These Lonely Streets

"So, little missy, what have you got for us?” a deep voice questioned.

No, it couldn’t be Wes, could it?

I cracked my eyes open a bit to see who it could be, and sure enough, there was Wes hovering over my body. I groaned in pain, keeping my cheek pressed against the sidewalk and hoping Buster and everyone else would show up.

If only, if only.

“Well?” Wes questioned, poking my arm with the tip of his gun. I didn’t answer, at which his frustration set in. His two comrades grabbed hold of my shoulders, swung me onto my feet, and flung me into the brick wall of the alley way they had been hiding in. They were going to rape me, which was all I knew. Wes took over, grabbing hold of my shoulders and pinning my helpless frame. I looked him dead in the eyes, trying to find any trace of emotion.

None. His eyes were lifeless when it came to concern, but they were overstocked with hate.

Suddenly, however, his eyes changed, like he had remembered something.

“Well, well, well, look who’s back on her own two feet,” he said, a grin on his lips. “Cory, dear, how was rehab?”

I didn’t speak, but instead stared at Wes with the deadliest stare I could manage. The grin on his lips spread from ear to ear, a soft laugh coming from the back of his throat.

“Touchy subject, eh? Well, here’s another. How’s my baby doing?” he asked, his hand dropping and running gently across my stomach.

“Dead,” I replied flatly. The two comrades looked at one another in confusion, clearly unaware of what Wes had done to me almost a year and a half ago.

“Dead? Why would you let such a thing happen?” he asked, his fingers tracing along my jaw.

“All part of the rehab process. They made me get an abortion. Besides, any child of yours, no matter how they were raised, would surely be the spawn of the devil,” I hissed.

“Fiesty. Seems that hasn’t changed a bit. So, why don’t we just try again?” Wes leaned closer to me, his lips running along my neck.

However, I was not going to let him do that to me again.

I angrily thrust my knee up into Wes’s groin. He immediately backed down, giving me a chance to run away, but the other two leapt forward and grabbed me.

“Let me go!” I screamed.

“I don’t think so, baby,” the one dressed in all black said, tightening his grip on me to hold me there. Wes collected himself, standing up with anger boiling under his skin.

“You little fucking tramp,” he sneered, taking a step forward. “Rehab give you a bit of courage?”

“Enough to fight you,” I snapped. Blood was continuing to gush from the bullet wound on my arm, but I bit the inside of my lip to hide any traces of pain.

Wes growled, violently throwing his arm up, fist clenched tight, and delivering the steady blow right into my jaw. My head snapped sideways, smacking against the cold brick wall and leaving me with a new point of pain. Slowly, I turned my eyes back onto Wes. The battle felt as though it was just between the two of us, that the other two weren’t even there. As the feeling slowly drifted back into my face, I turned my head to stare Wes down. He didn't look away, although I desperately wished he would.

"Switchblade," he snapped, keeping his gaze locked with mine. His other comrade released one hand from me to reach into his pants pocket and retrieve the blade. Handing it over to Wes, he stepped forward, the blade out in the blink of an eye and Wes's hand darting up to hold back my head. He raised the blade to my neck, the icy edge against my skin sending chills through every bone in my body. He could see the panic that flooded me, at which the corners of his thin lips curved into a smirk. Who knew my death was going to arrive my first day back in the city?

If only I'd let myself go through with Goliath's offer.

Suddenly, a burst of police sirens filled the silent night air. All three guys whipped their heads around to stare out the alley way, making sure it was not too close. It sounded close, causing a slight sweep of panic to inflict all of us. Wes growled quietly, his fingers tightening in grip on me as the other two backed away slowly. What was in store for me now that everyone was at risk of being discovered?

Wes threw me into the ground, stomping his foot into my chest and knocking any trace of air out of my lungs.

“What I wouldn’t give to watch you die,” he snarled, flipping the blade on the switchblade in and out, deciding what to do with me before retreating home. “I’d kill to watch you suffer and slowly slip away, but we just don’t have that kind of time. See you in hell.”

With that, Wes snatched the gun away from one of the other men. My life was over, but could I battle my way back? He aimed it at me, pulling the trigger with ease, followed by the same loud pop I heard when they first ambushed me. I was quick to move, tumbling onto my side to evade having the bullet snag a hole through my heart. However, my right forearm was now damaged, a perfect circle spewing blood from my skin and leaving me unable to get up. Both of my arms were out of use and at this rate with the blood loss, the hope for my survival was slim to none. My eyes shut tight, the sound of hurried footsteps on the ground inching away every second. I curled up tightly in agonizing pain, my blood pouring into one giant pool as I awaited my heart to slow to a stop. Surely they didn’t notice how the bullet had gotten my arm, but they could not stick around to make sure I died.

“Where in hell’s name do you think you’re going?” Wes snapped suddenly. It sounded as though they were standing in the alley entrance.

“I’m heading into the city to get some packs. I’m taking a shortcut through the back roads. I won’t get caught,” one of the men said.

“Fine, but don’t count on us helping your sorry ass if you do. Let’s go, Kenny,” Wes said, the sound of two pairs of feet heading away. The other set of feet sounded as though they were running in the opposite direction, toward the city just as they had said.

Pain took over my entire body, my breathing becoming dangerously unsteady with every heavy sob that escaped my lips. Warm tears glided down my burning cheeks, holding them back clearly inevitable. I ached for my heart to stop beating, to put me out of this new misery that had attacked me in so little time. My attire and my entire body were drenched in my own blood, the excess just barely seeping into the dirt. Who knew that coming back from rehab had more bad in store than good?

Suddenly, a hand clasped my shoulder.

Could it be the hand of an angel, here to grant me access into heaven, or that of the devil, ready to lead me into the portals of hell?

I really could care less at this point. I was dying, so why bother screaming out for help from whoever was here with me now? They couldn’t save me, no matter what they did.

“Get up,” a soft voice urged. I recognized the voice, but it wasn’t of someone I knew well. With whatever strength I still possessed, I opened my eyes and turned to eye the stranger.

Kneeling beside me was one of the men that had just assisted Wes in my demise, one of the comrades. I had hardly been able to catch a real glimpse of him, for my eyes were stuck on Wes and the way he plotted to kill me. Now with him just inches away from me, I noticed that he was wearing all black; black baggy jeans, black wifebeater, and of course, a black hat. However, the hat was pulled on so the brim shadowed his face, leaving his features unidentifiable in the dark. I could make out shaggy strands of his hair that stuck out from underneath the hat, and I swore they were black as well. His skin was tanned, or at least it appeared that way in the darkness of the alley.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” I snapped weakly. My voice had no threat to it whatsoever, leaving me the knowledge that he was just going to carry on with whatever he planned on doing.

“Do you want to die or not?” he asked, his hand still gently placed on my shoulder.

“Die. Now, go away,” I replied angrily.

The man sighed heavily. He looped his arms through mine, easily hoisting me up and onto my feet. The pain in my arms from the bullets was horrible, causing me to groan and protest from moving. However, the man didn’t seem to care, and the sound of the police siren that was growing more distant with every second drowned out some of my groans. The man reached down, grabbing my legs and swinging me up into his arms.

Who did he think he was?!

“Put me down!” I screamed, my voice hoarse from crying. I flailed my aching arms, able to smack him in the chest once with my elbow. However, he didn’t flinch a bit, and it ended up hurting me more than it hurt him.

“Look, hun, I’m doing you a risky favor, okay? Would you rather me leave you in this alley for the rats?” he snapped.

“Go ahead, leave me here. That was the plan, wasn’t it?” I said. The man was now walking out of the alley, his feet gaining speed every so often. “Besides, the cops will find you if you leave me here, so drop me now.”

“They ain’t finding anybody, hun.”

“Don’t you dare call me that! You have no right.”

“I’m trying to fucking help you! What part of that don’t you understand?”

“I don’t need help!”

“Don’t need help?” He laughed. “You’ve been shot twice and your throat’s been slit. You can’t exactly fix yourself on your own. At least now you’re getting a chance.”

“I don’t want a chance anymore.”

There was no reply. My eyes turned onto him quickly only to find that I still couldn’t clearly see his face, but his thin lips had been exposed from the shadow. They were contorted into disgust, and I couldn’t tell if that was because he was aiding in the rescue of an enemy or if he thought I was pathetic for what I had just said. I turned my gaze back onto the path in front of us, the city coming up faster now that he had switched to a sprint. My head was spinning, my pain was increasing, and I knew I was still slipping away.

“Can you please just let me go? I’m begging. I don’t want to live this life anymore,” I pleaded. Death’s endless darkness was beginning to flood my head, which was more than likely from the pints of blood I had left behind on the ground.

“No. I promise you’re going to be fine,” he replied.

“Just let me die. Please.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wouldn’t be right.”

“What do you care? You’re with Wes.”

“He has nothing to do with this.”

“Are you kidding? He has /everything/ to do with this.”

“What, you going by the whole Buster versus Wes rivalry shit?”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t, it’s just a load of bullshit.”

“Why should I? Buster says-“

“What Buster says is wrong. What Wes says is wrong, too. You really don’t understand at all.”

“I understand very clearly. Enemies are supposed to hate each other. They’re supposed to want to tear each other’s throats out.”

“Uhm, yeah, you really don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t understand! You have no idea what Wes has done to me!” A few tears leaked from my eyes, remembering the terror I had faced with him more than once before. The man was on the verge of replying, but I didn’t need to look at him to know he had shut his mouth. I laid limp in his arms, giving up the fight to get him to drop me. Besides, I was going to die in his arms before he had a chance to rush me through the hospital doors. I was border lining death, the darkness creeping into my head and dragging me under. Eventually I allowed my eyes to close. Not even a day back and already I had fallen into a hole, but this time I would be unable to escape it.

Despite my eyes being closed, I noticed that it had become brighter wherever we were, and slightly less loud. The shuffling of papers, wheels screeching against tile, and people discussing topics that I couldn’t make out had taken the place of the previous sounds of the man’s hurried footsteps down the sidewalk, cars, screams, and sirens. Were we in the hospital?

“What happened to her?” a professional voice asked, only a hint of concern in her voice. It was a woman, and she sounded tired and lacking real interest as to why I was drenched in blood.

“She was shot twice. I found her this way in an alley,” the man replied.

Psh, hardly. He forgot to mention the fact that he took part in why I was dying in that alley.

“Alright, we’ll take care of her,” the woman said.

“Hurry, please. I don’t think she has much time left,” the man replied.

My body was moved elsewhere, for there was suddenly the soft padding of cushions beneath me.

“We’re going to hurry her right into surgery.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’d like to remain anonymous.”

The voices stopped.