THE ATTACKER
Olivia's POV
His eyes are like a stormy ocean, dark and turbulent, a deep blue that pulls you in like the depths of the sea. From across the dimly lit bar, his gaze follows me, intense and unyielding. He wears a dark cardigan with a hood, shadowing his face and adding to his enigmatic presence. Who is this man, and why does he watch me with such scrutiny?
I work as a waitress in this local bar, a job that’s as exhausting as it is disheartening. The men who come here are relentless with their stares, their eyes crawling over me and the other waitresses, making us feel exposed and uncomfortable. The weight of their gazes is a constant burden.
For weeks, I've been desperately searching for another job, but luck hasn’t been on my side. Bills keep piling up, and each rejection letter chips away at my hope. Sometimes I think about just quitting and staying in bed all day, but fear of the unknown keeps me going. I’m trapped in this endless cycle of fatigue and frustration, unsure of what to do next.
As I wonder why the hooded man keeps staring at me so intensely, like a predator eyeing its prey, I head to the front counter to take off my apron and wipe my hands. My workday is finally over, but the unease lingers. His presence has unsettled me more than I’d like to admit.
"Good night, Joe," I say to the cook, my voice strained from hours of forced cheerfulness.
"Good night, Olivia," he replies with a kind smile. Joe’s warmth is a small solace in this otherwise harsh environment.
I grab my jacket from the nearby hanger and sling it over my shoulder. After retrieving my purse from the drawer, I walk past the other customers, my eyes flicking back to the man with the dark blue eyes. He stands out in the crowd, his demeanor calm yet intense, and I can’t help but wonder what he wants from me. Why is he here, and why does he watch me so closely?
Ignoring the chills creeping down my spine, I step outside into the cool evening air. The night is crisp, carrying the scent of rain and earth. I’m dressed in blue jeans, a black t-shirt, a denim jacket, and white sneakers, with my hair pulled back into a bun. The familiar outfit feels like a shield against the unpredictable night.
As I walk along the gravel road, my mind races with worries. Bills are piling up, and I still haven’t found a new job. I’ve been meaning to visit my sick aunt, but finding the time and money has been impossible. The crunch of gravel under my feet is the only sound, amplifying the loneliness and fear that gnaw at me.
At first, I thought it’s the man from the bar following me, but when I noticed he wasn't wearing a hood, I realized it’s someone else. This man, though familiar, is one of the regulars who often makes unwelcome passes at me.
"Hey, babe," he says, grinning widely as he steps closer. Fear grips me, tightening like a vise.
The road is deserted, and I still have a long walk ahead before reaching the main road where I can catch a taxi. I glance back towards the bar, but there’s no one in sight.
"Where are you going?" he demands, rushing over to block my path. I step back, but my retreat is halted by a parked car. The cold metal presses against my back as I desperately scan for help.
"Let me go," I say calmly, trying to mask my fear. I don’t even know this man’s name, but his breath reeks of alcohol, making me recoil.
"No," he snarls, grabbing my wrists. My purse falls to the ground as I let out a loud yelp, praying someone will come to my aid.
"No, baby," he says, his voice dripping with malice. He twists me around, pressing me against the car. I struggle, my face hitting the cold surface with every movement.
"Please, let go of me. I beg you," I sob, my voice breaking with desperation. But instead of stopping, he tightens his grip, making escape impossible.
Suddenly, a commanding voice cuts through the night. "If I were you, I’d let her go now!" The authority in the voice makes my attacker pause.
"Who the hell are you?" he rasps, breathless. "She’s my prey. Get lost!"
A tear slides down my cheek as I silently plead for help. My hands and face throb with pain, and all I can do is pray this nightmare ends soon.
The man takes off my jacket, and I cry louder, struggling with renewed fervor. Suddenly, someone shoves him away, freeing me from his grasp. I slouch to the ground, tears blurring my vision.
"I told you to let her go!" the husky voice growls again. A knife clicks, and I stare up sharply, my eyes wide with fear.
It’s him—the man from the bar. There are four of them, but he stands out, his hood obscuring his face. One of the men hands him the knife, and my assaulter’s screams pierce the night.
I watch in horror as he cuts my attacker’s wrist, blood oozing out. I avert my gaze, unable to bear the sight. My eyes met another man from the group. His gaze is dark and intense, just like the hooded man.
"Please!" my attacker cries out, surrounded by the group. The hooded man rises, wiping his hands with a cloth before passing the knife back.
I look down to see my assaulter whimpering on the ground, blood pooling around him. He almost r***d me, but despite everything, I wish this hadn’t happened.
"Get rid of him," the hooded man instructs, and my heart races. The punishment is enough, but now what? How will I explain this tomorrow at work?
The man with ocean blue eyes gazes up at me, his shoulders set with confidence. Our eyes lock, and I finally see his face. A well-defined beard graces his jawline, and he gives me that same intense look.
"Let’s go," he says, motioning to a nearby car. My head screams no—he’s a stranger, possibly a killer. My heart pounds wildly in my chest. Instead of following him, I take to my heels, running in the opposite direction, hoping to escape this nightmare.
.
