Interrupted
1469 Words
Ryan drove deeper into the outskirts of the city, where the streetlights thinned and the air grew still. The secluded road appeared after a bend, swallowed by tall grass and shadow. He’d been coming here for years, back when life still made sense, and even more after it didn’t. Not once had he found another soul wandering this far out.
He parked the car where he always left it, several meters away. His footsteps were soft as he walked toward the wide, empty space he always claimed for himself. And then he lay down flat on his back, hands behind his head, eyes fixed on the spattered stars above.
The night sky didn’t judge, didn’t demand, didn’t disappoint. It just… existed.
Ryan breathed in slowly, letting thoughts creep in places he usually kept sealed.
If Mom were still alive… Maybe he would’ve been at some dinner with friends, laughing, wasting time. Maybe he wouldn’t have armored himself so brutally. Maybe he wouldn’t have learned the hard truths of betrayal, abandonment, and fragility.
Maybe he wouldn’t be here, alone on a road no one else visited.
About an hour passed before the silence broke. He heard voices, thick and slurry, sounding like drunken men arguing, maybe over a lost bet. But Ryan was focused on the cosmic distance, ignoring the noise until the talking stopped and footsteps approached.
"Oy, why are you laying down there? Don't you know this whole area is a no-trespassing site?" one voice slurred. Ryan didn't even acknowledge them.
"We are in charge of inspecting," another voice claimed, followed by murmurs of agreement. "But we can make an exception if you cooperate." Ryan still feigned deafness, treating them as harmless background noise.
Then a shadow loomed over him. "Are you deaf? The boss is talking to you."
Ryan finally turned toward the speaker, a youth who couldn't be more than eighteen or nineteen. At nineteen, Ryan had already closed a multimillion-dollar deal; he eyed the boy with cold contempt.
"Big boss asked me to bring you," the youth said, pointing at the retreating figures of the two other men, who were disappearing into a quiet, black alley.
Naturally, the logical part of Ryan's mind screamed no. But something dark and impulsive surged through him. He was already in a volatile mood, and the thought of beating up a few pathetic miscreants, finding a violent, physical release for the suffocating grief, was irresistible. He rose in one fluid motion and followed the boy into the darkness.
Ryan’s footsteps were unhurried as he reached the mouth of the alley, hands casually tucked into his pockets. The shadows pressed in, the air thick with the smell of stale alcohol and bravado. Three men waited for him, two older, one the jittery youth who’d led him here.
He wasn’t impressed.
“Okay,” the bulkier one said, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight. “Hand over all your valuables and nobody needs to get hurt.”
Ryan didn’t even bother looking up at him. He was still contemplating whether to knock the man out first or let him talk a little longer.
He hadn’t even formed a response when a soft, feminine voice floated in from behind them.
“Leave the man alone, and nobody gets hurt.” The men all turned sharply.
Ryan did too, but only out of mild curiosity.
Standing at the alley’s entrance was a young woman, though her appearance made it hard to tell at first glance. She wore an oversized, faded dress that hung off her small frame. Her brown hair was tied back in a messy knot, strands escaping around her face. Her eyes, sunken from exhaustion, carried a tired fierceness that didn’t match the rest of her worn-out appearance.
One of the thugs let out a low whistle.
The other grinned, elbowing his friend. But Ryan… saw nothing remarkable.
No grace. No beauty. No threat.
Just another struggling, beaten-down woman who looked older than her years.
Great, he sighed inwardly.
An old woman trying to mug me too. Perfect.
“Look at that,” the bulkier thug chuckled. “A hero.”
He took a step toward her. “Sweetheart, this isn’t your business.”
The woman didn’t flinch, she didn’t even blink.
“I said leave him alone,” she repeated, her voice steady and soft, like someone who had already accepted pain as a normal part of life.
Ryan finally turned his full attention to her.
Not because he needed help or because he was in danger. But because something about her tone… that quiet certainty… didn’t fit the rest of her ragged appearance.
The younger thug snorted. “What are you gonna do? Fight us?”
“I don’t want to,” she said simply. “But I will.”
The alley erupted with laughter. Ryan almost felt embarrassed for them. They had no idea what he could do to them, he was seconds away from cracking bones out of boredom, but now this tired woman was stepping into a situation that had nothing to do with her.
She took a small step forward, lifting her chin. Ryan noticed her hands, slightly trembling, but fists clenched tight.
Fear, he thought. But she’s still moving anyway. The bulkier man lunged at her.
Ryan shifted his weight, ready to intervene, though a part of him wanted to see if she actually planned to fight. But she moved first.
In a swift, clumsy but effective motion, more instinct than skill, she ducked under his reaching arm and shoved him backward by his ribs. It wasn’t elegant, but it caught him off guard, sending him stumbling into a trash bin with a loud metallic bang.
The alley went quiet. Ryan’s brows lifted a fraction.
Interesting.
The second mugger cursed and rushed her, but she didn’t retreat. She stepped into his reach, jabbed her elbow into his stomach, and stomped on his foot with surprising force. He yelped, hopping back.
Not graceful, or rained, but fierce and determined, and absolutely not smart.
“You little—!” the man wheezed, grabbing at her.
This time, Ryan moved.
He caught the attacker’s wrist mid-swing, grip calm and unhurried, as if he were stopping a child from misbehaving. The thug froze when he finally met Ryan’s eyes, cold, and unreadable, and full of quiet promise.
“Enough,” Ryan said, voice low.
The man tried to jerk his hand free. He couldn’t move an inch.
Before the thug could panic further, sirens wailed faintly in the distance.
The youth cursed. “Police, let’s go!”
The muggers scrambled out of the alley, tripping over themselves as they vanished into the dark.
Ryan released the man’s wrist and dusted off his hands as if the encounter had merely inconvenienced him.
The alley fell silent again.
The woman stood a few feet away, chest rising and falling, her fists still clenched, eyes burning with leftover adrenaline.
Ryan turned to her, his tone flat. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”
She blinked, genuinely offended. “You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t need help.”
“And yet,” she retorted, tightening her jaw, “you were about to get mugged.”
Ryan looked her over, at the worn dress, the exhausted eyes, and the stubborn tilt of her chin. “You fight terribly,” he commented dismissively.
She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Prison teaches you enough to survive, not impress.”
Ryan’s gaze snapped into focus. Prison. That explained the toughness beneath the exhaustion, the rough, untrained movements that were practiced out of raw necessity.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She hesitated, then lifted her head. “Claire.”
He studied her for a quiet moment. "I'm Ryan."
She gave a quick, decisive nod and started to walk away. “You shouldn't be out here alone. It’s not safe.”
Ryan followed. She glanced back once, then again.
“Okay, why are you following me?” she challenged.
“You said not to be alone in this area,” he replied simply.
“Yes, but I’m going to my house. Why don’t you go home too?”
Ryan stopped, his mind racing. He wasn't ready to return to his opulent, empty mansion, and this woman, this anomaly, intrigued him more than anything had in years. He needed an excuse to stay.
A brilliant, calculated lie struck him.
“I came to look for someone around here,” Ryan began, letting a pitiful, hesitant quality creep into his voice. “They promised me shelter... but I couldn't find them. And now I'm stranded.”
- Writer
