“Thank you,” I manage to eke out.
“No problem.” He scans the area. “What are you doing out here alone?”
“I…”
What am I supposed to say to that? That I just kept walking, trying to deal with the fact that I’ve fallen in love and can’t stop ruminating over it when I should be thinking about the amazing educational opportunity I have starting tomorrow?
“It’s okay,” he says. “You’re obviously shaken up. Let me take you to the ER.”
“No. No. I’m fine. Really.”
“The police station, then. You can file a report.”
“I…”
“Come on.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Lance Rodriguez. My brother Skylar is a cop. He’ll know what to do.”
I don’t reply. Just nod shakily.
A stranger just attacked me, and here I am letting another stranger lead me away.
What the hell is wrong with me?
But as Lance helps me down the street, I can’t help but notice how different he is from the man who tried to harm me. His touch is gentle, his voice warm and reassuring. He calms my jittering nerves…but just a bit.
We walk in silence, the occasional sounds of Boulder nightlife slowly returning as we move away from the desolate street. I wrap my arms around myself. This was supposed to be a simple walk. A chance to escape my own thoughts, not become the target of some drunk.
Lance, true to his word, takes me straight to the police station. The bright fluorescent lights seem harsh after the darkness of the streets.
A female officer behind the front desk looks up as we approach. “What can I do for you tonight?” she asks.
Lance steps forward. “I’m Lance Rodriguez,” he says, “Skylar’s brother. We need to file a report. This young lady was attacked near Elm Street.”
The officer looks at me. A flicker of sympathy passes over her features. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” she says. “What’s your name, honey?”
“Tabitha.” I clear my throat. “Tabitha Haynes.”
“Can you describe the man who attacked you?”
I give her a shaky nod, trying to remember the details of my attacker.
I don’t recall much, though. All I could think of was getting away.
“I’m afraid I don’t remember much,” I say softly.
“It’s all right,” the officer says. “Just try to recall anything you can. His height, build, hair color, the sound of his voice…”
I close my eyes, my heart pounding again as I try to piece together the fragments. “He was tall, definitely taller than I am, with a broad build. He was white. His hair… It was dark, I think, though I can’t be certain. His voice was low, rough. He smelled of alcohol.”
The officer nods as she types on her computer. “You did good. We’re going to do everything we can to find him.”
I nod, swallowing back the lump in my throat. The reality of what happened is beginning to truly sink in, and with it, the fear.
Fear of what could have happened.
Fear of what might still happen.
Fear for my safety in a city that no longer feels safe.
