Chapter 2 #2
He doesn’t wear a mask, but even as I look at him in utter fear, I don’t think I could describe him.
This man looks like a thousand other men you see every day on the streets of Manhattan or anywhere else in the world.
Dark hair. The beginning of a black beard starting to grow in along his jaw.
Brown eyes. Maybe? I’m not sure. It could be fear or it could be that it’s getting darker out, but it’s like nothing on him seems memorable.
Without saying a word, he yanks my purse off my arm, hurting my shoulder. I open my mouth to say he can have it and everything in there if he’ll just let me go, but I can’t seem to speak. Then a terrible thought fills my brain. What if he doesn’t just want the money and credit cards?
I should run, but like my mouth and vocal cords, my feet don’t seem able to remember what their job is. Every part of my body trembles in terror, and although I have no idea how long the two of us stand in the shadows, it feels like an eternity.
He rifles through my purse and pulls out my wallet before glancing at me. I shake my head like a silent plea to just take it and nothing else from me, and then in a heartbeat, he tosses my purse to the ground and runs off.
I stare down in utter shock at where it landed, unsure what to do at the moment.
I feel numb. Nothing else. Just numb. So I pick it up and look inside, even though I know he only took my wallet.
My phone, lipstick, a bunch of notes I stuffed in there after my meeting with the Brinley parents this afternoon, and my keys sit at the bottom of my purse looking lonely and missing the one item that normally takes up most of the space inside it.
Tears start to fill my eyes as the realization of what just happened pushes out all other thoughts.
I was mugged. Or would it be called assaulted.
I don’t know. Does assaulted have to include some kind of bodily or sexual harm?
I don’t know. All I know is my brain instantly becomes fixated on that question, but I don’t know the answer.
I hurry down the street, my head on a swivel looking left and right and occasionally behind me to see if anyone is there. Everyone I see on my way back to in front of the school looks dangerous, and even though I want to stop the tears that roll down my cheeks, I can’t.
Knowing I have to call the car service to come pick me up, I stuff my shaking hand into my purse and lift my phone out, nearly dropping it on the pavement as I attempt to press the number four on speed dial for the company.
Thankfully, I don’t have to speak to anyone since ordering a car is all done by punching in some numbers and the address of my location, but my hands shake so badly that it’s a next to impossible task tonight.
I get through it, though, and continue to hurry toward my school.
Like usual, the car service arrives so quickly I imagine they’ve been sitting around the corner in some lot waiting for me, although that’s unlikely.
The driver rolls down his window and smiles at me.
A middle aged man, he reminds me of my father, which immediately makes me feel at ease.
I recognize him as someone who’s driven me home in the past and smile as he says hello and tells me to give him a second so he can come around to open the back door for me.
I don’t usually make drivers do that, but tonight I don’t think I have it in me to say I’ll do it. All I want to do is cry, although I’m not sure why. I’m not hurt, so why am I feeling this way?
Then the idea of Ronan finding out washes over me. If he knows about what happened, he’ll be furious. I bet he’ll want to drive me to and from work from now on.
I don’t want that, though, so I quickly try to put on my confident game face when the driver comes around the car to open the door for me. “How are you tonight? Having a good night?”
The man whose name I think is Martin smiles at me and leans down to open the car door. “Not a bad night at all, miss. I hope you can say the same.”
I swallow hard and continue to smile, but it takes every ounce of strength I have. “Oh, it’s a lovely night. Just lovely.”
As I climb into the car, I thank him, but I’m most thankful when the door closes and I’m all alone, even for a few seconds. It’s not a lovely night. I was just mugged, and even though the man only took my wallet, I feel vulnerable and violated.
Martin doesn’t say anything to me as he drives me out of the city and I quietly sob in the back of his car. I keep my crying silent because I don’t want to explain what’s wrong with me.
I just want to go home.
The trip takes no time, probably because I’m lost in thought about what happened. It doesn’t take long for me to realize how fortunate I was the man only wanted to steal my wallet. It could have been much worse. Even admitting that sends a chill down my spine.
When Martin takes the exit off the highway, I know I only have a few minutes to get myself together.
Ronan will likely be at the apartment waiting for me, so I want to pull myself together.
I pull out my compact and open it up to powder my nose, but the sight of my face in the mirror makes me break down again.
My eyes are red-rimmed, and it’s quite obvious I’ve been crying.
I don’t want to tell Ronan about what happened, so I quickly do what I can to make myself look as normal as always before reapplying my lipstick.
With one last look, I think I’ve achieved something close to how I should look after a long day at work and blow the air out of my lungs. Martin stops the car in front of the apartment building, and while he walks around to let me out, I take a deep breath in to calm myself.
I’m okay. It’s nothing thousands upon thousands of New Yorkers haven’t dealt with over the years. It’s no big deal. It could have been so much worse. That’s all I need to remember.
The door opens, and Martin smiles down at me. “There you go, miss. I’ll wait until you get inside, but have a wonderful evening.”
I nod and try to say something positive back to him, but suddenly, my emotions feel all over the place as I look up and see Ronan’s shadow in our front window.
I don’t want to tell him about the man or what he did.
He’ll be so overprotective, and I know that will cause us to fight.
That’s the last thing I want to do a month before our wedding.
With each step toward the apartment, I try to psych myself up to be my usual happy self. It doesn’t work, so by the time I reach our front door, I decide I need to go with the exhausted from work version of me. Ronan’s seen that before, so he won’t think a thing about it.
I take one last deep breath and force a tired smile I hope will be convincing enough to avoid talking about my day. If he thinks I’m too beat to talk, maybe I’ll escape having to deal with this at all tonight.