Battle Of Emotions

The city held no risk for Lena as she went along the practically vacant street on the fringes of the eighth district. In the dark, the filthy district in an otherwise gorgeous Bucharest, might easily pass for a finer section of the capital. Graffiti markings covered the walls, marring its beauty. The only reason she’d picked the street, over an hour’s walk from the Danube and the gorgeous historical buildings in the pristine tourist areas, was because she could afford the flea-ridden flat her weird landlady had the nerve to call an apartment. During daylight the tree-lined boulevard was nearly attractive, if you disregard the stink of dog crap and the sight of homeless individuals jammed up against the graffitied buildings and sprawled on the pavement. In the dusk, the tall, thin oaks appeared to droop over Lena, a gloomy shelter as she strolled to the twenty-four-hour convenience shop. She’d always had a peculiar kinship with nature, her soul aching for a peaceful hideaway in the woods someplace. Would they discover her in some far-off forest? But let’s be serious, she thought, I’d die within the month. Her survival abilities were mainly urban, and she couldn’t afford to linger any place for too long. She’d been in Romania for about two and half months, enjoyed it more than other places she’d visited, but already she felt that desire to flee. However, waitressing did not pay a lot and half the visitors who walked through the café she worked at in the Palace District didn’t seem to understand you could tip beyond seven percent. She would acquire a job working at the final café in Bucharest to implement a required service charge. Grumbling to herself, Lena moved a bit quicker past the young homeless boy who appeared poised to grasp her around the ankle to stop her. She hardened her heart against the vision of him, thin, dirty, and freezing in the frigid April night. She was saving every dime she had for a train ticket. Lena had to escape at a moment’s notice and just now her funds wouldn’t go very far. The young man screamed something down the street to her and while Lena only knew a little Romanian, she’d heard her employer use a specific phrase enough to know the homeless kid had just urged her to do something rather awful to herself. Lena curled her lip in a combination of remorse and fury. Shrugging it off, she pushed through the door of the late-night convenience shop and disregarded the look of reproach the proprietor gave her. He was an elderly Romanian guy. Lena placed him in his late sixties and again she couldn’t comprehend the exact words, but every time she walked into his business in the middle of the night, he forced her to take a lecture she officially didn’t understand. But she understood him all right. He did not appreciate a young lady strolling the streets alone at night. Lena appreciated his care. However, he had nothing to worry about. Still, she liked the elderly man. Few strangers gave a toss what other strangers were up to, particularly beyond spending money in their institution. She gave him a nod, attempting to disguise her tiny grin at the fatherly glower he threw her way, and strolled farther into the shop. Lena loved the odd glass of wine on nights she couldn’t sleep, and the store had a red she could sort of just barely afford. Plus, there were these European potato chips that were irresistible. She couldn’t get enough of them. Paprika taste. Lena’s tummy rumbled. Just as she was reaching for the enormous family-size pack, the hairs all over her body sprang on edge and her pulse raced. Her head snapped to the left up the aisle and the bell above the store entrance tinkled as someone else stepped in. Pulse thrumming fiercely, Lena drew her palm back from the chips. All her life, she’d had a sense like to stepping through an electrically charged place when something not good was going to happen. Had they found her? Looking up in the far-right corner of the shop where the owner had an old TV fixed to the wall, Lena saw the live feed of the front of the business. There was a guy standing at the main counter chatting to the proprietor. Lena heard the elderly guy’s voice raise just as the new newcomer drew a revolver out of his pocket. Oh crap. She understood what she should do, and that was all it required to not bring attention to herself. Lena was adept at being silent. She could sneak up the aisle and make a rapid run for the door and be out of there before the man with the pistol could even blink. Do it, Lena, the survivor in her urged. Masking her steps with the supernatural skill she’d had for as long as she could remember, Lena was nearly at the end of the aisle. Ready to make a dash for it. Get out of there. Save her own skin. Not become entangled. Yet, Lena understood that the electrical charge she’d felt earlier didn’t arise merely because a person strolled into a shop to steal it. That sensation was like a sixth sense. An impending disaster was on the verge of occurring in this place. It wasn’t her business. It wasn’t! But the shopkeeper’s anxious remarks of admonishment entered Lena’s brain. Oh crap. She couldn’t leave him here to be injured. Taking a deep breath, Lena listened as the conversation between the store owner and burglar got increasingly intense. It seemed like her obstinate shopkeeper didn’t want to pay up his money. Really? Is it worth your life? With a deep exhale, her stomach churning, Lena came out from behind the aisle and the shopkeeper’s eyes widened in anxious terror. The shooter had his back to her. “I think maybe we should all—” A c***k burst through the air, followed by a stinging sting of agony in her shoulder. She didn’t even get to complete her statement since the shooter had turned around in panic and shot her! Lena glowered down at her shoulder and then up at the shooter whose eyes had widened. His hand trembled. “Was that necessary?” Lena took an aggressive stride toward him. He shot again; the bullet smashed through her only inches from the last. She trembled at the burn. Okay, now she was angry. The air crackled around her as she touched the bloodied holes in the only jacket she possessed. Feeling a touch homicidal, it must have showed on her face as she glanced up since the shooter wasn’t the only one freaking out. The shopkeeper was no longer gazing at her like a worried father. His face was pallid with fright. He shouted something and if Lena had to guess, it was probably along the lines of “What are you?” or “Demon!” or “Monster!” And then he ran out from behind the counter, sliding on the tiled floor, before pushing open the store door to run out of there, yelling out at the top of his lungs. Disappointment swamped Lena. “Nice,” she murmured. She went into aid, was shot twice, and that’s how he rewarded her. When would she learn? She cut a glance at the shooter. His tawny complexion was pale, his hand trembling hard as he backed against the counter, muttering what sounded like a plea beneath his breath. Lena knew how she seemed. When someone ticked her off, her eyes turned from brown to gold so dazzling, no one could ever mistake her as human. Plus, she’d been shot, and she’d scarcely flinched. They realized she wasn’t simply a lady. She was something else totally. And it appeared like this man would shoot her again for it. While it's true that the bullets failed to end her life, it doesn't negate the fact that it burns like hell. Lena didn’t really like the notion of another one. Plus, she could sense that although the first shot was thorough and through, the second wasn’t. There was a bullet within her shoulder; she’d have to pull it out, and that would just delay her down. She didn’t fancy digging out two. Just as the robber’s finger trembled on the trigger, Lena traversed the space between them in less time than it took a person to blink. She seized the wrist of his gun hand and twisted it with such power, his high-pitched cry of anguish followed the sound of it breaking. The pistol clattered to the floor and Lena kicked it out of range. Tears flowed down the robber’s face as he cried in a tongue that wasn’t Romanian as he held his wrist and sought to get up. He got to his feet and backed away from her as if she were the devil. Shaking her head, Lena watched the man hurry out of the shop. Dread quickly weighed in her belly. That small act was like setting up a flare to any supernatural following her. Or worse … him. Now she had to go out of Romania, and she hadn’t saved enough money to board a train out of the country. She immediately focused on the cash register. Guilt niggled her at the mere concept. But he did rush out of here, leaving you to perhaps perish. That was true. Lena rounded the counter. People get disappointed in the end. Why should she be any better? Before conducting the crime, Lena opened the cabinet behind the counter and located the old-fashioned VHS security. She peeled the tape, cringing at the flare of agony that raced up her neck from her wound. She could feel hot blood trickling down her breast and back, soaking into her shirt and jacket. She needed to go swiftly. The register was locked so Lena tore it open with a raw power that belied her five foot eight, for-the-most-part-slender physique. Remorse pushed down on her shoulders as she grabbed what she needed plus a bit more from the register. However, she told herself she had to do what she needed to do to live. And she’d just saved this guy’s life. It wasn’t ridiculous to seek monetary recompense for the two nasty gunshot holes in her shoulder. Sirens shrieked in the distance, driving a bolt of fresh adrenaline through her. Walking confidently out of the store, Lena sauntered down the street, toward her flat, with her head held high. Then she felt blood flow from the fingers of her right hand and swore. She’d leave a trail that went directly to her flat. Curling her palm into a fist and bringing the arm to rest against her chest, Lena grimaced at the agony. Then she observed the young homeless guy from before looking carefully at her. He’d undoubtedly watched the shooter and the shopkeeper dash out of the business. But she’d banked on that. Digging into her pocket with her good hand, she retrieved the “extra” she’d stolen from the cash register and stopped by the homeless guy. She held it out to him. He grinned as he grabbed the money from her. “daca te-ntreaba cineva nu m-ai vazut-o niciodata.” Deducing he realized the cash was for his quiet, Lena nodded and went off. She hurried faster, the shadows of the trees appearing to surround her, turning her into gloom as she returned to her flat. The sirens had become louder, leaving her less time to get the heck out of there. But first things first. The decrepit structure smelled of urine and mustiness. The plaster had fallen away from the walls not just in the stairs but in Lena’s flat too. The area was just large enough for a bed, a small counter with a sink, cooktop, and microwave, and a tiny room off the side where they’d crammed in a toilet and shower. The flat was gloomy since the one window in it looked down onto a courtyard characteristic of the architecture in Bucharest. Drawing her tattered curtains closed in case any of her neighbors were curious, Lena tore off her damaged jacket and blouse, growling in agony. It wasn’t agonizing, as it would be for the normal person, but it still wasn’t enjoyable. It's also regrettably, wasn’t the first time someone had shot her. Moving about the little area like a storm, Lena took out the bag she had packed so she could flee at a moment’s notice. She rummaged through it to locate the first aid bag. Stumbling into the bathroom, she peered at the broken mirror over the sink and realized her olive complexion was pale from blood loss. Her gaze honed in on the gunshot holes. The through-and-through had practically healed over entirely. The other was resisting the strange thing within her.Picking up her tweezers, Lena clenched her teeth and shoved them into the hole. A rush of nausea came over her, but she battled through it and pulled the tweezers further into where she felt the bullet dwelling in all its foreignness. Widening the tweezers to get hold of it brought a flash of searing, piercing agony down her arm. Grunting, tightening her teeth, Lena tugged with all her strength and out came the bloody smashed bullet. When it struck the sink, it tinkled, almost merrily. “I hate guns,” Lena hissed at the blood-spattered sink. There was something so dirty about employing a gun in a battle. Then, it was simple for her to say that. She could handle herself. The flesh surrounding the bullet hole tingled and Lena watched as it started to seal over, good as new. Cleaning off the blood, she saw her skin return to its natural golden tan. Good. The last thing she needed to look like was a girl healing from two gunshot wounds. Lena wrapped up with a T-shirt and sweater because her jacket was damaged, put all her bloodied belongings into a garbage bag, and scoured the flat for any evidence of herself. Pissed to be moving someplace new so soon, she took it out on her landlord by not leaving what she due in rent. The hag charged a hefty price for the shithole and there had been more than one she’d used her key to come into the flat uninvited. Just last week Lena had observed the landlady evict a single mother and her two young kids for missing rent by a week. Lena had listened to the mother plead, begging for more time, as the landlady pounded at her with a broom, forcing her down the stairs while her kids stumbled at her feet. It had taken a lot not to meddle. Lena had handed the lady money later, which she’d sadly accepted. Hence why Lena hadn’t saved nearly enough to travel out of Bucharest. She needed the money more than the landlady. Maybe it was best to leave the money so if the cops did somehow come knocking, she’d cover for Lena. But Lena knew no amount of money would purchase that woman’s devotion. Screw her. Hurrying out of the flat, Lena hastily fled the building. The railway station located in the north of the eighth district where the streets were busy with bar-goers at this time of night. She made a detour towards the southwest, utilizing the shadows to disguise her trip. Finally, she discovered an apartment complex with a damaged front door and threw the trash bag in their shared garbage. Hopefully, the cops wouldn’t locate it. But if they did, it didn’t matter. Her DNA wasn’t human. She did, however, worry he could discover her via the bloodied garments. He had the means. He’d undoubtedly identify her DNA. Which was precisely why she wanted to go as far away from Bucharest as possible. As she completed the typically forty-minute trip to the train station in just under twenty-five, Lena didn’t bother concealing her hair. The station was an international depot, thus it was bustling, even in the early hours. There were police monitoring it, although if they stopped her per description, there were no gunshot wounds to be discovered. Lena wasn’t concerned. Nah, she looked like a totally regular human lady. Instead of what she was. As for what that “what” was … that was something not even Lena knew.