4. Never Talk to Strangers #2
I twitched, my constant uneasiness stemming from the sensation of being watched.
The same man was still staring at me when I turned around, his eyes locked on mine once more.
A half-empty whisky glass was in his fingers, and for a moment I thought I could be seeing things, but it vanished with a shatter.
My eyes widened as glass shards burst out and hit the floor like raindrops striking a roof.
I flinched. The bar grew deadly silent. The liquid that had partially filled his glass began its slow spread across the wood table.
The man’s companions hurried to offer him a napkin, though he didn’t seem to care.
He was concentrated on the several pieces of glass that protruded from his palm.
Small beads of red started to run from two diagonal gashes, and he blinked, twitching only slightly.
My throat tightened with every breath, and I was sure my mouth dropped. The sight of his own blood seemed to captivate him. He seemed completely unfazed by pain.
Seeing my reaction to him, the man sneered.
After witnessing his response to my terror, I downed the remainder of my drinks in one draft, feeling the need to be as drunk as Chelsea.
I couldn’t quite place it, but something emanated from that man that caused my fight or flight response to activate.
I had never experienced this sort of fear before, only heard about it in books or movies.
Chelsea cheered me on with a whoop and a fist pump, totally unaware of my distress.
I shuddered, desperate to redirect my attention.
“Alright,” a voice from behind the counter shouted. “Last call!”
At the announcement, Chelsea b-lined for the bar, leaving me to sit alone at the table.
I knew for a fact I was going to have to stop her myself from trying to purchase more drinks, so I stood up, a bit unsteady on my feet, and reached into my purse to pull out some cash for our server’s tip.
I was about to leave when a waitress waltzed up to the table with a bottle of wine clasped between her hands.
“Here you go,” she said, ushering the bottle towards me.
“Oh, no. I didn’t order this,” I tried to explain through my slurring words.
The waitress laughed and handed me the bottle anyway. “No, miss. This was ordered for you.”
My first thought: Damn it, Chelsea. How much more money was that girl going to senselessly spend?
“It was that man over there. He says the color matches your hair.” The waitress chirped giddily, pointing to the pale eyed man. He was laughing with his companions, carefully wrapping his injured hand with a piece of cloth brought to him by the bartender.
Second thought: Shit.
“Well, I’m sorry but my friend and I are leaving now,” I declared, perhaps a little too loudly. “Tell him we don’t want it.”
I spun on my heels, making sure to leave the bottle on the table.
“Chels–”
I did a double take around the room. Chelsea was no longer standing in line at the bar. She wasn’t anywhere to be found. I sighed in frustration and spied around, but saw nothing but the curious onlookers. I would’ve heard her had she been in the vicinity anyhow. She wasn’t easy to miss.
So how didn’t I notice her leaving?
I ripped my phone out of my purse and punched in her number. The line rang and rang, but no answer. I trotted across the space to the sign marked “restrooms” but the employees were already in there, cleaning.
“Hey, I’m looking for my friend,” I said, trying my best to steal a glance in the restroom. I teetered a bit on my feet.
“Empty,” the worker muttered. “We’re about to close.”
As if I didn’t know that.
I trailed back to the bar where workers were hurriedly cleaning glassware. I set my bag down on the counter and waved to get their attention.
“Hey! Excuse me, uh, my friend was just here, ordering more drinks? She’s loud and blonde and I can’t find her.”
One of the younger workers rolled their eyes. The manager responded with a point, no eye contact, “She just left that way. Hopefully getting a safe ride home, just like you’re going to need.”
I groaned. Just drunk enough to understand that these workers would be no help to me.
They were fed up and ready to clock out.
Just my luck that Chelsea probably saw and followed a man out of the bar and I would have to go searching for her.
Or even worse, Chelsea might have tried to head to her car, and she was incredibly drunk.
What did either of those scenarios equal?
Disaster.
Shit, now I would have to play babysitter. Which I knew was going to happen, except I hadn’t intended on drinking more than my tolerance would allow. I needed to get better about standing my ground. Why was I such a damn push over?
I marched out of the bar, determined to catch her before she made a mistake and got behind the wheel. My gait was unstable, so I took a few moments to steady myself.
I couldn’t exactly remember which block we had parked on to cross over to the bar, but I knew it wasn’t far. The car should have been within my line of sight.
The streets were empty.
Wonderful. I thought bitterly.
If Chelsea had ended up ditching me, I was going to need to find an alternative way home.
I stumbled around the side of the bar. Maybe we had parked on the opposite side?
I was struggling to recall. I followed the brick building around, ending up in an alley behind the bar.
It was gross and deserted, and after looking it over I wasn’t sure I could even access the other side of the street from there.
I felt like I would have remembered if we had come this way.
My eyes fell upon a rusted, blue dumpster and my stomach flipped from the smell.
Was there a dead animal in there?
I walked no more than five steps before my stomach lurched and I ended up emptying the contents of it all over the ground next to the filthy dumpster. I knew it was coming, and that was exactly what I deserved for drinking, and letting Chelsea pressure me into overdoing it.
“Ugh...” I dragged the back of my hand across my mouth and took a few steps down the lonely alley, mentally creating an elaborate plan to find a ride home and be safe in bed by no later than three o’clock. I would probably have to just get an uber or lyft.
My head was pounding and I tripped once, catching myself on the side of the building before my face met the jagged ground. The world was turning fast. Holy fuck, what have I done to myself?
A door slammed shut near me. A deep countenance penetrated my clouded mind. “So, you don’t like wine, huh?”
I lifted myself upright and turned towards the voice, falling flat on my ass. Looming above me, I saw the man from inside. The other two men stood behind him, like they were his bodyguards. Maybe they were his bodyguards. I didn’t care.
“I’m going home,” I said drunkenly, stupidly, as though he had asked me. I stiffly pointed down the alley, towards the street.
“So soon?” he questioned, taking a step closer.
I stumbled to my feet, using the cement wall as support. The look in his eyes and his abnormal actions had made me incredibly nervous the entire time in the bar. Now, he was actually making contact with me directly. My gut was inwardly churning; an outcry for me to stay far, far away from him.
“Umm, yeah. It’s really late...” I whispered, looking over my shoulders for a clear path in case I had to run.
I wasn’t thinking straight. My safest bet would have been to re-enter the bar and try to locate Chelsea, so we could leave together.
Instead, I continued to take steps backwards, mirroring each step the man made towards me.
My retreat and his calm approach had effectively created a barrier between me and the bar’s back door.
I found myself angled more towards the center of the alley.
The smell of expired, rotting food from the dumpsters nearby infiltrated my nose.
I cupped my hand over my mouth to try and hold in another wave of nauseousness.
“Would you like a ride home?” he asked me, extending a hand.
He has no car. I thought hastily, searching for where he would have left it. I didn’t see any on the road. He marched in angry, with looks that could kill. My eyes flew down to his scantily wrapped hand, which seemed closer to me now, and noticed blood seeping through the cotton tourniquet.
I took another step back.
Don’t be a dumb broad. Walk away.
“No thanks, I’m fine.” I smiled weakly, hoping my kind gesture would deter him.
He smiled too, and for a split second, I felt that I might be okay. “That’s too bad,” he spoke.
I nodded my head politely and turned, instantly understanding my error. Almost immediately, I felt the grip of hands on my arms, spinning me forcibly back around. The other two men had grabbed me in a split second, one on each arm. I struggled hopelessly in their grasp.
Scream.
“Let me go!” I hollered, my throat burning from the force.
My shriek was met with the silence of night around us. Crickets. No cars passed. No sounds but my struggle.
They dragged me deeper into the alley way, further from the bar’s doors, back towards an abandoned building with a rusted stairwell attached to the outside.
“You see,” the cold-eyed man spoke softly, following closely behind his men as they yanked and pulled me behind a new set of revolting dumpsters. “My friends want you to help me. I have a problem that was caused by an earlier incident.”
I shook desperately with fear and tried to pull away from the other two, but their strength topped mine tenfold. “I can’t help you with anything, really. I have to get home, or—”
The sound of a zipper made my throat close and any thought of making a noise was impossible. He was unzipping his pants. This man was going to defile me, right here in an alley, and his friends were going to help.
These things only happen in movies, I told myself. Not in real life. Not to me.