Chapter 2 #2
“Fuck, man!” Buzz Cut Guy spits and his hand grabs the pianist’s wrist, trying to pry his hand off, but it’s useless. The guy’s not budging. “What the hell is your problem?”
The pianist doesn’t say a word. He just slams him against the wall again, harder this time, and I hear the sickening crack of bone against stone. The guy gasps and his face turns purple as he scrambles for air.
“Please, man... don’t...” he begs. “I—I didn’t mean any harm... just... just let me go, okay?”
His words make my stomach churn, but the pianist just looks at him, his eyes dead. There’s no empathy in his eyes—nothing but cold, hard steel.
I step forward, my voice shaky as I shout at him, “Stop! That’s enough!”
But he doesn’t stop. He moves in, his fist cocking back, and the sound of it hitting the guy’s already disfigured face echoes in the alley.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I wince again, even though I know the guy deserves it. He crumples against the wall, his hands pressing against his bleeding nose, a cracked skull, and busted lips trying to shield himself from another hit.
“Stop!” I say again, but this time, it’s not just a shout—there’s desperation in my voice. This isn’t right.
The pianist finally pauses, turning his head just enough to look at me and his eyes narrow. He’s pissed, and it’s clear.
“You think I’m supposed to be polite when someone puts their hands on a woman?”
I open my mouth, but I can’t think of anything to say. He’s right.
I’m shaking now, and I can’t decide if it’s from fear or something else entirely. “You didn’t need to do this. I’m fine. You are going to kill him.”
“You didn’t look fine,” he mutters under his breath. “And I’m not asking for your permission.”
The pianist turns back to the man again, grabs the guy by the throat, and continues shoving his face against the wall.
"Stop," I tell him, but it’s almost like he doesn’t hear me.
“Please stop, he is going to die,” I snap and step forward, trying to push him off, but he doesn’t budge.
The guy is gasping as blood spills from his face and soaks his clothes.
It’s everywhere—dark streaks of red painting him like a grotesque canvas.
I can’t even fathom how he’s still conscious, much less standing.
His body should be limp by now, as his life seems to be draining out with every second.
His eyes are wide with terror and he’s staring at the pianist like a man already halfway to death.
The pianist doesn’t give him a moment to breathe. He grabs him again and shakes him violently like he’s all skin with no bones. The guy's head jerks back, a low groan escaping his lips, but he can’t escape. It’s like he’s already caught in something far worse than just the beating.
“Enough!” I shout, grabbing his arm. “You’ve made your point!”
Buzz Cut Guy tries to stagger to his feet with his hands still covering his face as he gasps for air. “I—I’m sorry! I swear I won’t—”
“You don’t get to beg now.” The pianist grabs the guy’s collar and pulls him up so they’re face-to-face. “You don’t get to act like you’re the victim.” His voice drops an octave. “You don’t deserve to breathe.”
The guy is trembling now as though he’s realized too late how badly he fucked up. “I—I just wanted some money. I didn’t mean to hurt her...”
The pianist’s eyes narrow even further and his lips press into a thin line. “You’re lying,” he says, his voice like ice. “You didn’t want just money. You wanted more.”
And that’s when the real fear settles in the guy’s eyes. He knows he’s not getting out of this alive.
“Please...” The man’s voice cracks, a pathetic sound that echoes in the alley, but the pianist doesn’t care. He slams him against the wall again, and for a second, I think he might actually kill him.
I start to shout again, about to push him away, but then the pianist releases the man, letting him fall to the ground in a heap. He looks down at him, his expression hard, but there’s something about the way his jaw tightens that tells me this isn’t easy for him.
The guy’s breathing is ragged, and I don’t know if he’s alive or just barely hanging on.
“Get out of here,” the pianist growls at the man, who doesn’t hesitate. He scrambles to his feet and takes off down the alley, leaving nothing but the sound of his retreating footsteps behind him.
I stare at the pianist, my hands shaking as I try to process what just happened. My pulse is still racing, and I don’t know what I’m feeling—relief, fear, confusion.
“You didn’t need to go that far,” I say, my voice trembling, but I’m not sure if I’m angry or just scared. “You didn’t need to hurt him like that!”
He looks at me with a cold stare. “So I’m supposed to ask how much is enough to save your ass?”
I bite my lip, trying to gather my thoughts. “You could’ve scared him off. You didn’t have to—”
“You’re not in a position to tell me how to handle shit,” he snarls.
“You could’ve been raped tonight. Fucking slammed against this wall like some cheap ten-dollar whore.
But you weren’t, so the next time someone who actually gives a damn about getting you out of a fucked up situation—one that could’ve ruined you—you shut the hell up, take the help, and get the fuck out.
Thank your lucky stars you’re not another statistic, another body that ends up in the gutter. ”
I stare at him, stunned, my anger fizzling away. His words hit harder than I expected. I don’t know whether to be furious or relieved.
He turns his back to me to leave, but there’s something in the way he moves, as if the weight of every sin in the world presses down on him.
“Wait,” I call after him, but he doesn’t stop.
He speaks without turning around. “You should go home, get out of here. And don’t forget to lock your door.”
I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I follow him anyway. My head is still spinning, adrenaline pulsing through my veins. But by the time I reach the end of the alley, he’s already disappeared.
I stand there, too tipsy to understand everything that just happened. But one thing’s for sure: I’ll never forget him.