The problem with dating in a small town during school hours was that options were painfully limited. Pulling up the map of Kserton on the navigator, we mentally crossed off the off-limits areas: the school, the police station, and the Nik's family supermarket. Beyond that, the usable parts of the town—anything resembling a place to go—were scarce: a patchwork of farmland and scattered forest clearings that offered little in the way of privacy or charm.
We settled on a roadside pizzeria along the new highway, positioned just beneath the city exit sign. From the street, it appeared orderly enough, the sort of place frequented by truck drivers and managers alike during the workweek, picking up orders from the government offices that, in my observation, occupied nearly every third building in the district.
The facade gleamed white, though a single panoramic window at the center was marred by a garish discount banner. Bold red letters swallowed most of the glass, an eye-catching offense against the otherwise plain exterior. Inside, I was surprised to find nearly every table occupied despite the early hour. We wound our way through the room and claimed a corner table. High-backed chairs on either side created a sense of separation from other diners, a quiet little alcove. Laminated menus waited at each place, accompanied by bottles of salt and pepper perched on the wall, and elongated glass vases holding single white roses—small touches that transformed the room from simple pizzeria to a semblance of intimacy.
Finally, this felt like a proper date. Nikita sank onto the couch against the wall, and I realized I should wash my hands after the forest excursion. I set my phone on the table and approached the waitress.
"Oh dear, our bathroom broke over the weekend—pressure issues in the pipes. They'll fix it tomorrow," the middle-aged woman replied, her lips painted a garish raspberry hue, annoyance etched into every word. "But you can use the one to the right of the truck parking lot. Tell them you're from the pizzeria; they'll let you in for free."
Grateful, I made for the exit. But as I grasped the door handle, someone yanked it open from the other side. Caught off guard, I stumbled into an unfamiliar man. He wore a thin red checkered wool shirt, and looking up, I froze.
I had never seen anyone like him outside of a movie. His scruffy black beard, broken nose, wide flaring nostrils, and tightly pressed lips made his face a map of hostility. His eyes, unnaturally clouded, narrowed as he appraised me from head to toe. Everything about him screamed danger, a raw animosity aimed directly at me, though I had done nothing to provoke it.
He finally pulled his cap lower over his brow and stepped aside, letting me pass. "Thank you," I muttered, pressing against the opposite wall in the narrow passageway. He was massive, broad enough to block half the corridor. Likely a trucker from the parking lot.
Outside, I headed toward the bathroom the waitress had indicated. At eleven in the morning, the city buzzed with surprising life. Cars streamed along the highway in an unbroken line. Trucks, furry and industrial, sat in formation across the administration building's parking lot, while smaller vans jumbled into the asphalted space in chaotic disarray.
Inside the administration building, I located the restroom. After washing my hands, icy water flowing despite my desperate twisting of the hot faucet, I pressed soap onto my fingers. The lemon-scented foam was pleasant enough, but nowhere near as sweet as the memory of Nik's soft lips, the jelly-scented trace of our first kiss. I smiled briefly, lost in that memory, until a hand slammed onto my shoulders.
A wet cloth pressed against my face, the scent sharp and acrid. I flailed, trying to free myself, but my hands slipped uselessly. My legs buckled, weak but not entirely giving way. With a surge of desperate strength, I stomped wildly, aiming my foot at the attacker's toe, only to meet the worn, yellowed sole of his shoe. The fire of the chemical burn raced through my sinuses, and each forced breath sent sharp pain across thousands of nerve endings.
Clinging to the last shred of awareness, I dug my fingers into the hand pinning me. The last image I registered before darkness took me was the thin red plaid of his shirt.