Chapter Text
Wednesdays were the worst. The paperwork she had asked for the day before never came, and Jon from the accounting department was nowhere to be found. The promise that jackass had said yesterday burned in the back of her head, the urge to roll her eyes barely suppressed.
She should have known about that man's bad work ethic. She should've done it herself. That way, she wouldn't have to take another two-hour work overtime tomorrow. It wouldn't also be such a nuisance if only she still had her car. The image of the death scrap machine floated inside her head, a familiar sense of regret swirling in her belly. Blue—the ridiculous name she'd given that car—was the only possession she had brought with her when she moved to Albuquerque a year and a half ago. Except, of course, a few of her clothes and stack of books.
Ever since Blue's short-lived run through the streets of the small town, she opted to buy a bicycle in attempt of its replacement. It was cute and easy to park. Not only that, she considered her morning and afternoon rides as exercise—something she never really did with her job and self-destructive loathing.
The wind was cool against her face despite the sweltering sun, and this was one of those times where she actually enjoyed the ride home. The streets were usually quiet even in the late afternoon. Most people chose to stay indoors, and only a few cars buzzed past her.
Seeing the intersection ahead, she pulled on the brakes gently and slowed. Only a block and a left turn and she will be in her apartment; taking a shower and plopping down her thin mattress right after to get some well-deserved nap.
But a loud screeching halt took her out of her thoughts. The next thing she knew, her leg hit something hard, knocking her off her bike and onto the asphalt. Her heart quaked as she clutched her chest and the world seemed to spin above her. Blinking the shock off, she set her sights on the dark green Sedan infront of her. Her brow creased as it stayed motionless, the driver of the car didn't even bother getting out to check whether they killed her or something.
Standing in haste, the rumble against her ribs were not of shock but of anger. She puffed her chest, leveling her eye onto the windshield as she slapped her palm on the hood of the car.
“Asshole!” She cried, “You could've killed me, you bitch!”
Her eyes met with the man inside. His eyes were fixed on her, unmoving and intense, as if calculating the scene before him. Like he didn't just hit someone—a living person.
The way he just sat there boiled her blood. His face remained flat and rid of emotion, the mustache hiding the curl of his lips. “Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? How 'bout you get out of that damned car and try not to be an asshole?”
A few bystanders paused to see the fiasco brewing. Even those inside the cafes had their heads perked to see what was going on. Her anger was justified, a motionless car with the driver still inside, and the poor bike laying on the ground. Who knows what damage the crash had done.
The very first response she'd seen from him was when his brows jerked, head pulled back. Maybe disbelief, or just pure smugness on his face—made her scoff and tilt her head. She evened her breathing, “What?”
The man's dark eyes stared her down one last time before he pulled the handle and the car door swung open swiftly. She should've been scared by then, more so when he went out of his side and stood to his full height. The way he puffed his chest out, to assert his strength and dominance didn't go unnoticed by her. His eyes, a pair of dark hue, stabbed into her own.
He planted his elbow casually on the top edge of the car door and turned his head to the side, a wide smile that managed to brighten his eyes came into view. That cocky grin on his face made her want to slap it off. “Why, good afternoon. Are you harmed, señora?”
He appeared to be amicable, though there was that air of restrained chaos hanging around him. She blinked twice, standing her ground and tilting her chin up. “What do you think? You hit me with your car and you expect me to be fine?”
The man moved away methodically from the door, closing it behind him as he strode closer to her. Her heart picked its pace again. She stared up to him with only a meter inbetween them. He towered over her as her head leveled just between the region of his chest.
“I don't,” he smiled again, “if you wish to settle, I need to know where you're hurt when you hit my car.”
Enraged, she scoffed yet again. “I hit your car? So, you're trying to turn shit around now? I slowed the moment I saw this intersection. I've been down this street for a year now, and you have the decency to tell me I hit your car?”
He squinted and chuckled, scratching his brow. “Well, if you insist. Let's just get down to the numbers, hmm? How much?”
The man took his wallet from his backpocket and pulled out a few bills. She stood there, dumbstruck. She couldn't believe this man's nonchalance. He handed her several bills, and from what she could make out of, it was a total of two grand.
“Take it,” he pointed his index finger to her as if a warning though his face remained playful, “and don't go slapping people's cars again, eh?”
Her lip curled in distaste and she swallowed. She looked at the people looking at them both, as though they were two actors in a lousy film. The man tilted his head again, taking a step closer and handed the bills tauntingly. Her stolid gaze moved from his hand and up to his face. There was that sudden fire in her chest and the next thing she knew, she smacked his hand, leaving the bills fluttering to the ground.
She huffed in satisfaction, before picking up her bicycle and setting it straight. Thankfully, with brief perusal, the bike had little to no damage. Her hands and limbs were equally shaking. That smack was either the bravest or the stupidest thing she'd ever done in her life.
Before mounting the bike, she gave one more look at him. He had his brows raised, and a hint of disbelief in his eyes. He gave the impression that he's used to charming his way into everything with that bridled furor and permanent mirth plain on his face.
“You know what?” She scowled, “you can go fuck yourself.”
She easily pedalled her way out of the scene, the bystanders' reactions all varying degrees of shock. She could feel her throat dry and the jelly in her knees. That was stupid. Not brave, but stupid. Who knew who that man was. He wasn't familiar. Maybe he was a tourist. His car was too fancy for the small quaint town.
“Cherry!” An older man called out to her as soon as she chained her bicycle by the lobby's post. “Heard you got run over by a car?”
Cherry pocketed her keys and shrugged at Benny by the stairs. The old man wore a baseball cap ontop of his grey hair. He was a constant sight day through day, it was almost a relief to see him sitting on his usual spot. The apartment building before them was a bit modern yet somehow managed to look ancient and rundown. “Nah. Was just a simple hit. I'm fine, though.”
“Did you at least got something from that asshole who hit you? S'got a fancy Monte Carlo, I heard.”
“Fancy, yes,” she sighed, “wish his manners were just as fancy, though.”
Benny chortled and opened his newspaper. He went on with his daily crossword and squinted through his wide-rimmed eyeglasses. Cherry took it as a cue to climb up the stairs and to her unit. It was a studio type of only twenty two square meters. As soon as she unlocked the door and locked it in a haste, the strong persona she had put on awhile ago vanished into thin air.
Why did she do that? She had clearly lost her mind. Now that the adrenaline washed away from her system, reality dawned on her. She didn't knew who the fuck he was. Who knew what that man can do. What if he was a cop? Or an important figure? Or her landlord? Or a hitman? Surely he'd be after her.
She leaned heavily against the door while kicking her shoes off. Stupid. You never learn.
Cherry grunted. Wednesdays really were the worst.