A woman comes home with her new boyfriend after clubbing (or whatever it is you people call it). He becomes aggressive, and when it turns violent, she is saved by a close encounter with an assassin.
This story contains mature content.
You have been warned.
1AM. The sounds of a busy city echo in the background. Sounds and lights of all assortments, coming from cars, people, streetlights, billboards, everything you would expect from an urban metropolis; heavy traffic, towering skyscrapers… apartment buildings.
The man and the woman walked in to the bedroom of the apartment together, laughing in a drunken stupor. The woman almost fell down, but the man caught her, both of them laughing. Once she regained her balance, they embraced tightly. The man seemed to be getting increasingly more aggressive, as his hands slowly moved toward her skirt. She stopped him.
“Wait,” she said. “I don’t know about this.” The man looked at her almost lovingly, knowing what he wanted.
“Come on, babe,” he said. “You said it’s been a while.” He pulled her in and kissed her, again more aggressively. She stopped him again.
“Yes, it has,” she said. “But, like I said, we just met… And I’m feeling kind of dizzy from those margaritas.”
“Perfect way to relieve stress,” he said, attempting to sound smooth. He pulled her in again, again more aggressively.
“Look, I’m just not into this right now…” she started. The man continued his advances as the woman began looking increasingly more uncomfortable.
“You know you want it,” he said. But as he reached for the zipper on her sweater, she became aggressive.
“I said no,” she said, pushing him away. “I’m… going home.”
The man looked at her, and sneered. His hand reaching back, he slapped her across the face, sending her onto the floor. He picked her up and threw her chest-down on the bed. Disoriented, she attempted to get up, but he pinned her down. She made a weak attempt to struggle, but it was no use. She knew what was about to happen. A sly look on his face, the man reached for his belt.
He jumped in surprise as the window suddenly shattered, glass shards scattering over the floor. He looked out the window, a look of fearful curiosity in his eyes.
“Don’t move,” he told the girl. He walked over to his nightstand and pulled out a knife. Slowly, he walked toward the window.
During that walk, every second seemed like an hour, very step a tedious stride. His eyes fixed on the window, he slowly drew closer until he was just inches away, the shattered glass crunching underneath his feet.
He gasped as a pair of hands grabbed him, pulling him out the window. Shards of glass still stuck in the frame cut into his back and shoulders, causing him to gasp in pain, followed by a long yell as he was hurled over the rail of the fire escape, causing him to plummet, landing with a thud on the pavement below.
The girl, her eyes fixed on the window, didn’t dare move. Minutes passed by as she waited for the assailant to come in after her. But no one came. All she could see outside that window was the city limits and the night sky, all she could hear was the common calamity of the metropolis. Seizing the moment, she stood up and ran from the bedroom, out of the apartment, as fast as her legs would carry her.
Putting away my hand mirror, I looked down at the sidewalk, observing the woman as she continued to run and occasionally stumble, constantly looking over her shoulder, not even noticing the man’s body splattered on the pavement; not seeing me, my presence on the fire escape concealed by the darkness; not suspecting she had just had a close encounter with a hired killer.
My job was done.