COLLINS
Today wasone of those days when you’re constantly looking at the clock and counting down the hours until it hits that magical number of five o’clock, giving you the satisfaction of closing your small cubicle down and saying goodbye to the ever-present computer that should have been upgraded many times over the past ten years yet hasn’t, pushing in your office chair, and leaving without saying goodbye to a single person. That’s my fault. At first when I started working here, I was bubbly, lively, trying to get my foot in the door, attempting to make friends. It happened in the beginning, until I started struggling and asking for help, which was when I felt like I became a burden, so I backed away and went to my boss, asking if there was something different I could do since I was falling behind, and that’s where I am now.
The cloying office is behind me after I step out of the office that’s near the courthouse building, which means we still have to do all of the fun stuff like metal detectors, putting our bags through a machine as we walk inside for the day, but in the afternoon, it’s nodding and weaving. I heave a sigh of relief; the fresh air is so much better than the recirculated air conditioner inside. Another reason to leave this job, which in just a few short months, I can kiss this pain-in-the-ass place goodbye.
“Excuse me, ma’am, excuse me,” I hear someone talking, trying to get someone’s attention, and while, yes, I’m keeping my head down because all I really want is to get to my car, drive until I’m home, and collapse into Pax’s arms, the voice that was coming from behind me quiets down, like she’s in the distance as I take the stairs away from the entrance as fast as I can. My eye is on the employee parking lot. I’ve almost reached my freedom, where I’ll be able to blare some Pink Floyd, roll the windows down, let my hair out of this annoying chignon bun at the base of my neck, and take off the jacket to make my outfit seem more business than casual.
“I said excuse me,” the annoying voice is back. Son of a bitch. Can’t a girl just leave work and have a few minutes of peace? I’m about to turn around and give this lady a fucking speech about manners even though I know I didn’t respond to her, but I’m also not the one who has a gun pointed at them. My mind is going over everything, what I need to do in this situation. Uncle Shadow trained all of us girls on how to get out of this, especially this. Even though he didn’t train us at first, us choosing to use an instructor, he still made sure we weren’t rusty as the years went on. So many self-defense classes, and we were all ready to kick him in the nuts by the time we were through. If only I had my gun right about now, roles would be reversed, and the equation would definitely be in my favor. Another reason to hate this job. I swear as God is my witness, if I get out of this unscathed, I’m quitting. I’ll do whatever I have to, like scrub toilets at the local motel that is paid by the hour; that’s how much I’m over it.
“I’m not sure what the game is here, but, lady, there is no reason to pull a gun on someone because they refused to acknowledge you. It’s a free fucking world, and no one caters to anyone.” My phone, which I usually have in my hand along with my keys, is in my bra. I’ve already untucked my shirt for the day, so I should be okay as long as I can keep steady without sudden movements, seeing how the whacko is behind me, pressing the gun right against my rib cage. I’ll give her that; she’s smart in where it’s placed. Nothing like a bullet to the lung making you bleed out, more or less causing you to choke on your own blood as you die. My fingers reach my phone. I know I won’t be able to pull it out, and as much as my family is going to give me shit, the only thing I can do is press and hold those two side buttons down, alerting this crazy fucking lady of what I’m doing, which should give me ample time to get the gun away from her.
“I knew this would be too easy. Daddy’s little princess will make me a pretty penny when I sell you to the highest bidder.” Why is it that in these types of situations, women and men both get chatty? Don’t they know that shit will come back to haunt them in some shape of form? The blaring of the alarm finally starts going off. It’s so loud it’ll either get someone’s attention who’s walking by, or it’ll alert the cops, which will suck for my family, but it’ll at least help me.
I slam my elbow back, hitting her in the stomach. The gun wobbles away from my body long enough for me to turn around and grab her wrist, slamming it against my upraised knee until it drops. Praying it doesn’t discharge and start even more shit.
“Fuckin’ cunt. Damian is going to sell your pussy.” The woman attempts to fight back, but it’s hard when I have one of her wrists in my hand, slinging her until she’s on the ground face first, knee to her back.
“I’d like to see that happen. Clearly, you know who my father is. He’s not the only one you have to be worried about.” I grab her other hand, pulling it back, holding both in one hand as I grab my phone that luckily didn’t fall out. This didn’t take too long. Easier than I honestly thought, but clearly, this chick is an amateur in the kidnapping department.
I tune the rest of her rant out, turn off the stupid siren that I used as an attention stealer, and call my Ol’ Man.