Miriam

  It was 8:05 pm, and Artie was obviously late. I told Steph she didn't need to wait for me, so she went back to her room and blasted our favourite 2000s white girl music playlist. I was just about to call Artie when I got a text, which stated:

  “Sorry, running late. Is it okay if you just meet me there? I'll send you the address. Sorry again, I promise to make it up. ;)”

  You’re kidding. First, he is doing stuff with another girl and lying to me, and now telling me to meet him there? Suddenly, I think about declining. I mean, really- I didn't plan on spending money on an Uber tonight and won't be paid till next week. Although I still really want to confront him, and get a free meal out of it.

  I get the address and then call an Uber. The guy comes fast, but the price makes me angry. The place we are having dinner is not too far away, but it is in the middle of the city, and there's so much traffic at this hour. Think it’s on a side street near Main Boulevard?

  I look out my window, watching the water droplets on the glass race each other. I saw all the huge buildings and stoplights. Reading every sign within a six foot radius. The uber then comes to a complete stop and drops me off at the curb.

  “19.29$, miss.” The tanned driver looks in the rear view mirror and his eyes look directly into mine.

  “Yes, of course. Thank you so much!” I almost forgot to pay, and I felt a bit flustered. I hop out of the car and I gently close the door. The uber then drives off.

  I fix my dress and my eyes trail to the bright flashing lights of the Italian restaurant. It felt too fancy for me and I felt so out of place. Guess we are meeting each other inside?

  I step inside, and I’m immediately met by a waiter, “Good evening, how many will it be?” He gives me a small smile.

  “Oh, thank you. I have a reservation under Rodrickson.” The waiter smiles and guides me to Artie's table where he lazily waves at me.

  I pulled out my own chair. He offered me nothing really and didn’t really do much but force uncomfortable eye contact.

  He clears his throat, finally speaking up to say something, “You look good.” He sizes me up before giving me a weird awkward grin. He motions for the waiter and orders us both the same mocktail. Didn’t even ask for my input.

  The waiter leaves before I pop the question. “So how was it?” I blink at him and he tries to play it off.

  “How was what?” His index finger tugs at his collar. He was wearing a stupid tuxedo that looked like it was his grandfather's. No shame to his grandpa, it’s just that he cannot pull it off.

  “You know? Your family function? It seemed pretty urgent,” without a pause, “it went well, I suppose.”

  You suppose? I know he got me the shoes and stuff and he took me out to dinner. But it’s the little things he does that tick me off.

  The waiter returns with our mocktails a minute later, “Would you two like to order?” Artie looks up at me and grins. “Are you ready to order?”

  Finally some consideration. “Yes. We will both have the Chicken Alfredo please.” I smirk as he takes our menus.

  “Very well. The kitchen should have it ready in less than 20. Enjoy your mocktails, you two.” Serves you right to order for me.

  For most of the dinner we really just sat in silence, except I now had a huge smile on my face. The waiter returned with our pasta minutes later and Artie gave a small nod. I, on the other hand, started to chow down on my pasta. I felt his unease and felt somewhat bad.

  “Hey, thanks for the gift by the way.” I remark and give him my thanks, “and thanks a lot for taking me out to dinner. You didn’t have to.”

  “Yeah it was nothing. And as for your gift…what did you get?” I blink at him in disbelief. Can’t even remember what you got me?

  “What do you mean? You got me new shoes, you know, the pretty white sneakers with the cute bows on them?” My brows furrow.

  “Look. I don’t know who else would get you shoes, but they are definitely not from me. I mean, come on, I barely know you.” That’s true but you didn’t have to say what you said after that.

  “I didn’t even really want to get to know you. I didn’t think this ‘relationship’ of ours would get that far.” He stands up and I stand up a second after him.

  “What do you mean, ‘would get that far’?” My nails dig into the table and his eyes narrow.

  “I mean what I meant, Miriam. I didn’t like you all that much. I mean really, you think that I want someone who’s desperate? You’re like a bulldog drooling for me all the god damn time,” he mumbles under his breath, “fat like one too.”

  With little thinking, I flip his bowl of pasta at him. It splashes onto his tuxedo and drips down onto the stained oak table.

  “You’re seriously making a scene now?” Eyes dart to our table, watching as the scene unfolds.

  “They’ve only just begun to watch because of your loud mouth. Besides, I won’t let you treat me like that. Telling me that we are practically strangers is one thing, I wouldn’t get mad at you for speaking the truth. Saying that you didn’t want to get to know me or expand our relationship, but taking me to dinner is confusing and leading me on, but I wouldn’t hate you for it,” I walk around the table to toss a few napkins at him, “but calling me a dog who thinks it’s her only purpose to drool over some guy who doesn’t like her back is harsh and just too far.”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  I walk away and he chases after me and grips my wrist hard, “Artie, let go,” he interrupts, “you don’t get to embarrass me in front of all these people, pretty, I was just saying it as it is. You’re practically obsessed over me.”

  “I was, but I don’t see why anymore.” I attempt to leave through the same entrance I came in through but he stops in front of me.

  We tried to fight each other on my exit, apologizing countless times for blocking others' way of getting inside the restaurant.

  “Artie…can we please just get out of the way and argue elsewhere?” His eyes soften and he loosens his grip on me. “Fine. Elsewhere.”

  He led me outside, which was right near the entrance but at least it was out of other people’s way. He takes a deep inhale and closes his eyes, hiding his true feelings and trying to put on a mask.

  “Why would you do that?” I answer quickly, “do what?” He finally releases his breath that he didn’t know he held onto.

  “Embarrass me. You know I’m pretty popular, you can't ruin that status.” Well you speak quite highly of yourself, don’t you?

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be so sensitive about your status. And learn how to speak to women while you’re at it, how ‘bout that?”

  His hand strikes me across the face, leaving a light pink tint to my cheek, “learn how to speak to me, bitch.”

  My eyes shake, unable to focus on one of his eyes. I trembled and all of a sudden I wasn’t so tough anymore. Something inside of me freezes.

  “What was that for?” I was left with my jaw wide open. Left speechless. I could tell he was trying to provoke me but my rage made me fall for his trick.

  I swing my right fist at him, and he takes the hit with ease, as I’m falling forward, his legs begin to move.

  “Is that all you got?” He teases. He kicks my knees in and I fall onto the ground on all fours.

  His toes drive up into my abdomen and I gasp. He flips me onto my back and I was only able to stare at the people that crowded around us on the opposite street. No one was helping.

  “You gonna cry?” His lips pout out in mock concern, which eventually turns into frustration, “get up.”

  He yanks me up by the arm and I dash, attempting to make a run for it. I make it pretty far around the corner and down a long narrow alley way when all of a sudden, my stiletto breaks at the heel and I fall onto my face. He bolts around the corner and catches up to me.

  He’s suddenly on top of me and gripping my face, and I was panting. Every fiber in my body wanted to move but all I could think about was how hard he was going to hit. And how hard my body will be when I’m found cold. In this long narrow alley way, I found myself spiraling.

  This is my last moment, all because I wrecked a man’s ego. A pathetic man’s ego. Now I’m stuck, but I’m not trapped. Yet.

  I look past him, my peripheral vision becoming blurry when I zone out to the beautiful evening sky. So gorgeous with its swirls of purple and its deep blue canvas. The twinkling bright yellow stars and constellations create pathways to guide those that orbit around them. Guiding fluffy dark clouds and illuminating them.

  His voice snaps me out of it, “Get up.” He gruffs out pulling me up by my curly hair and slamming me against the cold, plastered brick wall.

  His hand wraps around my throat. One silver band hugging his index finger. One silver band. One nose. Two piercing eyes full of something I can’t place.

  I didn’t pay close attention, I was too focused on begging the universe on somehow letting me live. If he wanted to hurt me, I wish he did it already. And I wish it was so damaging and painful that it could knock me out. This is torture.

  His hand squeezed around my esophagus and my eyes began to water, but I didn’t dare give him the satisfaction of letting tears flow. My knee drove into his gut and although I wanted to run, my ankle stopped me. I buckled in agony and slumped down the wall.

  “You think I want to do this?” His brows furrow sounding somber and sorry, “I really don’t want to but…you deserve this, Miriam.” My breath got caught in my throat and it felt like razor wire was cutting into my throat.

  My lips quiver. They were now busted and bruised. “No I don’t.” I speak up for myself, finally letting the tears fall.

  “Just let me leave—no one has to know about this.” I put my hands up to grant me little defense.

  He gets down to my level. “I should’ve killed you sooner.” I wince from his words, but at least I know his true intentions. He broke my heart, but also most likely wanted to break my skull as well.

  You hurt me in unimaginable ways, Artie Rodrickson. Unimaginable. Unimaginable, Unimaginable ways.

  He winds up for another blow when he hesitates and reaches into his back pocket with a snarky smirk. A knife.

  He taps my nose with the dull side of the tip and smiles, but there was no warmth to his expression this time. Only hunger. Only sinister. Only cruelty.

  “I’ve been fantasizing about your pain. The pain that you’ve brought up upon yourself. It’s truly heartbreaking.”

  The blade was just seconds away from carving into my flesh when he pulled back his hand and his eyes minuscule towards my neck and every bruise and gash he caused.

  He tosses his knife and looks down at the ground with no joy or enjoyment of the scene that unfolded before him. Like it wasn’t enticing enough or dramatized enough to his liking.

  “You’re not even worth the hassle.” He never even gives me another glance and walks with a purpose deeper into the alley way. In the same direction he throws his knife and kicks it to the side when he comes across it.

  I’m not worth it? Not worth it? Not worth it? Worth the hassle? Why can’t I be enough? Am I not good enough to be killed? Is my death worth it?

  I watch him turn the corner and disappear. At that moment, my eyes started to water once again and this time they fell with little reluctance. Some relief, but some shame. Come back and make it worth the hassle then…

  My head was a fog and I started to process what all just happened, the pain in my throat and ankle causing a throbbing and squeezed sensation. My breathing started to shallow and my vision blurred from the waterfalls of tears my eyes began to shed. My breathing became heavier than barbells and I started to panic deeply. If you were going to hurt me, you should’ve just told me and I would’ve done it myself.

  My tears start to fill up this town, filling oceans, my body drowns at the sounds of the forsaken city around me and I wonder, but I don’t just wonder, I dream. I dream of anchors trying to ground this ship while it rides on crashing waves. I start to dream of the meaning of life and why I’m feeling the way I am, but only I’m not dreaming. It’s just my own reality check.

  The marks on my body began to sting, it was only then I remembered I was still in this very alley way that I’ll never forget. I'm here because of Artie Rodrickson. But this isn’t his moment, it's mine. Although I panic and although I’m breaking down, I’m here because of me. Even though I wish I wasn’t here of all places, I am. And that’s just something I have to live with.

  My shaky bruised and broken hands pull out my cellphone and I call Stephanie and I’m grateful she picked up.

  “Hello? Hey, girl! How was your date? I hope he got everything he deserved—oh! You need to tell me everything when you get back,” I interrupted, “Stephanie?” My voice cracked.

  “I need you to come get me please,” I whisper, “where are you?” Her voice is filled with urgency.

  “Please just come get me.” I whimper and she attempts to reassure me, but doesn’t drop the questions.

  “I have your location just stay put okay?” Her voice cuts out and my phone dies. I begin to bawl my eyes out, and with wobbly knees, I stand.

  I take a deep breath and follow Artie's tracks. Dragging my feet along the pavement as I follow his direction. Kicking cans as I went when I turned the corner. No.

  My eyes widened at the sight of a body, on the ground, knocked unconscious, found dead. Artie Rodrickson was dead. Ironic how the victim found her attempted murderer, lying on the ground as a victim himself. I kneel beside him, being careful not to touch his body.

  Something new in me sparked, something vital. I needed to find out who did it. Who killed Artie and why? I know he deserved to be hurt or kicked, but I don’t think he deserved to have his throat slit and stabbed nine times in the back.

  I reach out to touch his face and then. Sirens.