Chapter 8: Darkness Welcomes Instict With Open Arms

*Trigger Warning* scenes in this chapter may be hard to read for some

—Kinny—

I was glad the weather was warm out, but my rage kept the smile off my face for the first time in a long time. My emotions were beginning to suffocate me and I let myself crash against a light post about a block away from my apartment. I held my hand to my heart to steady it for a moment, when I heard the shout. A man coming up from behind me with three others flanking both sides.

My blood ran cold and I sped faster towards the direction of my apartment, hoping to whatever was out there that I was fast enough. I knew that I wasn't. "Hey, little lady, were in need of some cash, got any?" All three of them looked high on something, meth maybe, and the way the middle one twitched, and scratched his head, I could tell this wouldn't end well. I dug into my pocket and fished out all ny tips from my shift and held it out to them.

"It's all I got on me, sorry, I dont bring outside cash into the diner." I forced the brightest smile I could manage on my face, hoping theyd take it and go. It wasn't likely, and my gut told me to be ready for anything.

The middle guy snatched the worn out bills from my hands, counted them with disgust. Instantly, his hand swung back, and connected with my face. His hit was powerful, but it didn't knock me down, and I could tell that it pissed him off more. He couldn't knock down a small girl infront of his junkie friends, and it enraged him beyond reason. Him being high, well, that made it worse.

He shoved the money into his friend's hand and pulled out a small pocket knife from his dirty jeans, twirling it between his fingers. "You bitch!" I tried to turn away and run, but his hand caught my arm and my body was swung around and into the blade.

With one swift motion, the man shoved me off of him, taking the knife with, and punched me again, harder. I crumpled to the ground cradling the wound, with one painful scream. Silent tears fell soon after, I couldn't make a sound, and I reacted on pure instict. I fell limp, and held my breath. "When they think your dead, they run." My mother's word rang in my head as I struggled to hold in the painful air. It begged to escape, and I was begging the universe to live.

They did run, like little girls, the man's friends freaking out on him as they scattered. What was a few minutes before they ran, felt like an eternity, but with them gone, I could finally breathe, and try to make it back to my apartment. I opened my bag and fished out a spare shirt and held it tightly to the wound, applying as much pressure as I could. I used the light post next to me to hoist myself up and saw that I was almost at my apartment. With that saving grace, I pushed through the pain in my stomach, forcing my feet to propel me forward.

I've never really been afraid of anything. When everything possible has been done to you, you lose your fears of things themselves, and you learn to fear the abstracts of life. My mother had taught me everything I know, because she was all I ever knew. When I lost her, my whole world went dark.

That's exactly what I felt as I struggled to make the distance to my apartment. Darkness. It floods in, slowly suffocating, and it drowns you in pure instinct, but at that moment, it's what I needed to survive. I let the darkness consume me, guide me through the pain, because with those memories, and the experience they carry, it will help me avoid the hospital. Avoid the triggers of my past? Not really. Sacrifice is crucial in survival mode though.