Chapter Text
The sound of heels hitting concrete blended perfectly into the ambient noise of Hell’s Kitchen. As unideal as it was, I had to walk home at night. I glanced at the time.
1:16 am.
I got out later than usual. Marv had some big spenders and didn’t want to close at the usual time. He insisted I’d get overtime... Fat chance... My back is sore, my arms ache, and my eyes are burning, but I have to keep walking. The only thing keeping me going is the idea of collapsing into my glorious twin bed and IKEA pillow.
An icy breeze sweeps the streets, cutting through my faux fur shrug. Between all my gigs and commissions, I can barely afford to live in New York, let alone a real fur coat. But I always follow rule number one: To make money, act like you’re loaded. Thrifting became my number one hobby as I started booking fancier gigs. (Usually) Nobody pays attention to the ambiance pianist in restaurants and clubs, but if you’re cute, you can score a few tips!
My heels click on the sidewalk, and I glance upward. I've come so far from Chicago. Sure, it's a cliché thought, but I can't help the smile that pulls at my lips. I tilt my head back, feeling the cool breeze pulling some strands free from my bun. After a few turns, I stop at a crosswalk. I finally take in my surroundings. Three older middle-aged men walk behind me, idly chatting. One with a flannel, one with a ball cap and jeans, and one with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lip. I scan them, then my attention turns back to the crosswalk. I wring my hands to keep warm. As I do, the cigarette man speaks up.
“It’s pretty cold out here, sweetheart.”
I purse my lips into a tight, polite smile and nod, avoiding eye contact.
“I could keep you warm,” He slurs, sticking his tongue out and opening his arms.
His buddies drunkenly cackle, slurring vaguely understandable sexual remarks. I check my phone. 1:24. I'm still pretty far away from my apartment. Damn. A cold robotic voice cuts through my thoughts-
‘Walk’
‘Thank God,’ I think, clutching my purse and striding across the street. I have to try to keep my face neutral as they continue talking amongst themselves about me. My stomach churns as the stench of smoke and alcohol hangs thick in the air around them.
Typical. After living with raging addicts, you start to resent the lot.
I continue at a brisk pace, turning a few unnecessary corners, trying to lose the heavy footsteps of the drunkards. To no avail. I throw a sideways glance over my shoulder, and it looks like I've managed to put space between them and me. A few yards? They're definitely following me, though. After the second unnecessary turn, I realize I'm not too familiar with this place. I've only lived in New York for a few months. Even then, I've been working too much to explore the city thoroughly.
“We got a runner!” The men howl.
“Damn, she’s quick. The body’s not too bad either. Bet she’s pricey.”
“We won’t have to pay nothin’ if we’re fast enough.”
Like a pack of hyenas, they cackle and continue following me. Shoot. This is not good. They’re really not going to let this go. I glance around, desperately searching for anything open. 1:27 am on a Tuesday? Of course, everything’s closed. Just my luck.
Nobody on the streets either. I wish I’d taken a cab.
The cigarette man flicks his cigarette at me. It sails past my head, landing on the ground beside me.
“Hey, hey! Where you going?” He starts jogging to keep up with me.
“Fuck off,” I snap, reaching into my purse, digging for a can of mace. My shaky hand sifts through the garbage in my purse, and I pray I find the can fast.
“C’mon, you know you want it!”
I started running.
“Skanky bitch. I bet I could fuck the attitude out of you!” One with blue flannel says. He drunkenly charges.
I sprint. My building isn’t that far away! It's just a couple of blocks! If I can just get inside, someone could help. As I run, my heel slips into a grate, stopping me abruptly, and sending a sharp pain flashing through my ankle. I curse, slamming to the ground, the contents of my purse tumbling out into the suspiciously dark colored puddles of an alley. The men behind me laugh and jeer. I started yelling.
“Back up! I swear to God, I’ve got a gun!”
My heart is pounding; Today is not the day. I continue shouting my empty threats. Anything to get them to scatter.
They’re about six feet away.
I can feel the beads of sweat forming on my forehead.
“Get up, cunt.” Cigarette man spits.
I start scrambling back, trying to pull myself to my feet– to little avail. I slip, smacking my elbow against the concrete. I just barely managed to scramble to my feet. Before I can take another step, Cigarette man claps one calloused hand over my mouth, and the other grabs a handful of my hair.
My first instinct is to scream. I shout obscenities, maybe some to vile to repeat, and start cursing him out. My hands flew up to try to claw my way free, but he yanked my head to the left, causing me to stumble and trip. He pulls me towards the alley, his hand stinking of smoke and beer. My feet kick and drag against the dirty New York asphalt.
I don’t have time.
My heart is beating out of my chest, and my eyes blur with tears. This is not happening. I’m going to kill this guy. The pain is white-hot, and it's hard to hear over my thumping pulse. Besides the pain, the only thing I can process is my anger and fear.
I don’t catch the slurred conversation between them. Something about being quiet…
Before I knew it, they dragged me into the alley. At one point, I manage to dig my heels into the asphalt, bend my knees, and nearly throw off Cigarette Man. Those two-part self-defense courses could only help so much.
Fat drunk scum don’t play fair; Black Cap goes high, grabbing my hair (again), and pulls my head at an awkward angle. I choked out a yelp. Someone please…
The wind is knocked out of me with a solid punch to my stomach, followed by one to my side. I wheeze. Anyone…
Blue flannel grabs my left wrist as I flail wildly. Black Cap grabs my other wrist and tears at my faux shrug, ripping it from my shoulders. The soft pink fur piles on the wet asphalt, immediately staining with the city’s fluid.
They pull at the straps of my new dress. The cheap clasps break easily under the force from their hands. I’m sobbing, kicking, and punching out at anything I could possibly hit.
My head goes oddly quiet. Must be shock. It feels almost like... bullet time?
As I try to dissociate, the little things keep standing out.
They have dirty fingernails.
He has a gap in his teeth.
His shirt is stained.
As I notice these things, I try everything possible to ignore the dress falling from my body and the grubby hands replacing what was once covered. The only thing I can think about is how much I want to hurt them. I want them never to be able to use their hands again. Or their tongues.
Deep loathing and hatred form a twisting pit in my stomach. My face heats up.
How dare you?
I ball my hands into fists and try to jerk my hand from Blue Flannel’s grip. I get a taste of freedom before his once-broken grip returns, even tighter.
They curse me. Cigarette man releases his grip on my mouth and, before I can scream, smacks me across my face. My head snaps to the right, and he puts his hand on my throat. Squeeeeeezing.
I cough and sputter, my eyes going wide. My chest seizes for breath that doesn’t come.
Fuck you.
My vision goes spotty and slightly blurry, and my mouth hangs open for any chance of breath. The grunts and rustling all start to blend into one another as my brain works to keep me conscious. Once they fade into each other, they quickly fade into nothing. The only thing I hear is my pulse thrumming in my ears.
My vision goes black, and everything goes still for a minute. A whisper without words… a sensation… an instinct. Something calls in me to fight. It feels… simple. You don’t usually get pure feelings like this in adulthood. Cause and effect. Action, reaction. Hurt them.
Somehow, I open my eyes. What now stands before me aren’t those disgusting animals. Instead, it’s darkness. The type of darkness you see in a forest, far away from civilization. I can maybe make out…a tree line? The darkness is thick, and the heavy smell of copper, heat, and wet dirt is overwhelming.
As I try to orient myself, my stomach drops. Something is watching me.
I whip my head around and meet a pair of glinting yellow eyes. I freeze, feeling a wave of fear washing over me. These eyes are fixed on me, front-facing, predatory, and oddly familiar. They’re about ten feet away and sit as high as my navel. It’s too dark to make out what- or whom they belong to. They have the same reflection and eye shine as animals have in the dark.
We’re at a standstill. Neither of us moves for what feels like an eternity.
Once I realize it’s not coming any closer, I feel some of my fear dissolve. Even the air feels lighter. I take a short breath. As I breathe, I get the feeling that this… thing and I have come to an understanding. The eyes narrow, as if quizzical, then they tilt- studying me.
I furrow my brow. What could it possibly be thinking?’ I unconsciously copy the motion, tilting my head. A cold tear slides down my cheek, and it’s only then that I realize I’m still crying.
I wipe my face, realizing this is probably some hallucination my brain is making to cope with the lack of oxygen and trauma. Or… something. I’m not a doctor.
“Hey,” I say, tentatively.
The creature continues staring, unblinkingly
“Can you help me?” I shakily ask, unsure if this thing even understands English...
‘I was starting to wonder if you'd ever call..'
“It talks…” I deadpan. Its response wasn’t quite a thought but more of a feeling. The response came quickly but felt like something I just… knew. It’s like the feeling when someone asks you what your name is: An instinct.
“I… I want to hurt them,” I say honestly.
‘I can hurt those men.’
“Oh, okay?” I say, a little taken aback,” This is like a hallucination though…” I trail off, looking around.
Its response is silence. More staring.
“...Isn’t it?”
The eyes gleam and blink once. It’s cryptic, annoying, and not very helpful.
‘Hurt those men.’
“Me? I can’t. There are three of them.” I exasperatedly explain.
“Trust me, I want to. I really want to. But I’m overpowered and outnumbered.” I explain, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
‘Hurt them.’
I shake my head.
“You just don’t get it. I’m losing! I’ve already lost!”
‘Going down without a fight? Just how they like it.’
“Without a- there’s three of them! I rolled my ankle, my knees and elbow are cut up, a-and I probably have a broken rib!” I snapped.
The silence that follows only fans the flames.
“Oh, fuck this! You have no idea!” I point at the set of eyes.
‘I don’t?’
“No! There’s no way.” I humorously laugh.
‘You’ll lay down and die."
I narrow my eyes. “What the fuck do you even know about me, huh? This-” I gesture wildly around me,” This isn’t even real, right?! I’m just going nuts! Or maybe I'm already dead! This could be hell, for all I know!!”
Silence.
“Fine! Be that way!” I turn, letting tense silence settle between us.
The frustration of this night is finally catching up with me. How unfair? How disgusting? How rude? Getting looked over all night, making jack squat, and on my way to my apartment, the scum of the earth chooses me. What if those men decide that they don’t want a witness…?
“I'd... I'd rather die fighting.'
A rumble of approval causes a small tremble in the forest before me. Is this thing giant? Or just-
‘ We are the same.'
Its unblinking stare breaks from me, sinking a bit further into the forest.
"Fight well, little beast."
The air is still. I don’t know what I expected, but I expected something… anything. I wait with bated breath, expecting something crazy to happen. The eyes blink slowly. As they blink, whatever head they’re attached to turns slightly away, never taking its focus off of me. As it turns, it slowly closes its eyes, leaving me in nearly complete darkness.
I blink hard, trying to adjust my vision to the scene before me. When I open my eyes, the forest is gone. I’m shocked back to reality, still under the thick grip of Cigarette Man, black ball cap, and blue flannel.
I found out that night, a reflex to being choked is opening your mouth like a fish out of water. My mouth hangs open, trying to catch a breath that’s not coming, when Cigarette Man puts his finger in my mouth with a crude smile on his face. He grunts something derogatorily sexual to me and…
It’s difficult to describe what happens next.
I’ve never been so angry. It’s a sour mix of humiliation and disgust.
Everything. Burns. My face. My jaw. My teeth. I can’t-
SNAP.
Hot iron. Copper. His finger. In my mouth.
His fucking finger.
God, that hurts!
At that moment, I didn’t realize that while clenching my jaw, I completely took off Cigarette Man’s finger. His blood hits my face- hot, metallic, alive. It seeps into the corner of my mouth. My stomach lurches. My head throbs like it’s about to split down the middle. I groan and spit the finger out. As soon as it leaves my mouth, regret pangs in my chest.
Regret?
I don’t get the details, but there’s a dull pain in my mouth. My teeth are moving. Changing. They’re now sharp– very sharp.
Cigarette Man screams and stumbles back.
“W-What the fuck?! This bitch just- she just- she bit my fucking-“He shouts in pain and starts stumbling away.
His friends don’t understand immediately. Once their delayed processing catches up with their motor functions, Black Cap loosens his grip and mumbles, “Maybe we should just call it? S-She’s kinda ugly anyway,” He chuckles breathily, looking at blue flannel with trepidation.
Deep hunger pangs rattle up my spine, causing me to groan.
Blue flannel dismisses him completely.
“Fuckin’ pussy.” Blue flannel scoffs.
Cigarette man is reeling in the background, shouting and clutching his injured hand. Hearing Black Cap’s suggestion seems to spark anger from Cigarette Man. In a drunken rage, he turns around and starts staggering back over to me, picking up speed. As he starts running, Black Cap drops my wrist and leaps backward. Cigarette Man ignores him and throws a wild right haymaker towards my head.
Unnaturally easily, I dodge his punch. His balled fist flies right past my head, throwing him off balance, and it lands firmly onto the brick wall behind me. A sickening ‘crunch’ emanates from his knuckles, and he howls in shock.
My heart leaps as I see an opportunity. I slam my hand into the back of his head. He lurches forward.
CRACK!
Nose-first into the brick. His skull bounces off the brick with about as much rebound as a bowling ball. Blood gushes from his face, dripping in fat streaks across his shirt. His chest rises in panicked bursts, but it’s already soaked through. His screams are gargled with the amount of blood pouring down his throat.
There’s something in the air. I can’t think anymore. My stomach turns and growls, aching for something- anything. My heart beats so loud it’s deafening.
“Fuck– What the fuck?!” Blue flannel shouts, trying to drag me away from his bloodied friend. He heaves, pulling my shoulder out of the socket and throwing me deeper into the alley.
I cry out, flying to the ground and landing on the dislocated shoulder. I shout, tears springing to my eyes. The mystery liquid of New York alleys seeps into my dress and my nonexistent bun.
Black Cap scurries to Cigarette Man, wrapping his arm around his shoulder. Blue Flannel watches this, then turns in my direction.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you, bitch.” A cold terror shoots up my spine.
“Lenny, let’s just get outta’ here! What’re you doing?” He desperately calls, struggling to keep Cigarette Man right side up. They’re both stained red now.
Another sharp pain stabs my stomach as I try to pull myself to my feet. I’m so hungry… I manage to ignore it and get on my hands and knees, carefully avoiding my left arm.
Just as I stagger to my feet, Lenny yanks something from under his bloated stomach-
-a gun.
Or at least... something that thinks it's a gun.
It's wrapped in this sad plastic flag-skin. Red, white, and blue like a gas station lighter. There's a bird on the side. An eagle? No. A cartoon nightmare version of one. The beak wraps around the muzzle like it’d spit bullets.
I blink.
My mouth falls open.
This is what’s gonna kill me?
This?
My body is shaking, from exertion, but a sound bubbles up from somewhere deep and stupid inside me. A laugh… or a grunt… or a scoff? I can’t tell. It's not out loud... not yet... but it's there.
The horror, the pain, the blood in my teeth, the dislocated arm screaming at me- none of it compares to this fucking gun.
“C’mon Lenny, let’s just go! This is nuts. We-We’ve gotta go,” Black Cap tries to convince his friend.
Lenny starts shouting. It's basically incomprehensible insults. He starts with me, "fucking bitch,", "devil cunt," then at Bill, then at the guy missing half a face. Then, something about taxes. Gas prices. "Goddamn Chinese food menus!"
The gun waves with every syllable, rattling like it wants to leave his hand and do the job itself.
Sweat pours off him like he's in a sauna. His shirt's stuck to his back, and he's panting like he ran here.
Time warps. His voice fills the entire alley. Louder than the blood in my ears. Louder than the hunger twisting in my gut.
I'm nearly frozen still, still trying to think of a plan or anything to get me out of this situation. For as dark as it should’ve been, I can see remarkably clearly. My wild eyes take in as much information as possible.
There’s red everywhere. My purse lies in it. My shoes are soaked. The wall is streaked like someone took a brush and did a poor impression of Pollock. And it’s on me. In me. My stomach groans. I grit my teeth and try to stay standing as another hunger pain bellows through me. I slam my eyes closed and start sweating, trying to ground myself. A shiver rips through me, rattling my very bones.
Black Cap, dragging Cigarette Man beside him, puts a meaty hand on Lenny’s shoulder and tries again,” Let’s just fuckin’ go, Len. She’s not worth a life sentence, or a charg- for fucks sake!” Black Cap almost topples over as Lenny whips his pistol left, pointing at his friends.
“Lenny, what the fuck!?”
“Shut the fuck up, Bill! You’re a coward! A rat!”
Their panicked shouts fade into the background; my focus zooms in on Cigarette Man. His head is bobbing, most definitely concussed, but more importantly, he’s dripping blood. He’s covered. His finger, severed on the second knuckle, is a steady gushing of blood, staining Bill’s shoulder. His free hand is covering his decimated nose, although blood pours through his fingers.
My face falls into a slack-jawed stare. My mouth salivates, and the pain from my arm fades away. Everything fades. The shouting is gone, the pain is gone, the fear is gone. Just the loud thumping of my heartbeat in my ears. Then a hunger, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt, thunders through my body. My mouth snaps shut, and I hiss through my teeth, trying to breathe through the pain. I double over, clutching my stomach. Then, fire sparks through my limbs, blazing up my neck.
She whispers to me, her voice eerily similar to my own.
End it.
Before either one of the men can react, I lunge at Lenny. Strength and fury pump through my veins, and I move faster than I’ve ever moved before. I plant my shoulder deep into his abdomen. I send him crashing to the ground. The wind is knocked out of his lungs with a wheeze, and his head smacks off the asphalt twice.
I push myself up so I’m crouched over him. I raise my left hand and rip across his chest with my claws- claws?! A strangled groan comes out of him as he tries to lift his arm enough to aim the pistol. I don’t notice until he’s got it pointed at me. His hand is shaking furiously as his mouth gapes like an open fish, trying to get oxygen back to his lungs. We lock eyes.
My body moves before my mind even comprehends what’s happening. My leg shoots out, my foot pinning his forearm back onto the ground. As his hand hits the ground, his finger pulls the trigger, sending a bullet ricocheting into the ally.
Bill yelps in alarm and tries to scurry away, dragging Cigarette Man with him. In Bill’s rush, he trips over Cigarette man’s feet, sending them both tumbling to the ground, not free of expletives.
Lenny wheezes under me, raising his left arm to shield his body. He managed to catch my right hand as I brought it down for another swipe into his chest. He struggles with me, but I lunge at him, trying to bite him. He blocks my face with his forearm. Unluckily for him, my sharp teeth sank into his flesh like a hot knife through butter.
He wails and writhes. After realizing that he can’t get his hand free while holding the pistol, he releases it and slips his arm out of the pin. He punches at my head, trying to get me to release his arm. I’m still straddling him, my knees digging into his ribs. His hand pounds into my temple. Once, Twice. Then he plants a palm on my forehead and starts to pull…His arm rips away, tendon snapping like pulled taffy. Something wet slaps against my tongue. It takes a second to realize it’s part of him... and I haven’t let go.