Marc the Gunslinger

Marc took her to a large apartment building covered in graffiti. There were primarily gang signs everywhere, but occasionally there was a large rendition of a male genitalia. It was certainly a charming sight.
Marc went inside, but Felicia hesitated.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
She shuddered. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” She walked in and felt a wave of heat across her entire body. She could not have welcomed it anymore.
The inside of the building was not as damaged as the outside, but that is not saying much. One could have splashed a bucket of vomit on the wall and called it an improvement. The lights indoors flickered and there was a sickly green hue. The floor consisted of black and white tiles, some cracked, some remained whole. There was a large grandfather clock in the corner of the room ticking the time away.
“Almost one.” Marc stated.
“What?”
“It’s almost one o’clock in the morning.” He turned to look at her.
Marc took her by her hand and led her up the stairs. They climbed six flights of stairs. On each floor, Felicia noticed the complete absence of sound. It was like each hallway beckoned her to enter. If the walls could talk, they would complain about the peeling wallpaper and how hideous they looked.
Marc got to the sixth floor and walked to room sixty-seven. He started to pat his pockets.
“Now where did I put that key….” He finally patted his back pocket and felt his key. “Have no fear, I found it.” He pulled out a small white key and put it in the door. He turned the lock and popped open the door.
He walked into the apartment and took off his coat.
“Come in.”
Felicia walked in. It was very dark. She did not like being in the dark like this. Not being able to see things. Not knowing what was around her. She could make out eerie shapes, but then she decided that she did not care anymore. She was too tired to care.
She heard Marc start digging around in some drawers.
“What are you doing?” She asked. Unfamiliar with this man, only knowing him as her savior, she remained cautious. Men had a tendency of being extremely spiteful when it came to women, especially in this town.
“I’m just looking for some dry clothes for you. I’m sure that you’re soaked to the bone.”
She saw Marc’s shape walk towards her.
“Here. There’s a towel to dry your hair with too. Feel free to sleep on the couch behind you. If you want to leave, you can at anytime. Just please lock the door on your way out.”
He walked away and Felicia heard a door shut. She took off all of her clothes and examined her body.
A cigarette burn on her left wrist. A fresh bruise on her right shoulder to match all of the old ones made on her body, not to mention all seven of the scars across of her back.
She was happy to be out of that place. She took this event as a blessing and put on the dry clothes. They felt warm against her skin.
She made her way to the couch and lied down. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe the gunslinger was just a figment of her imagination just to make herself hope. Maybe she would wake up tomorrow morning back in that cell, with men looking at her, hollering at her, and throwing single dollar bills.
"It doesn’t matter whatever this is. Whether this is a dream or reality, this is one of the happiest times of your life. You even got to see that bastard shot."
With that final thought, Felicia went to bed with a smile on her lips.