Fierce (7 page)

The teacher puts down his chalk and says
class is over. The students around us stand up and start packing their things.

Guess it’s time to go.

“Whatever,” I say. “If that’s your idea of
having a nice, easy life, have fun with it.”

I fetch my stuff and stand up. Suddenly
Hunter reaches forward and grabs my wrist. “I never said I liked that part.”

“Then why do you do it?” I say.

His fingers are warm and engulf my wrist
completely. I feel so tiny and fragile right now.

“Because I have to,” Hunter says, and he
lets me go.

Sighing, he stands up too, and waits. I
don’t know what for, but he continues staring at me until I’m done packing my
things. We walk out of the classroom together while he keeps his eyes on me
like a hawk, as if he’s afraid I’m going to tell someone.

Suddenly Brody pops up out of nowhere.

“Hey, Autumn,” he says.

When he notices Hunter standing next to me,
he looks up in surprise. His brows furrow and his lips part, as if he doesn’t
understand what’s going on. “Um … Who’s your friend?”

So then I guess he doesn’t know Hunter;
even though they both interacted with the flowerpot-hairdo guy, they don’t know
each other. Or they’re just trying to fool me.

“Hunter Bane,” Hunter says, clearing his
throat.

Brody squints at him with a suspicious look
on his face, as if he doesn’t trust him.

“What do you want?” I say crudely.

“Look, I’m sorry about my friends. I don’t
want to make things worse, so I was wondering if you’d like to hang out for a
while. You’re done with classes for today, right? Let’s go grab some food.”

I stare at him and then at Hunter, who
shrugs.

“You should come, too,” Brody adds, looking
at Hunter.

“What? I uh … no, I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. A friend of Autumn’s is a
friend of mine,” Brody says.

I roll my eyes and check my wallet for the
little amount of cash I still have left. Hunter rummages his pockets, but pulls
them out and shows they’re empty.

“Sorry, I’m broke,” Hunter says.

“Yeah … me too,” I say. “Rain check then?”

“I can pay, no problem,” Brody says.

“Oh, no, I can’t take that,” I say.

“No way I’m letting a dude pay for my
lunch,” Hunter jokes.

“Besides, I have work in about an hour or
so. Don’t really have a lot of time,” I add.

Brody sighs. “Okay. Well, I’ll see you
around then. Let me know if you want to do something, okay?”

“I will,” I say with a fake smile.

I’m not sure I will. I mean, Brody was my
best friend for a long time, but lately we’ve been drifting further apart. He’s
changed so much. I don’t know if I even want to spend more time with him.

“Yeah, I really have to go,” Hunter
suddenly says.

When I turn to look at him I see him staring
at a bunch of guys near the fence. They’re the same guys as last time, one of
them the usual flowerpot hairdo. That guy Brody knows, too.

I wonder what Hunter’s doing with them. Were
they involved in the fight? They must’ve been.

I don’t understand why he’s hanging out
with them or what they want from him. One thing’s for sure, though: nothing
good can come from it.

“See ya, Leafy,” he says, as he signals the
guys.

“The name’s Autumn!” I shout after him, but
he ignores me.

Fight
or Flight

I’m working in a Denny’s joint, selling
customers sloppy burgers and cleaning their tables after they’re done. It’s an
ungrateful job, with people whining for more sauce and complaining about the
taste, which I have no control over, but it pays the bills. And I so need the
money.

I work hard to make enough money so I can
survive on campus. It’s not the most ideal job, but I’m happy I managed to snag
it. I need it badly. There isn’t any other way to compensate for the lack of
funds.

My parents do their best to support me.
They raised me well, put all their savings in a bank account and gave it all to
me so I could go to college. I can’t even begin to explain to them how grateful
and happy I feel to have them as my parents.

Even if they’re poor.

They tried to give me as much as they
could. They did everything for me. And they mean the world to me.

The only way I know how to thank them is by
working hard. Their hard-earned money goes into my education, and I want to
make sure they did the right thing. I study harder than anyone else I know, and
I make sure my grades are top notch.

I don’t want to disappoint them. Not ever.

I need to make sure I graduate, find a good
job, and make enough money so that I can support them. I want to give them back
what they gave to me, and this is the only way to do it.

I want to help them. I want to give back to
them.

So I’m glad as hell that I have this
stinking job as a waitress in a sloppy burger joint.

Besides, working here lets me think of
something other than homework for once in a while.

My hands hurt, and I’m tired, but I won’t
stop serving customers and cleaning tables. I don’t want my boss to fire me, so
I do my best and put up my biggest smile as I hand over the cash to one of the
customers.

As day turns into night it gets harder to
keep my eyes wide open. I have to, though. I’ve been watching a group of smug
guys for some time now. They’re sitting in the corner of the restaurant,
ordering burger after burger while throwing all their trash on the floor.
Scary, nasty bunch.

Some of them have tattoos, others scars,
and some of them even have shaved heads. Their clothes are ragged and the
shirts they’re wearing have murderous phrases written all over them, probably
from the lyrics of a song that would make me scream.

Just looking at them makes me feel icky.

When they finish eating they burp out loud
and scare away the other customers with nasty jokes. My manager is in the back
and doesn’t see what they’re doing. Throwing around food and wrappings isn’t my
idea of having a nice time with your friends, but I guess there are real jerks
out there who like that kind of stuff.

I stare at the clock and let out a sigh of
relief when I realize it’s finally past my time. “You can go, Autumn. Thanks
for working your ass off today,” my manager says.

“Thanks,” I say, and he hands me a few
dollars.

“For your trouble. I know how hard it is,”
he says with a wink.

I blush. “Thanks … But you don’t need to do
that.” I want to push it back into his hand, but he clenches my hand together.

“Keep it. I won’t take no for an answer.”
He smiles and I smile back. “I’ll close on my own. You go get some rest,” he
says.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. See you,” I say.

I put on my coat and walk into the
restaurant. There’s only one exit, and it’s in the front, so I’ll have to pass
that annoying group of guys. As I walk past them, my heart rate elevates,
because I feel like they’re dangerous. Guys like those are frightening. Too
impulsive. Too worked up. Especially when they’re around friends.

I don’t even look at them when I walk to
the door and go outside, but I know they spotted me. I hear them talking as the
door closes, and I increase my pace to get away from the restaurant as fast as
possible.

Tucking my hands in my coat, I hurry across
the street. Behind me is the sound of footsteps. It keeps speeding up, faster
and faster, and the noise makes my heart go haywire. They’re following me.

“Hey girl, where are you going?” one of
them yells.

I ignore them and keep on walking. Just
keep walking, don’t pay any attention. Maybe they’ll go away. Maybe I can
outrun them.

But their footsteps come closer, and I can
hear there are more with each step I take. They’re laughing, and when I turn my
head I see it’s all of them.

Shit. They’re coming after me.

Fuck, what do I do?

I start running, but they do too.

“Come here!” one of them yells.

And then they catch up to me.

One of them grabs my wrist, and I scream.

A tug of war begins between them, my purse,
and my coat. Zipping open my purse, I take out the pepper spray my dad told me
to carry with me, just in case. But I’m not quick enough, and they snatch it
from my hand before I can use it.

They’re jerking my coat open, and I fight
to keep it on. I clench my arms together and struggle to hold onto my stuff.

Just one large pull is all it takes for
them to jerk away my purse. It lands on the asphalt ground and the contents
come spilling out. I look around to see if there’s anyone around, but the
streets are empty.

Nobody can help me.

I’m all alone, trying to fight monsters in
the darkness.

A guy shoves the others away and grabs me
by the arms so tight I shriek. His breath stinks of alcohol, and the way he
smiles makes me want to puke.

“C’mon, little pussycat,” he says, and he
rips my coat open, tearing apart the buttons. “What are you hiding under
there?”

No, no, no! This can’t happen. Not like
this. I don’t want it to be like this.

I scream as loud as I can, so loud my lungs
burn.

He puts his hand on my mouth and whispers,
“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”

I open my mouth and bite down on his finger
hard enough to make him bleed.

“Fuck!” he screams, and he jerks away his
hand.

I can still taste his nasty blood in my
mouth. The filth sends bile up my throat.

And then his hand comes down upon my face.

My glasses are flung off and land somewhere
on the ground.

The pain of the mark he left on me is hot,
burning hot, and it stings on my skin. I can’t believe this is happening.

Tears run down my face, and I plead,
“Please, don’t. Please, let me go.”

They all start laughing, and the one I bit
is licking his lips. “Not after what you just did.”

I scream as loud as I can once the guy
starts unbuckling his belt as the other ones restrain me.

Closing my eyes, I pray for safety. I need
to be away. Away from here. Away from my mind. I can’t see this. I don’t want
to be here. I just can’t.

And as I zone out of this world, I hear a
familiar voice screaming his lungs out.

“Get your fucking hands off her!”

My eyes flash open at the sound of his
voice. When I see his white-hot face as he storms over to us I think I’m
dreaming.

It feels so unreal. Is he really here?

Is he here to save me? Please tell me he
is.

“Get the fuck away from her! Right. Now!”
he screams as he approaches.

The guy I bit stops fiddling with his
trousers and turns around only to be smacked right in the face by Hunter.

He lands a powerful strike on his jaw, and
the man staggers and falls down backward on the ground.

“You fucking son of a bitch!” Hunter yells.
“Don’t you fucking dare lay a hand on her again.” He spits on the ground, and
before I realize it the guys let me go and go for Hunter.

They jump on him like a rabid pack of
hyenas, pounding in on him without restraint.

Hunter tries to fight them off, throwing
punches as much as he can. One of them is hit in the stomach and starts puking
just because of his hit. Another one is kicked in the nuts and staggers away.
But someone else hits Hunter with his elbow, straight in the nose.

“No!” I scream, as I grab my coat and try
to pull everything together.

Hunter fights his way through the group of
guys, screaming flurries of swearwords at them.

“I’ll kill you! You dickhead!” the one
lying on the floor comes to and starts pounding in on Hunter, too.

“Stop it!” I scream, tears streaming down
my face. “Stop it, stop it!”

But they won’t.

They keep fighting each other. Blood is
scattered all over the ground and smeared all over their faces. Including
Hunter’s.

“You motherfucker. Think you can stop us?”
the guy yells as he strikes Hunter. “We take what we want, when we want it. You
don’t get to fucking intervene!”

Hunter barely evades the next punch and
makes a quick turn to punch the guy in the side.

He throws out some more jabs, as if he’s a
professional. His strikes are calculated, fast, and hit the weakest spots on
their bodies, forcing them to back up for a second. He goes on like a raging
bull, never quitting, never giving up.

“Run!” he screams, his eyes momentarily
focusing on me.

My brain tells me to run like hell, but my
gut tells me I shouldn’t. How can I? I can’t leave him. He’s fighting because
of me. He’s the one who saved me. I can’t leave him to his fate.

“This is your life now, rookie. Just like
it’s ours. Get used to it,” one of the guys says to Hunter, and he spits on the
ground.

“I won’t let you fucking hurt her,” Hunter
growls.

“If you mess with us, you can pay the price
with your life,” the guy I bit snarls. “We. Demand. Respect.”

I stare at the men fighting each other,
brutally going at it. I can’t even see Hunter anymore, as he’s pushed down to
the ground. They’re going all out. Nobody’s going to stop unless I do
something.

Some crazy idea in my head tells me to grab
my purse and take out the pepper spray, but I notice it’s lying on the ground,
just like all my other stuff.

It doesn’t even take me a second to make
the decision.

My instincts take over, and I make a run
for it and grab my stuff and the spray. Turning around toward our attackers, I
step into the fight and start randomly spraying them until the bottle is empty.
It feels good to hear them scream and see the tears in their eyes.

A bitter revenge.

They yell and scream, throwing their arms
around in a fit of rage. They’re temporarily blinded by the stuff.

This is my chance.

I grab Hunter’s arm and haul him up from
the floor. He can barely stand, busted by the beating, but I force him to come
with me. I can’t leave him here. I have to save him, too.

I have no idea how I manage to do this, but
I get him out of the crowd and pull him away.

He limps and leans on me, while I drag him
to safety, far away from the group. We enter a nearby park and dive deep into
the forested area.

His arm is around my shoulder, and I
support his back with my arm. His body is heavy, and I can barely help him get
to a tree. There, he slumps and sinks down to the trunk.

We’re both exhausted, breathing heavily. I
sink to my knees and put my purse on the ground, panting.

I feel miserable, sick to my stomach. Those
guys were touching me, trying to tear open my clothes. Trying to take away the
thing that was mine to give.

The tears start flowing again, and I lower
my head and bury it between my arms. For a moment I just don’t want to exist.

And then I feel his hand on me.

He’s caressing my head, petting my hair.
His fingers are warm and soothing.

“They tried to … they wanted to …” I
stammer.

“I know …” he says softly. His voice is
hoarse and croaky, and he coughs.

I lift my head. It takes one look at him to
immediately feel the pity.

Tears still sting my eyes, but I force them
away when I see Hunter’s bloodied face. He looks even more miserable than me.
His eyes are swollen, his lip is torn, and blood covers half his face. His face
is swelling up and turning blue, and his nose seems crooked.

I gasp. “Oh my God …”

Coughing up blood, he tries to move, but
winces instead.

“Don’t move,” I say, and I crawl closer.

Rummaging in my purse, I find a band aid
and peel it. He has a wide slash on his left eyebrow, so I cover it up. But
before I can continue my work on him, I hear a noise that alarms me.

Voices. Footsteps.

My breath hitches.

It’s them.

 “Why did you … why did you do that? Why
did you help me?” Hunter says. The words come out in a slur, as if he can barely
talk.