Sucking in a breath, I wipe away the tears, then chuck the stick into the trash. I rush out the door and slam it shut behind me. I need to get away from there, that toilet, and that stick as fast as possible.
Storming away from the train station, I march on until I no longer feel the sting of my own tears on my cheeks and my heart and body feel numb.
I pause for a moment when my muscles can’t take it anymore.
An alleyway next to me calls to me, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I can’t help but walk inside. Out there on the streets, I feel watched. Unsafe. But here, behind all the rubble and in the dark, no one will be able to find me.
It’s a darkness akin to the cell I’d grown so used to.
Now it all feels like a distant memory.
I sink down against the building and watch the people walk by, oblivious that I’m even here, stuck in a place between.
Two sparkling eyes suddenly catch my attention a few feet away as they blink. A man moves around on the ground, croaking and clearing his throat as he sits straight. “Hoi meisje.”
That sounded Dutch, and I definitely don’t speak Dutch. Although I’ve lived here for ages, my papa never let me mingle with any of the locals. And the school I briefly attended was also for English students. So I have no clue what to say.
“Um … hi,” I reply.
“Geen Nederlands?”
“I only speak English,” I reply.
“Interesting. And American too, right?” he asks.
How does he know?
“Your accent gives it away,” he muses, smiling.
He shuffles around on the ground, and I realize I may have intruded on something.
“Sorry, am I bothering you? I can leave,” I mutter, and I immediately get up.
“No, no, it’s fine. Stay for as long as you want,” he says.
So I sit down again slowly, wondering what I’m supposed to do.
“So what’s a girl like you doing out here in a dark alley?” he asks.
I gulp down the nerves. “I just … I don’t know.”
“Hmm,” he muses. “Yeah, same.” And he laughs. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m only trying to be friendly, that’s all.”
“Thanks,” I say, smiling too.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Aurora.” I’m not going to give my last name to anyone. Maybe not ever again.
I’m not proud of it and don’t think I’ll ever be.
“Mine’s Dirk,” he says, and he offers me his hand.
I lean in to give him a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Dirk.”
We exchange more friendly smiles, and I get the sense this man’s not as scary as I thought he’d be when I laid eyes on him moments ago.
“Are you here often?”