That’s me. Today.
It takes enormous effort, but I slow down. I’m going to need two hands to fight, and I don’t want him to see me watching him on the phone, so I slip it back into my pocket and step close to the wall.
He’s got plenty of room to pass now, if that’s his intention.
Rule two of street fighting: keep your back to a wall. Don’t let them get behind you and don’t drop, no matter what, or they’ll kick, which is absolutely worse than a punch.
Despite my slow strides, he’s not slowing. And he’s not even trying to hide the sound of his approach.
Maybe he will just go past.
My heart is beating so hard. It feels like everything is happening too fast.
Closer, closer.
He’s right behind me now.
I can feel him there.
Closer, closer.
My fist clenches in an automatic fight response, comes up strong, andsmack! It collides directly with his chin.
“Fuck!” he cries out. “Fuck!”
He’s on the ground, and he hits it hard, splaying out on his back, hands flying up to cover his face.
God, I feel so guilty.Shit. What if it’s not him? What if I’ve just assaulted this poor guy? And what if itishim? Fuck, that looked like it hurt. Did he really deserve that?
Yes!
Maybe?
What is wrong with me?
I’m still standing here, stuck to the spot, pain ringing through my fist, but I’m ready to go again. If he attacks me, I’m…
That’s when he looks up.
And his face.
That’smyface.
That’s myexactface.
Why the fuck does this man have my face?
Breathing hard, he drags the mound of his palm across his split lip, briefly glances at the blood there, then spits on the ground.
His dark eyes meet mine, and like a knife straight in my gut, he says, “Hello, August. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
CHAPTER THREE
GOOD AUGUST
IS BESIDE HIMSELF. LITERALLY.
What do I do? What thefuckdo I do?
