Sometimes it’s the simple things, you know?
I live in Meridian City, New Jersey, the crime capital of the United States. It’s an island off the mainland of New Jersey, as Staten Island is to New York. Meridian City is about twice the size of Staten Island with a population of almost three million.
Meridian City is divided into four ‘sides’, North, South, East, and West. The North Side is home to a billionaire’s philanthropy project. The South Side is where the wealthy live, and the East and West Sides are where plebians like me live. Druggies litter the streets. Robberies happen nightly. We have the highest murder rate in the country. The police force is stretched so thin that calling for help is a crapshoot on if they’ll actually show up.
I’m convinced I have the best luck in the world, because the most uncomfortable interaction I’ve ever had in this cesspool of a city is a few homeless men offering me a hit of whatever they were smoking.
I always carry a taser with me though, just in case someone decides to try and make me a statistic.
My father insisted when I moved halfway across the country for school that I always carry some sort of protection with me. He lost his first family—a wife and two daughters—to a lunatic with a gun, and he’s very protective of my brother and me.
I’m sure every time his phone rings from an unknown number, he thinks he’s getting the call that I’m dead.
My father is a world-famous plastic surgeon in Houston, Texas. My mother is a therapist. I grew up in a big house on a large plot of land, and my parents never denied me anything growing up.
When I told them I wanted to move to the most dangerous, crime-ridden city in the United States, they looked at me like I had grown a second head and murdered a kitten in front of them.
Meridian City is objectively a terrible place to live, but for some god-forsaken reason, it’s home to the best law school in the country.
Guess what I want to be someday?
I moved here five years ago after I graduated with my bachelor’s degree from UT Austin in public relations to chase my career in law, and I graduated with my JD two years ago.
Sometimes I wonder why I decided I wanted to be a lawyer when I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than stand in front of a group of people and argue on behalf of someone else. I also get horrible testing anxiety, which is probably why I keep bombing the bar exam. I’ve failed it twice and I’m too insecure to retake it again without a prep course. I’ve been saving up for one, but it’s nearly four thousand dollars, and I have about seven in my bank account.
The most valuable thing I own is my coffee maker; a custom-painted purple Keurig my parents gave me my freshman year of undergrad.
Everyone in my family has a successful, thriving career, and I’m tolerating verbal abuse during business hours so I can afford my rent.
Fortunately, my job at Reeves Enterprises is a foot in the door—even if Neil is insufferable. I’m trying to work as hard as I can to make a good impression so that once I’m finally licensed to practice law, they’ll take me on as their newest associate attorney. Maybe I’ll even take Neil’s place one day—who knows?
Unfortunately, I have to actuallypassthe bar exam before that dream comes even close to being a reality.
It’s just past 9 PM when I make it to the downstairs lobby of my office building, and it’s pouring down rain. I stupidly forgot my umbrella at home this morning, as if it’s not raining every other day in this decrepit city.Taser in hand, I step outside into the dark of the night, soaking wet by the time I make it to the crosswalk.
Snap.
I hear the strap of my old, battered purse break and it sends my phone and the rest of my things into a puddle at the curb. I look up and whine in frustration, before bending down to scoop up my belongings into the purse. I reach into the puddle and grab my phone. When I try to unlock it, the screen flickers a bit before distorting, and then goes black.
Shit. I really do not need this in my life right now. I can barely afford ramen noodles for dinner. How am I supposed to afford a new phone? If the old rice trick doesn’t work, I’ll be screwed.
I’m about halfway home when I get afeeling. The kind where the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The kind where I justknowsomeone is watching me. I try my best to resist the urge to look around, but I fail. My eyes snap to my right, and three figures are walking towards me from the cross street. I clutch my broken bag a bit tighter to my chest and walk with a new sense of urgency.
I try to tell myself that they’re just passing by, that I’m being paranoid, but the pounding of blood in my ears is so loud that I begin to panic. I can hear them cackling and whooping behind me, and my heart sinks into my stomach. My conscience tells me to run.
So I run.
Receipts, tampons, and lip-gloss fall out of my bag as I do, leaving a convenient trail for the three men to follow. I can see my apartment building in the distance. I’m less than a block away, but a lump forms in my throat at the thought of leading them right to where I live.
What if they wait for me? What if they come back? What if they break in and come get me in the night?
I make a split-second decision to dart into an alley, but I nearly collapse with fear when I’m met with a dead-end brick wall. There’s a dumpster to my left. I crouch behind it and cover my mouth, staying perfectly still and trying not to make a sound as the rain ruthlessly pelts down on my trembling body.
My attackers catch up and surround me. I dropped my taser while running, and I’m defenseless. One of the men grabs my arm roughly and yanks me to my feet. His grubby fingers dig into my flesh so hard I’ll have bruises in the morning.
I scream louder than I ever have before. Louder than I thought I was capable of. I yell for help as two of them each grab one of my arms and hold me in place. The third twists his hand into my braid as if it’s a rope and forces me to look at him. He looks me over and licks his lips. He caresses my cheek and I scream again before he presses the cold blade of a pocketknife to my neck.
“Shut the fuck up! Nobody’s coming to help you, sugar.”
