make ends meet as it was. That Christmas, he got an old tree that was supposed to be thrown away at the market for free so we could decorate it like we always had. Of course, I didn’t understand how much effort he put into that itself and demanded more. Always more.
I was a shit kid.
Small stones dig deeper into my palm and the memory fades. For a beat, I hardly understand where I am, and my stomach turns with nausea like it tends to do after flashbacks. I grit my teeth and get to my feet, nearly falling back down as a wave of disorientation hits me. Fuck, I’m dizzy.
Not confident in my ability, and sure of my disinterest in walking home the rest of the way, I decide to do the only thing that’s left for me to do and walk toward the nightmarish phone booth. My heart is still racing, and it only worsens when I try to recall the number of any friend of mine. I start crying more.
I always knew Lilianne’s number by heart, but she just got a new one and I never bothered to memorize it. I sure as hell don’t know any of the others’. Except for one, that is. The last person I’d like to call or have with me right now. Not when I’m crying and dizzy and lost.
I finally reach the booth and a weight drops from my chest when the door opens easily. My confidence that I could even get inside was below the ground the closer I got to the old thing. I type in Sebastian’s number with shaky hands and dread in my chest. What if he doesn’t pick up? Would he bother to pick me up after what happened tonight? Maybe he’d at least tell Lily or Andrew that I could use some help. I don’t doubt they’d come in a heartbeat.
The only reason I know his damn number in the first place is that I used to catch glances at it at the nursing home after his first visit and dream about it lighting up on my screen on boring days. That was before I truly met him. And, of course, there was that one time I had to dial his number over and over again because, not unlike now, my view was blurry from too many tears.
I hold the receiver to my ear and listen to it ring, suppressing a sob as the seconds drag on and my hopes shrivel. I count the high-pitched sounds, growing more anxious the higher the number becomes. How long until it disconnects? And what do I do when it does? I really don’t want to walk home alone. I’m too shaky. Too dizzy. And my head is throbbing.
Shit, did I hit my head? I thought I only fell on my ass but I’m not sure. My head sure feels as if I hit it. Unless the person that robbed me just put much more force behind the punch than I was used to. My dad probably always went easy on me.
I sob again on the fifth ring, clutching my stomach with my empty hand as more nausea rolls over me. Finally, just when I’m sure I’ll have no choice but to walk the rest of the way, the most beautiful sound reaches my ear .
“Sebastian Henderson. Who’s this?” He picks up the call.