Catch Her!

"Father, please… leave him!" I pleaded.

The thick leather whip cracked across my back. Searing pain sliced through my skin, splitting open half-healed wounds from yesterday. Warm blood trickled down my spine, soaking into my thin shirt.

"Shut your mouth!" he bellowed. The foul stench of cheap, sour liquor washed over me with his words. "You dare question me? I won’t spare this little bastard today. I’ll kill him. Maybe then you’ll learn obedience."

He raised the whip high into the air. The long shadow of the braided leather fell over my younger brother’s fragile, trembling frame. My brother coughed, curling into a tight ball on the dirty floor, too weak to even cry out.

I threw myself forward. I wrapped my arms around my father's thick legs, digging my broken nails into his trousers. "Please!" I cried, my voice shattering. "I’ll do whatever you want. I swear on my life. Just don’t touch him. He’s sick, Father. He’ll die."

His eyes burned with unhinged rage. His face twisted into a grotesque mask of madness.

"I said get lost!"

He kicked out, shoving me with brutal force. My ribs slammed against the hardwood floor. The air rushed out of my lungs. I gasped, fighting for breath, just as he raised the whip once more—

"Calla Vale!"

I jolted awake. Cold sweat drenched my uniform. My chest heaved, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird beating against a cage.

It was just a nightmare, Calla. You are fine.

"Calla Vale!"

The harsh voice pierced my foggy mind. I blinked against the blinding fluorescent lights of the convenience store.

"Oh shit," I muttered, rubbing my face.

My manager, Mrs. Capello, stood in the doorway of the break room. Her face was flushed red with anger, her lips pressed into a thin, furious line.

"Calla, this is the third time I’ve found you sleeping in my store this week. This is a workplace, not your living room. No sleeping on the clock!" she scolded, planting her hands firmly on her hips.

I glanced at the clock hanging on the peeling wall. Four in the morning. I had closed my eyes for barely an hour. My body ran on nothing but cheap caffeine, mounting stress, and a dangerous lack of sleep for the past seven days.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Capello. I got zero sleep after my last shift," I explained, pushing myself up from the hard plastic chair. Exhaustion weighed down my bones like lead. I had just finished an eight-hour overnight shift from nine in the morning to eleven at night at my other job, catching maybe three hours of rest before dragging myself here. My body screamed for a week of rest, but my debts and my brother's expensive medical bills held me hostage.

"I don't care if you ran a marathon before coming here. When you walk through those doors, none of that matters. No one will do your job for you, and it sure as hell won't get done while you dream."

I flinched at her sharp tone. A knot of deep dread formed in my stomach. My survival instincts flared, warning me of what was coming next.

"I think it's time for you to find another job. One that's less demanding. You clearly can't handle this one."

Panic seized my throat, choking my words. "Ma'am—" I stuttered, stepping forward, hands shaking. "I need this job. It's just been a tough week. It won't happen again. I swear."

"Yes, it won't happen again. You don't work here anymore. Five minutes. I will give you five minutes to pack your things and get out."

Rent was due in two days. I had zero savings. The bank account was drained dry. My fingernails dug into my palms until the skin nearly broke. I closed my eyes, swallowed every ounce of my pride, and dropped to my knees. The cold linoleum bit into my bare skin. I clasped my hands together, looking up at the proud woman towering over me. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards into a sick, satisfied smirk. She thrived on this power trip. She loved watching her employees beg at her feet.

"Last chance," I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper. "Please."

Three years ago, I would have fought back. I would have driven the heel of my boot into her face. But fighting only ever brought me more pain, more trouble I couldn't afford.

Her eyes narrowed into tight slits. She crossed her arms over her chest, unmoved. "Darling."

"Please... just one more chance."

"Don’t force me to call security."

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted iron. I refused to cry. Not here. Not in front of her. Not after everything I had already survived. I unclenched my hands, pushed myself off the floor, and grabbed my worn-out backpack from the locker.

I didn't say another word. I walked out of the store. The bell above the glass door jingled a mocking goodbye behind me.

The harsh December wind hit me like a physical blow. The freezing air bit at my exposed cheeks. My breath puffed out in thick white clouds into the dark, empty night. I pulled my thin coat tighter around my trembling frame, shivering uncontrollably. I had no idea what to do next. My mind spun with numbers, unpaid bills, rent due dates, and medicine costs.

I walked for over an hour through the snow-covered streets. My feet went numb inside my cheap shoes. All I wanted was to crawl into my tiny one-bedroom apartment, pull the blanket over my head, and shut the world out.

I paused outside my apartment building, taking a deep breath of the freezing air before pushing the heavy front door open. The hallway was dim, lit by a single flickering bulb buzzing overhead. The familiar stench of mildew and stale cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air.

But something felt wrong. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. An uneasy feeling churned deep in my gut.

My apartment sat at the very end of the hall. As I walked closer, my stomach plummeted.

My clothes, my few books, and my personal belongings were scattered across the dirty floorboards. My old suitcase leaned against the cracked wall, its zipper busted wide open. The apartment door was ajar. Heavy footsteps moved inside.

"What the hell?" I whispered. Blood rushed to my ears, drowning out the buzzing light. I bolted forward and shoved the door wide open.

Mr. Fowler, my landlord, stood in the middle of the room. The greasy, balding man scowled as he yanked open my dresser drawers. He grabbed a handful of my remaining shirts and tossed them onto the messy pile on the floor.

"Mr. Fowler!" I shouted. Sudden anger masked my exhaustion. "What are you doing?"

He didn’t flinch. He didn't even bother to look up.

"You're late on rent," he said, his voice raspy and harsh. He turned around, giving me a dirty smirk. "You can't stay here anymore."

"I still have two days!" I protested, stepping into the room. I reached out to grab my sweaters from the floor, but he lunged forward. His thick, unwashed fingers clamped down on my arm, yanking me back.

"Two days? You can’t pay, girl. I know your type," he sneered. He took a step closer. His eyes roamed over my body, cold and predatory.

I hated feeling helpless. I hated the corner I was backed into. I had no money, I just lost my job, and my other job barely covered my daily meals. I had no family to call. I was on my own.

"I'll leave," I whispered, the fight draining out of me. I would just sleep on the street tonight. Better the freezing cold than this nightmare.

Mr. Fowler loosened his grip and stepped back. A satisfied smirk stretched across his face as he watched me kneel to gather my scattered belongings into the broken suitcase. He stood over me, his gaze lingering on my body, making my skin crawl.

"You’ve got a nice face and body," he said, his voice dropping into a sleazy, sickening tone. "How about paying with that?"

I froze, my hand hovering over a shirt.

"I promise to let you stay rent-free," he added, taking another step toward me. His heavy boots thumped against the floorboards.

A wave of pure disgust crashed over me. I scrambled backward, putting distance between us. His eyes held a sickening hunger. I pushed his chest hard, my palm connecting with his greasy shirt. "Don't touch me."

Then I slapped him. The sharp crack echoed through the small room. My palm stung.

He actually thought he could take advantage of my desperation.

"You bitch!" he roared.

Before I could react, his large hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of my hair. He yanked my head back with brutal force. Pain erupted across my scalp. I gasped, stumbling into his chest. His sour, hot breath hit my neck.

"Let go!" I screamed, thrashing against him.

His other hand shoved under my shirt. Rough, calloused fingers scraped against my bare skin, forcing their way up toward my breasts.

Blind panic hijacked my brain. Adrenaline flooded my veins. With a desperate burst of raw strength, I grabbed the heavy, broken suitcase off the floor. I swung it backward with everything I had. The hard plastic corner smashed directly into his face.

A sickening crunch sounded. Mr. Fowler let out a furious roar of pain. He released my hair and stumbled backward, clutching his bleeding nose.

I didn't wait. I bolted out the door and ran for my life.

"You crazy bitch, stop!" his enraged voice boomed down the hallway.

Heavy footsteps pounded against the floorboards behind me. I slammed the building's front door open and burst out into the freezing night. Hot tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t dare slow down. I ran with every ounce of energy left in my aching muscles. I didn't look back. The dark streets were a spinning blur of snow and shadow through my tear-filled eyes. My chest burned with every breath.

Suddenly, a blinding white light flashed in my eyes.

The deafening screech of tires tearing against the icy asphalt ripped through the air.

Then, the impact.

The heavy metal bumper slammed into my side. A sickening pop sounded through the snowy street. Sharp, blinding agony shot up my right leg, hitting me like a live electrical wire. I screamed, tumbling over the hard hood of the car before hitting the freezing pavement. I gasped for air, the wind knocked straight out of my lungs. The world spun in dizzying circles.

"Catch her!" a harsh voice echoed through the cold air.

I forced my eyes open. Through the falling snow, I saw Mr. Fowler and two other large men running down the street, closing the distance fast.

I had no time to think. Survival took over.

I reached under the hem of my skirt, my fingers wrapping around the cold, familiar handle of the small pocket knife strapped to my thigh. I pulled it free. The blade clicked open.

I forced myself up. My injured leg screamed in protest, threatening to buckle beneath me. I stumbled toward the middle of the road, gripping the knife so tightly my knuckles turned white.

I limped toward the sleek, black car that had just hit me. I yanked the back door open and threw myself inside.

The interior was warm, a stark contrast to the biting winter storm outside. The air was thick, suffocating with the rich scent of leather, expensive cologne, and pure, unfiltered danger. I didn’t care. My vision swam with dark spots, but my hand remained steady.

In one fluid, desperate motion, I lunged forward. I pressed the sharp edge of my blade directly against the throat of the man sitting in the back seat.

I didn't even look at him. I glared at the driver through the rearview mirror.

"Drive or I’ll slit his throat right here!" I hissed, my voice raw and trembling with panic.

My heart thundered against my ribs. I braced myself for the fight. I waited for them to grab my wrist, to shout, to pull a gun.

But nothing happened. The driver just stared at me through the mirror, his eyes wide with pure shock, frozen in place.

The man beneath my blade didn't flinch. He didn't gasp. He didn't even shift away from the sharp metal pressing into his skin. Instead, the corner of his lips quirked up into a slow, dark smirk. He found this amusing.

He slowly tilted his head toward his driver, the movement pressing his skin closer to my blade, and gave a subtle nod.

The driver swallowed hard, shifted gears, and hit the gas.

The man in the back seat finally turned his head. Deep, pitch-black eyes locked onto mine, trapping me in his gaze.

"Where to darling?"