Rivers of violence sweeping her away, a tide of hate and anger forcing her hand. To her left, the one who tried to get her bag; long dark hair easy to grab and pull, spinning her out of the way and into the wall. Before her, the boy with knife at the ready; grimacing with a roar ready to scream from his throat. A kick to his groin so obvious, so easy, so effective. He’s down. To her right, a timid accomplice whose bravado is building as she watched her friend’s face smash into brick and the one she covets bent double and coughing out profanities. The chance of flight gone, she sees the knife and grabs for it but the victim’s stiletto heel is swiftly buried deeply into her hand. No chance to scream as the other leg comes up and around, catching her on the chin and mouth.
The sickening crack and a shower of spit.
The first is trying to stand, wobbling with one hand on the wall and the other desperately trying to keep her face together as blood flies down through her fingers. She won’t cause any more problems, but just in case, it wouldn’t hurt to use the…
Knife in her side. Didn’t watch him, the little shit. He was up and around before she knew it, stabbing first, then twisting and finally slashing. So much pain and damage from something so small and someone so insignificant. The tearing doesn’t bother her, all the pain is rolled into one and even that is numb compared to stupidity she feels. It was an amateurish mistake, one that she would never have made if her mind hadn’t been occupied with other things; flashes of earlier that week when her life began its slow unravelling.
When he told her he would never leave….