I’m trapped beneath him. Unwanted tears blur my vision. I’ve put up a good fight, but he’s just too big… too strong. I don’t want to die… not like this, but a wave of despair washes over me as I lie on the cold tile.
It’s brief, and as everything seems to move in slow motion I know I can’t give up.
I’m no quitter. I never have been, and I’ll be damned if I’m going out like this. I flail my free hand around again until I feel a large shard of the broken vase. I pick it up and just as he lunges down with the knife, I stab the shard into his face. My offensive move knocks his knife to the side, but I still feel it slicing open my left shoulder.
Blood squirts from his eye where the ceramic is buried, and his high-pitched scream almost makes me laugh. I struggle, trying my best to get away from him, but he collapses to his knees, straddling my waist and pinning me to the floor. I’m vaguely aware of a throbbing pain in my hand and shoulder. I see blood flowing out, realizing I cut myself on the same shard I stabbed him with.
For a few long seconds he’s more focused on his face than me, giving me a second to catch my breath. Both of us pause, confused and unsure what will happen next until I see him lifting the knife again. I wrap my hands around his, fighting to point the sharp edge away from me. Drops of my blood drip down my arm, distracting me, but I don’t let go.
In our struggle, my attacker leans closer just as I use my last surge of strength to shove my arms up.
I feel the knife plunge into his stomach as he falls on top of me. The handle is still sticking out of him and slams into me so hard I cry out in pain as his entire body blankets me with his heavy weight.
We’re back in a wrestling match, both injured, both fighting for our lives. I’m finally able to roll him off of me, but it backfires as he now has the space he needs to pull the knife out of his body.
As I look up at the blood-soaked blade he’s waving in my direction, a rage like I’ve never felt before consumes me. He’s clearly losing his strength now, allowing me to reach up and yank the knife free. On autopilot, I turn the weapon back on him with a flurry of stab wounds puncturing his torso until he collapses on top of me again.
Warm wetness drenches me as my attacker groans in pain just before his heavy breathing starts to rattle and gurgle next to my ear. I have a front row seat as he gasps for air a half dozen times just before a final long hiss escapes before he passes out.
After our loud struggle, the silence that follows is deafening. It’s hard to catch my breath as I take stock of my injuries. Lying crushed under his weight, the sound of a honking taxi down on Fifth Avenue below breaks through my shock.
I have to get out of here. Who knows how long he’ll be unconscious? Getting free is not easy. It takes me several long breaths to find the energy to wiggle myself out from under the asshole, trying not to cut myself further on the broken vase shards surrounding us.
When I finally crawl free, I press down on my shoulder to stem my blood loss as I glance back at my attacker. Only when I see that his unstabbed eye is open and lifeless does it dawn on me what really happened here tonight. Moments ago, I was sure death was in my future, and I guess I was right.
I say a small prayer of thanks that it was his death and not my own.
A new hum rings in my ears. Grateful it didn’t happen earlier, I feel a true panic attack coming on. I crawl, doing my best not to kneel on the broken vase. Through my unshed tears, I feel around until I find my dropped phone.
Blood from my injured hand smears the front as I unlock my cell. I dial 911, but just before I hit the green SEND, I pause. In that split second, I catch a glimpse of the future headlines.
Rowan Worthington raped at The Whitney. They won’t care that I stopped him before he succeeded.
Social Media Influencer kills stalker.
Rowan Worthington arrested for murder.
My panic makes each headline worse than the one before.
My father is going to be furious. He’ll say he told me so about it not being safe for me to stay in the city on my own. He’ll blame The Whitney’s security for failing to keep me safe.
I’m spiraling. Spots are appearing in my vision. I’m close to hyperventilating. I need to call for help.
My fingers tremble as I search for Katja’s contact info in my phone. It’s her hotel, and she’s closer than the police. As the phone rings, it dawns on me that I’m calling her in the middle of the night.
“Rowan?”
Tears I didn’t know I was holding back flood my eyes at the sound of my friend’s voice.
“Katja… I…” I can’t get the words out around the lump in my throat as a sob finally escapes.
“What’s wrong?” The owner of The Whitney prompts, panic rising in her voice to match my own.
“Attacker…” I finally get out a single word that sums it up.
“You’ve been attacked?” When I can’t answer her, she adds, “Where are you?”
I hear her calling out to Dex, her boyfriend.