Three, Two, One (321)

“I saw her first, OK?” I look up at Matheson and he nods. “I saw her first and that’s all you need to know.”

It was last October. It was raining—pouring like a waterfall rushing down a mountain in the spring time. And the 16th Street Mall was empty because it was six-thirteen AM on Sunday.

My hands were in my pockets, my shoulders were hunched like that would keep the rain off me. Church bells were ringing. A weird time for the bells, I remember thinking. But it’s burned into my memory of her. The church bells ringing. Every time I heard them I saw her in my head. Just like she looked that first day.

She was soaked, huddled under an awning over a bookstore, crying. She was shivering and her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Her eyes—a striking, almost surreal aquamarine—tracked me as I walked by. Last night’s makeup was streaked down her cheeks, black and gray stains that mimicked the sky above.

I stopped walking. Like mid-stride. And stared at her. She had on a short dress and no jacket. She looked like she’d been dumped there after a one-night stand gone wrong.

“You OK?” I asked her.

And then her eyes darted behind me and I knew that this was not going to turn out well.

Now I look up at Matheson, maybe because he reminds me of someone I don’t want to think about right now. Or maybe because I already know the whole thing is over, so the secrets don’t matter anymore. But either way, I start talking.

“I saw her first…”

Late October

6:13 AM

16th Street Mall, Denver, CO

My teeth are chattering so bad, I can’t seem to take a deep breath. And I really need a deep breath. I draw one in, but it’s not enough to stop the dizziness left over from last night’s party and the sobs come pouring out like the rain that floods over the top of the bookstore awning. The alcove is only two feet deep, and with the wind, any shelter is minimal.

A cry escapes before I can rein it in. I look down at my bare feet and wonder if it’s possible to die of fright.

Because I’m so scared right now.

Voices. Men, at least two of them. They are loud, a little ways off, and they are running. Their boots thud as they come closer.

I slink down to the ground and wrap my arms around my knees, trying to shrink into nothingness. Trying to be invisible. I duck my face down so my hair falls forward. The men come closer and I know—I just know—they are coming for me.

I scramble to my feet, because fuck this. I’ll be damned if they’re gonna take me back. I’ll fight back this time. I will.

The boots stop, like they know I’m here, and they start talking in hushed whispers. I imagine they are planning how to capture me, but it won’t be hard. I’m half naked in this summer dress that’s soaked through so that it’s clinging to my skin. My limbs are shaking. I doubt I have the strength to face one man, let alone two.

The boots start again. Coming closer and closer.

A man comes into view from the right and takes two steps. Two steps where I’m hopeful that he will not look to his left and see me standing here.

But I used up all my luck last night when I escaped. Because his head turns in my direction and he stops. Mid-stride. And he just looks at me for a long moment. I bite my lip and hold in another sob, but it escapes as a whimper.

His eyes narrow into slits. He’s wearing a black bomber jacket with the hood pulled up over his head and he’s got a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looks scary as fuck until those eyes rest on mine. I let out the breath I was holding. Those eyes tell me everything. They are dark, but they are deep. And they are not the cruel eyes of the men I am running from. “You OK?” he asks.

Before I can answer the second pair of boots is running towards us and another guy appears behind him. My eyes shoot to the face of the newcomer and again I’m surprised at what I find there.

“Who’s this?” he asks in a playful tone. “My, my,” he adds, pushing the first guy out of the way. His eyes are light blue. Mesmerizing. Like the sky of a summer day. His blond hair is cropped short and he’s got some blond stubble to match. He’s soaked too, but he’s not dressed for it either. He’s wearing a tan flannel checked with red that looks so old-school, it might actually be from the Nineties. It’s hanging open, not even buttoned up, and underneath is a faded red t-shirt with the Rolling Stones tongue on it. “You look cold, darling. And wet.” He winks at me as he takes a step to close the few feet of distance between us.

I shrink away from Grunge and look back at Deep Dark, desperate for some way to get past this moment. His eyes latch onto mine and never let go as he speaks. “You need some help?”

I shake my head at him.

But then Grunge is right up next to me, pulling my cold body into his. “You’re freezing,” he says, rubbing my bare arms. He wraps his hands around my waist and laughs into my neck like we’ve been friends our whole lives. “Me too. Wanna keep each other warm?”

I struggle against him and Deep Dark puts a hand on Grunge’s shoulder. “Stop, JD. You’re scaring her.”

JD puts his hands up in the air, a ‘my bad’ gesture, and steps away so Deep Dark can move in closer.

He scans my body, seeing pretty much all of it since the dress is wet and plastered up against me. My nipples are perked up from the cold and pressing so hard against the thin fabric of my dress that every shift of my body rubs across them, sending a chill through my body. “Do you need help or not?” Deep Dark asks again. “Because we’re losing money here.”