Bad Boy Rock Star

By: Candy J. Starr

"Get off me," I screamed again but he moved closer, leaning over me. His breath stank of something that had died last week and his body – well. Fresh sweat gleamed on his skin but the odour was more of old sweat and backed up sewage systems. I turned my face to get away from the full blast of him, the bile rising in my throat.

What could I do? Even if I screamed, who'd hear me? There was no one on the streets and the music pumping out of the bar would block any sound anyway. I definitely could not fight him.

"Take my bag," I said, thrusting it at him. "Take my bag and leave me alone."

He didn’t even look at the precious handbag I was giving him. He reached for my shoulder, his hand like a big bear paw, and squeezed me tight. His eyes gleamed yellow in the glow from the flickering streetlight and he laughed like a lunatic.

I tried to twist my way out of his grasp and kicked his shin, hoping it'd give me a chance to run. Nothing registered though. He kept laughing and tightened his grip on me. His other hand fumbled with the fly on his jeans. I tried to squirm away from him but it was useless. I'd not cry. I never cry and I'd not give him the satisfaction.

He leaned in even closer. His tongue darted out, licking my cheek. His big meaty tongue touching my skin. All my insides shrivelled.

I swung my bag around, trying to knock him out with it but he flung it out of my hand, scattering the contents all over the street and grabbed me with both hands. I had no hope left. My head swam with dizziness and I hoped I'd pass out before he touched me any more. I whispered a prayer for someone to save me. A brave hero who’d send that freak running off in the darkness and take me in his arms and protect me.

"Oi, mister. Get away from her."

A voice. A girl’s voice but still a voice. Maybe he’d attack her instead and I could run for safety.

A reign of kicks and punches came out of nowhere. This chick didn't muck around. All I saw was a blur. Man Mountain’s laugh turned into yelps as a boot kicked into him again and again. He dropped his hand from me and turned to defend himself.

I quickly ducked around the side of the shelter, not wanting him to grab me again and not wanting a stray punch to connect either. When he bent over in pain, I decided to risk running back to the bar. Then a boot-clad foot swung up between his legs and he shrieked like a little girl. When he spun around and limped off, I saw who my rescuer was.

"Sheesh, if I'd known it was you, I'd have let him get you," she said. It was the green-haired girl from the bar, only a beanie now covered the hair. She put her arm around my shoulder. "Only kidding, couldn't let a monster like that get away with shit."

"Thanks," I said, a nervous giggle rising up in me. I moved away and dusted myself down. I wasn't fond of being embraced by strangers even if they had just rescued me.

She looked me up and down then reached over and picked a twig out of my hair.

"You don't exactly look like the type that catches the bus," she said. "Here, I’ll help you pick up your stuff."

I shrugged. I wasn't exactly going to go into the circumstances that lead to me being a passenger on the 552 bus on a Saturday night to a complete stranger.

"Do you wanna call the cops?" she asked, retrieving a lipstick that had rolled into the gutter.

I shook my head, remembering Frank's advice to stay out of trouble.

"Prolly a good thing. It'd mean hours of filling out paperwork and they wouldn’t do anything anyway. He was a nasty bugger, wasn't he?"

She fumbled in her bag.

"Want a cig?" she asked. "It'll calm you down."

I shook my head and leaned against the pole of the bus stop to steady myself.

"Well, I hope you aren't one of those sanctimonious bitches who gets all uptight if I smoke. Because I'm going to light up and you should be damn grateful cos everyone knows the bus never turns up until you light up a cigarette anyway." She sparked her lighter and dragged on her cigarette.

"It's fine. The bus is late anyway." I looked at my watch then gazed over at the timetable.

"Hells, love. You really are naive if you believe the bus timetable. There's no "time" in timetable or some shit like that. The bus turns up when it turns up. It's like Zen or Buddhism or whatever that religion is that believes in shit like that. One time, I waited over half hour then the bloody bus just went whizzing past me and I had to wait for the next one. Bloody shits. Hey, is it true? Are you really the manager of Storm? I love those guys."

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