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I'm the girl who will have to sell plasma to survive. I didn't have the heart to tell Susan I already did that this month.
Turning up the collar on my thin coat, I plunge my hands into the pockets, hunch my shoulders, and begin the walk home. The wind cuts straight through the worn-out polyester to the point where I might as well not wear one at all.
The sight of one elaborately decorated shop window after another reminds me of what a loser I am. It must be nice knowing you can afford gifts for your loved ones. It must be nice having loved ones. What happens to me now? What did I ever do to deserve this?
A cold gust of wind slams into me from behind, like a punch from Mother Nature herself. I duck between two buildings, hoping to escape the worst of it until it dies down again. The only thing that stops me from bursting into tears is knowing how much worse I'll feel with my face half-frozen.
Once the wind’s roar turns to a whisper, I step out and look across the street, where a man in a Santa suit catches my attention with his ringing bell and red donation bucket. He's not what steals the breath from my lungs, though.
It's the man standing near him, a man in a bulky black coat, the hood pulled low, concealing most of his face. All I see is his mouth, and something about the hard set of his lips sets off a warning bell in my head.
I almost forgot Susan said somebody was looking for me.
My mind immediately goes to the man from the party, the one who got me fired. Oh God, no. He didn't strike me as the type who would stalk a girl who turned him down, but who knows? With my luck, that's exactly who he is.
It isn't the cold that gets me moving so fast, my feet pounding the pavement, shoulders hunched against the wind, while I do my best to pretend I don't notice him watching me. I want so badly to look over my shoulder and see for sure, but I'm afraid I'll find him following me.
I pause at the next store, a florist shop, where poinsettias and sparkling arrangements are on display. I look them over, pretending to be interested, while stealing a quick glimpse over my shoulder in the window’s reflection.
He's there, across the street, standing behind me. When I came to a stop, so did he.
Shit! What do I do now? I don't want to lead him to my apartment, that's for sure. I might as well roll out the red carpet at that point.
At least I don't feel cold anymore, not with my heart pounding and adrenaline flooding my system. Do I go to the nearest police station? Right, and what would I say? A man in a puffy coat was on the sidewalk? Hell, even if he flat-out approached me, there's the fact that he's wealthy and connected, and I am anything but. Nobody would believe me.
No, it's up to me. I have to save myself.
I move faster, almost jogging, determined to stare straight ahead rather than search for him. Besides, I know he's there. He’s staring holes through me as I cross the busy street, weaving in and out of clusters of people, barely dodging a car as it turns and heads my way.
One block, two. I stop again, this time in front of a bakery—when a look at my reflection shows nothing behind me but passing traffic, relief almost knocks me to my knees. I heave a sigh, ready to laugh at myself. What was I thinking? Is this an action thriller all of a sudden? Things like that don't happen in real life.
I'm still chuckling at my overactive imagination when I look to my left, toward where I just walked—and the sight of that puffy coat freezes my laughter in my throat. He crossed the street. He's so much closer now.
I don't care if he knows I'm running from him. All that matters is the running and getting away. The light at the corner is about to turn red, but that doesn't stop me from sprinting across, so close to a passing car that the fender brushes my coat. The driver leans on his horn, but I don't break my stride—no, in fact, I pick up speed when I realize I'm a block away from the outdoor shopping village that pops up every year at this time.
People. Lots of people. This is my chance.
Christmas lights are strung overhead, crisscrossing the empty space between two rows of stalls where handmade gifts are sold. I would normally avoid something like this since it's not like I have any money for shopping, but now it's my salvation. I can get lost in there and wait for him to give up.
Countless families are wandering around, kids asking when they can see Santa Claus. He's sitting at the far end of the village, in what's probably a heated tent, while vendors sell hot chocolate and cider. Between that and where I'm standing at the other end, there have to be two hundred people making the most of a sunny, if frigid, day.
The steam from my rapid breathing forms a cloud around my head as I look this way, that way, trying to figure out where to go. A glance over my shoulder reveals my stalker, now having crossed the street, walking my way with his hands thrust into his pockets, his head lowered.
The overlapping voices and overly loud music pushed in through speakers at seemingly every stall create a cacophony that only increases my confusion and the pounding of my heart. “Excuse me, excuse me,” I gasp as I duck around one group after another, then almost knock down a pair of kids drinking from steaming paper cups.
“Watch where you're going!” somebody shouts after I rebound off the back of a tall man. I stagger but stay on my feet, whirling around to find the stalker bearing down on me with only a few people between us.
Sheer panic sends me running around a cluster of carolers singing about peace on earth, while I only want to stay alive and unhurt. I duck behind them and peer through the gaps between their bodies, waiting for him to pass.Please, please.
My heart nearly stops when he stops, his head turning slightly from one side to the other.
He lost me. Oh, thank God.
But it's not over yet. I can't afford to get cocky when I'm still so far from home. But if I can get out of here without him knowing it, I'll sprint the rest of the way if I have to. Right now, with my body buzzing like it is, I could probably run a marathon and not feel it.
He turns his back to the carolers, and that's my chance. I scoot along behind them, bent at the waist, before doubling back the way I came. I weave through clusters of shoppers, glancing over my shoulder whenever I can. He still hasn't moved except to turn in slow circles. Still watching for me.
“Ow! Mommy!” The pained screams of a little girl stop me short. She's wailing on her hands and knees because I knocked her down. I didn't even feel it.
