KNIGHT IN SHINNING ARMOR
1358 Words
“Hi… do you know the way to the train station?” Julia asked, breathless from running in circles for the past ten minutes. Somehow, every street led her right back to where she started.
Asking for help was never her thing—her home forced her to grow up at fifteen, made her solve problems bigger than her—but right now, she was lost. Completely.
The elderly woman squinted kindly.
“Yes, dear. Go straight, take a left, then walk all the way down. Though…” she added, eyeing Julia’s trembling hands, “I’d advise you take a cab or bus. It’s far.”
“Thank you so much, ma’am,” Julia said and hurried off.
“A cab? A bus?” she muttered under her breath. “If I had money do you think I’d be stranded here?”
Yet she kept walking.
Trekking is my hobby, she told herself. I can do this.
The long, lonely path stretched ahead like an endless white ribbon.
---
Meanwhile…
“I’ll be right back, girls. Just picking up the decorations and breakfast. Keep yourselves busy, okay?” Alex called as he grabbed his keys.
“Yeah, Dad! Just be fast!” Anna replied, slamming the door behind him.
Alex started the car, humming as he passed the couples’ booth— remembering when he and his wife used to win the “Couple of the Season” award. A bittersweet smile touched his lips.
He turned onto the snowy path—
—and saw her.
Julia.
Freezing. Shivering. Walking alone. Again.
What is she doing out here? And without a jacket?
He frowned.
Not my business, he told himself and drove past.
Julia stared after the vanishing taillights.
“Wow. Wicked. For someone who saved me last night, he really wants me dead the second time,” she huffed, kicking snow with her numb foot.
---
After what felt like an hour, she finally stopped to catch her breath and spotted a bench.
“Oh, perfect,” she exhaled. “I really need to—”
A hand touched her head.
Julia jerked upright.
“What’s a pretty girl doing out here alone?”
The man standing over her was disheveled, eyes hungry in the worst way.
“N-nothing. I’m… I’m not alone. I’m waiting for my friend,” she lied.
“Well,” he smirked, pointing at his rusty truck, “your friend can wait while you sit in my car.”
“No, thank you. I like it here,” she said, balling her fists.
“It’s not a request,” he growled, leaning in, sniffing her hair. “Pretty girls shouldn’t be out alone… because you know what happens.”
Her stomach twisted. And then she saw it—a knife tucked behind his jeans.
“You smell so sweet,” he whispered. “I don’t think I can leave here without yo—”
Julia shoved him. Hard.
“Get away from me, you pervert!”
The man’s smile vanished. “Get back here, you little—!”
He lunged. Julia ran, but he grabbed her from behind, yanking her back.
“Leave me alone!” she screamed, struggling.
He pulled out the knife.
“Well, if I can’t have you—”
Julia raised her arm instinctively—
The blade sliced across her forearm.
“HELP!” she shrieked as she fell to the snow.
A voice thundered behind them.
“She said leave her alone!”
A fist cracked into the man’s jaw. The attacker flew backward.
Julia blinked.
“A—Alex?”
He didn’t look at her. He was too busy beating the man into the snow, every punch fueled with fury.
“You don’t touch girls walking alone, you sick—”
Another punch.
“You disgusting—”
Another punch.
“Pervert!”
Julia watched him—his muscles flexing, breath steaming in the freezing air, his eyes blazing with protective rage.
Claire… I think I’ve found my knight in shining armor, she whispered to herself.
Alex finally stopped, leaving the man bloody and barely conscious.
He exhaled sharply and turned toward her.
Her pale skin. Her shaking body. Her bleeding arm.
“You think everyone has a kind heart?” he snapped.
“Or do you think benches bring good luck? What were you waiting for this time—the president to come save you? You’re unbelievable.”
“I wasn’t waiting for anyone,” she murmured, ashamed. “I was resting.”
“Resting?” he scoffed. “So you now rest anywhere? What are you doing here alone? Don’t you have a home? People looking for you? What are you— a runaway convict?”
“No!” she shot back, lifting her head.
Their eyes locked—his piercing blue meeting her trembling gaze.
Her breath hitched.
“Miss blonde,” he snapped his fingers, “say something.”
She swallowed. “I don’t… I don’t have anything to say.”
He sighed.
“It’s a long story…”
“Then say something, so I know where to help from,” he said, walking to his car. “And get up. Let me see that arm.”
Julia tried to stand—pain shot through her.
“Oh God—”
Suddenly she was lifted—bridal-style—against his chest.
She gasped.
“You might as well drill a hole in my skin,” he muttered, carrying her to the car.
She looked away, embarrassed by the closeness.
He reached the hood, pulled out a first-aid kit, and gently cleaned the wound. His fingers were surprisingly careful. Steady. Trained.
“You’re… you’re a doctor?” she asked, watching him.
He shrugged. “Let’s just say I’ve had experience. My daughters injure themselves more often than you’d think.”
He packed the kit, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the engine.
“So,” he said, glancing at her, “where should I take you… Miss Blonde?”
“Julia,” she corrected softly. “My name is Julia.”
A ghost of a smile tugged his lips.
“Well… that’s a nice name. For a confused girl.”
“I’m not confused,” she whispered. “Just… in a tight corner.”
“Uh-huh,” he murmured. “Where to?”
“Train station.”
“The same one I picked you up from?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head in disbelief and drove.
“So tell me, Miss Blonde,” he said at last, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between them. His voice was gentle, curious, as though he wanted to fill the quiet with something warmer. “How did you end up on that bench last night? I should at least know… since I saved you.”
He kept his eyes on the road, but she could feel him watching her in the reflection of the windshield.
Julia said nothing.
Her throat closed. Her fingers tightened around the seatbelt. How could she explain it? How could she tell this stranger that she was never meant to be here—that she should’ve been in New York by now, sitting in a café with a hot cup of coffee and a sketchbook, preparing for the life she’d planned so carefully? How could she tell him that everything she owned had been taken from her… that the only thing she had left in the world was herself?
She swallowed hard, staring out at the blurred snow draping the pine trees.
And then, without warning, the weight in her chest cracked open.
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
Then another.
It was the first time she had cried in months—maybe years. The pain was thick, sharp, and old. It rose up from the places she kept locked away, places colder than the winter outside.
She turned her face toward the window, silently letting the tears fall.
Because for the first time in a long time…
she couldn’t hold it in anymore and wanted to be a 15 year old Julia that would cry when sad.
- Writer
