I rose, clutching my bag, and sought out the chipped mirror in the garage. My blue eyes, now bloodshot, reflected the raw pain within. My red hair clung in damp strands to my face, and my amulet, a hidden comfort, was tucked beneath the white and black uniform Mrs. Ragnar had given me for work. I attempted a smile, but tears, hot and relentless, betrayed the effort. My lips, still bruised from the earlier blow, throbbed, and despite my efforts to shield my face during the assault, it remained a fiery red. I began to walk through the cold rain, my only companion. There was nowhere else for me to go; I had no friends, no refuge, nothing.
My only option was the motel down the street. At least there, I could find shelter for the night before attempting to sort out the mess of my life. The meager sum I possessed would barely last three days, including food. As I trudged along, a black car sped towards me. I scrambled from the roadside, nearly stumbling, but the vehicle offered no reprieve, splashing a torrent of water from the pavement onto my already drenched uniform. "As if my day hasn't been ruined already," I muttered, my voice thick with anger, as I glared at the retreating car.
I half-expected the driver to pull over, to offer an apology, but instead, he stopped near the bus stop, a stone's throw from the motel. He casually extracted a cigarette from its pack and lit it, seemingly oblivious to my existence, utterly uncaring. He continued his phone conversation, one hand holding the phone, the other the cigarette, while his bodyguard held an umbrella over his head, a picture of arrogant disregard. He knew he had splashed me; his feigned ignorance only fueled my frustration.
In a surge of pique, I yanked off my shoe. "Stupid car," I fumed, and with a wild throw, sent it soaring. It struck the rear-view mirror of the sleek Lamborghini, shattering it with a resounding crack before falling to the ground. My intention had merely been to hit the car, a defiant gesture, but I hadn't anticipated the force of my throw, or the complete destruction of his mirror.
The moment the mirror broke, the man, who resembled nothing so much as a gangster playboy, and his bodyguard, turned and began to retrace their steps towards the car. I knew, with a sickening certainty, that if I didn't flee then, I would be in serious trouble. I spun on my heel, ready to bolt, but then the playboy's enraged scream tore through the air. "Fucccvk!" he roared, abandoning the sanctuary of his bodyguard's umbrella, and sprinted towards his damaged vehicle. "What happened to you, who did this, who the hell did this?" He whirled on his bodyguard. "Taurus, find the person who did this to my baby! My baby looked so strong moments ago!" Taurus began to frantically search, turning in circles.
I hesitated, wanting to run but not wanting to arouse suspicion by fleeing too soon. But now was the perfect moment. Just as I turned to escape, I heard the playboy's voice again. "Look at this shoe!" he exclaimed, holding up my discarded footwear with a handkerchief. "I told you someone did this to my baby." His gaze swept the surroundings before landing on me. Then, he pointed. "You. Come here," he commanded, gesturing with his finger.
I knew he was addressing me, but I desperately wanted to avoid entanglement. I quickened my pace, breaking into a run, and he pursued. He offered no chance for pleasantries, no opportunity for a single word. He simply seized me, hoisted me onto his shoulder, and carried me back to his car.
"Explain why your shoe has only one leg and is identical to this," he demanded, holding up my shoe and the one I had thrown. "You did this to my car." His voice rose. "But wait… why the fuck did you do this to my car?" He scrutinized me from head to toe, taking in my maid's uniform. "Do I look like the cause of your problems? Is my car the perfect object for your anger? Just look at what you did to my baby." His possessive endearment for his car struck me as odd, but I simply attributed it to his being a rich, spoiled playboy. Instead of listening to his incessant blabbering, I found myself studying him. I couldn't deny his striking good looks: green eyes, curly hair, a masculine physique, and a perpetually chewing gum. His perfectly trimmed beard, single silver earring, and semicolon tattoo on his chest completed the picture of a captivating rogue.
"I… I…" I stammered, my thoughts a tangled mess of emotions, rendering me speechless.
"You? What?" His bodyguard, a short but muscular man, interjected. He turned to me and gave a half-laugh. "Taurus, what's that smell? Where is it coming from?" He moved his head around, sniffing. "You smell so bad. Haven't you showered in over a week?"
At the mention of that, a surge of intense anger and embarrassment washed over me. "Smell? Whose fault is that? Do you think you can look down on me because you're like this? Don't speak to me like that, or I won't take it lightly with you." I wasn't even sure if my words made sense, but the sentiment was clear.
His assistant started to step forward, but the playboy raised a hand, gesturing for him to stop. "Take what lightly with whom? Do you know who I am? Or is this how you apologize? Look at you! You look like a smelling slut, and you still have the nerve to be confident, or have pride?"
"Pride? Apologize for what?" I challenged back, my voice rising. "You splashed water on my body, and you expect me to just walk away because of my appearance? You rich people always act like you own the world, when you're only living by the taxes we pay! I'm the one who deserves an apology from you!"
He scoffed, dropping his cigarette and grinding it under his heel. "Are you stupid? Taxes? Aren't you happy you got splashed by a car you can never afford, not even in your next life? What were you doing there in the first place? Don't tell me your man's wife caught you sleeping with her husband, and that's how she dragged you out of the hotel room after pouring smelly water on you? You portray the same attitude of… a slut." He continued, "What do you want, money?" He pulled out a wad of cash and flung it into the air. "I know your types, so just move out of my way. I have better things to do with my time." He shoved me aside. "That's for dry cleaning, in case you've never been there before."
I was incandescent with rage. How could he say such a thing to me? I completely lost control, and the words tumbled out before I could stop them.
"What did you just say? Say that again?" I snarled.
He smirked. "I said you are a gold digger."
At that, I grabbed his shirt and head-butted him square in the nose.