Chapter 2- Fighter

Calloused hands are around my arms and I'm struggling to comprehend, to understand how all of this is happening so fast. Struggling to breath, unable to find the air for my greedy lungs to take to my racing heart. My eyes are blinded by the new light, slow to adjust from the darkness of the closet.

I'm being drug, out of the closet, out of my room, away from the life I know. But now I can feel, too, the fear draining from my body. I can feel the reasonable part of me slipping away, and I can feel the numbness overtaking and dominating me. I know what I have to do.

I pay close attention to the feeling of my bare foot dragging the floor, blocking the sounds of the men around me communicating in a language unknown to me. Carpet, carpet, notch, tile. I'm in the kitchen now. I can see clearly the glass plate I just finished eating my apple slices from, and grab it. With not a beat of hesitation I bring it down violently on my captors head. It's a reach- he's taller than me- but I feel confident in my work.

Until he slams me into the wall, unaffected, that is.

My head hurts from the impact, and his hand is around my throat. I look steadily into his dark eyes. He's the man that pulled the trigger. I can tell for sure now that his hair is black, a black so deep its almost appears blue. His jaw is sharp, his face clean shaven. From further inspection I can see his eyes are a deep, dark blue. He glares down at me fiercely.

My oxygen is fleeting, but I look up at him through spotted vision and smile. Damn my psychotic attitude. Confusion twists his face, and I giggle a little. A bubbly laugh arises from the bottom of my chest. He sneers for a second. "Crazy bitch," he barks, dropping my limp body. I notice his deep accent, but can't place it. My lungs feel like they're going to cave in. I fall into a fit of coughs, trying strenuously to make up for lost air.

By the time my lungs regain some strength, I've already been pulled outside my apartment door. In a last ditch effort, I throw my foot back and hit the killer man hard in the knee cap. He lets go enough, and I sprint. I make it approximately two steps before I'm caught, one of the other two bastards grab me. I spin around to see him, and he has light eyes. Loose blond hair falls in his face, and he has the audacity to smile at me. Bitch.

"Shh," he says, and clamps his little raccoon hand over my mouth. I take a moment to assess my current standing point. The killer man stands angrily watching me, and the blond man tightly holds my arm and mouth. My mind and body are in full survival mode, and I'm rendered incapable of feeling emotional distress.

It hits me. They don't want me to alert my neighbors. I smirk a little, and the "oh shit" look crosses blondies face. "Neil, watch her!" the killer man yells.

I throw myself into on of the many apartment doors in the hallway, and make a high pitched squealing sound in my throat. I then bite down on Neil's hand, breaking away from him and running. My dash to the stairwell seems infinite, the small door getting bigger and bigger as my muscles and mind scream for the idea of freedom.

And then I'm tackled from the side. Where did the attacker even come from? The man pulls me up, but hides behind me so I still can't actually see his face. I look down the hallway, and fear flushes my face. The killer man holds my elderly neighbor, Mr. Wang, in front of him. He has a loaded gun at his head. What have I done? He must have come out to try and help. Mr. Wang is a little old man, nearly bald on the top. He was very kind to me, bringing me blankets the first nights I almost froze here with no heater.

"Good work, Rixon," the man ready to kill again speaks to someone behind me. Panic panic panic attacking me. "What will you do now little girl?" The man cocks his dark eyebrow at me, his question obvious. I don't have an answer.

That's it. At this point, even my defenses can save me. I'm officially overloaded, unable to handle the situation. The senses fail me, my vision the last to go, sending me into vast darkness.

===***===

I know I'm in a car before I'm even fully awake. The gentle sway of dips and bumps provoke a second of unsettling peace in my unconscious mind. I grapple with memories that are missing from my mind, and I can't seem to explain where I am.

My surroundings are dark, and the only small glints of light are from the control buttons of the vehicle. It's hard to make out much, mostly because I'm laying on my side with my face stuck to the seat. I look down the length of my body to see a strange man looking back at me. Neil. Everything comes rushing back, and I'm horrified to wonder if my innocent neighbor is laying dead on the apartment hallway.

I wait for panic and fear to find me, but they don't yet return to torment me. Instead, my adrenalin rush floods me again, leaving me an undeniable high. I can only see Neil and the man in the passengers seat, and I know I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting him. I should fix that.

I launch myself forward and bring my fist with me. I'm not a talented fighter, but I know how to throw a punch. I see my hand collide, even though I can't feel it. The mans face jolts to the side, and I feel accomplished enough to move to my next victim. I can feel the hands of Neil grabbing at me, trying to get me under control, but I'm not done yet.

I wrap my arms around the drivers seat, also encircling the drivers neck. I can see he is wearing the leather jacket, and I know this is the man that killed tonight. I should be afraid of this man. I am not.

I lock my arms tight, fighting hard to stay in control. The killer man claws desperately at me. He keeps one hand on the wheel, causing the car to jerk and swerve in and out of lanes. I'm still being pulled by Neil, and my grip is beginning to slip. The chaos in the car was a frenzy, with shouts and commands in more than one language roaring around me, all in a hurry to tranquilize the ferial attacker.

Finally I am pulled from my victim, and Neil settles my back in the seat beside him. I watch as the killer man struggles to get oxygen. "Pay back, bitch," I spat at him.

"Okay. Come on now, was that really necessary?" Neil consoles me, buckling my seat belt in.

"Neil, avevi un cazzo di lavoro!" the killer shouted angrily from the front seat. Damn it, why can't I be diverse and cultured and speak more than one language? (Translation: Neil, you had one fucking job!)

"Well fuck you too then," Neil grumbles sulkily from beside me.

We all drive in silence for what feels like an eternity. The night is black out my window- even the moon and stars have abandoned me tonight.

So many feelings are cycling inside of me at once, all fighting for dominance in me. Defiance, hatred, fear, anger, sadness, panic- they all create a intricate turmoil.

Finally the front lights of the car are cut, and the road is lost to my eyes. Was that intentional? How will we know where we are going now?

My questions are answered when we are faced with a sliding metal door, shifting up to grant us entrance to my demise.