"Wait!" he calls after me.

Right on cue. I smirk before turning around. "Yes?" I answer as innocently as possible.

He walks—no, staggers—towards me before continuing.

"You're right, she doesn't deserve me. Now tell me, what's a fine thing like you doing all by yourself on a cold evening like this?"

"Well," I say, batting my eyelashes. "I've been looking for a strong man like you to help keep me warm," I add, copping a feel of his biceps through his shirt.

He beams, pride etched across his features. "I've been working out lately," he says, almost flexing, and I struggle to hold back an eye roll.

He feels smaller than he looks. When I first saw him at the bar earlier, I thought he might pose a little bit of a challenge, especially with me being petite and all. But drunk and small? This is going to be a walk in the park. Not as exciting, though—Mama was craving a challenge—but hey, a win's a win.

"Why don't we go somewhere a bit more private?" I say suggestively.

"I know a motel nearby," he chirps, slapping my butt.

"Motel? That's boring. Follow me, and I'll give you the rush of your life," I reply, leading him to my car. I'm not too bothered about driving off with him in this part of the city; nobody cares what anyone does. Everyone minds their own business.

Maybe I should come here more often, I think to myself while putting the car in drive. I drive for a while and park in a secluded spot.

"Ooo, you're a car girl," he says excitedly.

I turn off the engine and step out of the car, beckoning him to follow me. He looks over at me a little confused but gets down and follows anyway. I lead him to an alley I noticed earlier on my drive to the bar.

The alley is a narrow space far from main roads and foot traffic. The ground is rough, littered with gravel. Old, dented trash cans line the tall, cracked walls.

"Here?" he asks uncertainly.

"Yes, here," I say, pulling him deeper into the alley, away from the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp. "Haven't you ever wanted to feel the thrill of doing it outside? Trust me, you'll enjoy it," I add, pushing him into the wall.

He leans in to kiss me, and his beer breath is overpowering. His kiss is sloppy, leaving a trail of saliva. When his tongue slips into my mouth, I do my best not to retch, though bile rises in my throat.

His lips trail down to my neck as his fumbling fingers struggle with the buttons of my blouse. My eyes remain open, scouting the alley for something—anything—that could serve as a weapon. Something I should have done earlier, I realize, but didn't because of my overexcitement.

Bingo. My eyes land on a loosened brick just within arm's reach. I wrap my right arm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to obscure his vision. He grunts in approval, mistaking this for enthusiasm. With my free hand, I reach for the brick.

My buttons are now fully undone, and he tosses my blouse to the floor. Pulling down my bra, he exposes my breasts to the chill night air . He steps back, cupping one breast in each hand, his gaze full of admiration. My nipples harden from the cold breeze as he struggles to unbuckle his pants.

I brush my fingertips against the brick but struggle to get a grip. It's not as loose as it appeared. My frustration builds as I try to free it, all while his pants drop into a heap around his ankles. Just when things start to go farther than I anticipated, I finally dislodge the brick and swing it at his head in one swift motion with all my strength.

He stumbles back, pushing me off with such force that I land hard on the cement floor butt first, the brick slipping from my grip.

"You crazy bitch!" he spits, holding his head as blood drips from the wound.

Ignoring the pain in my tailbone, I scramble to my feet. Fueled by determination, rage, sheer will and only one thing  on my mind. His death.

I grab the brick from the ground and lunge at him like a feral beast, refusing to give him any time to recover from his shock.

I manage to land a few hits on him, but none with enough force to do significant damage. I've clearly underestimated him because, despite his size and drunkenness, he continues to put up a fight.

We continue to grapple with each other, each one battling for dominance, until he shoves me again—this time harder. I slam into the wall, and the impact causes a couple of trash cans to topple over with a metallic clatter.

The taste of something metallic fills my mouth. I spit it out, watching a mixture of blood and saliva splatter onto the ground. Swirling my tongue around, I feel a loose tooth.

I look up at him, eyes glistening like a mad man with adrenaline-fueled rage. His face is a bloody mess, swollen and bruised. He appears disoriented, his hand clutching at his side.  My lips curl into an unnaturally wide grin—one so eerie that it could make monsters lurking under the bed envious 

"Hey! what is going on over there?" a voice calls out loudly as footsteps approach. The noise from our scuffle seems to have drawn some attention.

Fueled by desperation, I knee him hard in the groin, watching him crumble slightly. Seizing the moment, I bring the brick down on his face bashing it in with two heavy-handed strikes before making a run for it.

I unlock my car and slide into the driver's seat, tossing the now very bloodied brick onto the passenger seat. My car keys slip from my grasp and fall to the floor. I struggle to pick them up, my hands trembling—adrenaline and the fear of getting caught working against me. After a moment of fumbling, I manage to grab the keys, start the ignition, and speed off, just as the face of an unknown figure, likely a rescuer, appears near where I was parked.

During the drive home, the excitement from the adrenaline fades, replaced by a heavy sense of failure for botching what should have been a clean kill. By the time I arrive home the feeling has morphed into anger and that of self loathing.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! You stupid bitch, you couldn't even do something this simple!" I scream, slamming my fists against the steering wheel. The outburst escalates into me banging my head against it until my forehead starts to feel sore. 

Sighing, I get of the car and head upstairs straight for the bathroom, strip out of my blood splattered clothes to take a warm shower. Once I'm done, I move to the sink, still soaking wet, to inspect my body in the mirror. My make up is blotchy and I notice A slight bruise is forming along the side of my jaw, and a large, deep purple one mars my back where I hit the wall. The moment I notice them, the bruises begin to throb, as though acknowledging my attention. 

I exhale deeply and set to work peeling the silicone mold from my face. The task is surprisingly easy as the steam from the shower has already loosened the adhesive. With the mold removed, I grab a wet wipe to clean the remnants of makeup from my skin. 

I head to bed placating myself with the thought that, even if that man doesn't succumb to his injuries, he will at least live in constant fear—and maybe stop being an asshole.