I stop on a landing and suck in a shuddering breath.
I stare at the empty staircase, listening for movement.
Why am I slightly disappointed that he didn’t pursue me?
There must be something fucking wrong with me.
It’s got to be the shock of what just happened.
Inside the safety of my apartment, I slide the deadbolt into place and let out a whoosh of air.
The violent scene of one man stabbing the other replays in my head as I go through the motions of kicking my boots off and hanging up my coat. I dump my purse on the small table that sits in the entryway of my apartment.
I’m scared to turn on any lights. Afraid I’ll draw the attention of the man in the alley. Is he down there now finishing the job? I creep toward my window in my kitchen that faces the alley. Isteal a glance down below, but I can’t see anything or anyone. Maybe it appeared worse than it was.
Maybe the guy deserved it.
Those steely eyes flash in my head.
I’ve never seen eyes like that before.
Then there’s his smile.
Calculated and dangerous.
Menacingly sexy.
Why are bad guys always so damn hot?
In books. In movies. The bad guy is always attractive.
My cell phone chirps from my purse, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
I check my phone. It’s only a text for twenty percent off my next pizza.
My stomach rumbles at the thought of greasy, cheesy goodness.
A man was just stabbed, and I’m thinking about food and the eyes of the assailant. There’s definitely something wrong with me. My mother must have dropped me as a child, or my dad didn’t hug me enough.
I laugh to myself at the ridiculous thought.
I flip on the lamp in the living room and continue down the short hallway to my bathroom to clean my wound.
I bite my lip as the cut stings under the warm soap and water.
I’ve always been a big baby when it comes to the sight of blood. It’s a wonder I didn’t pass out on the spot back there in the alley.
I let out a breath and cover my palm with some antibiotic ointment and slap a bandage over it. It isn’t as deep a cut as I had imagined. It’s really barely a scratch.
I have a nightly routine. I come in from work and lay out my pajamas on my bed. Then I turn on some music and light some candles before I take a shower.
After I shower, I have dinner and watch TV or read.
Except tonight I can’t stop thinking about the man holding the knife. It all happened so fast, but those eyes stared straight through my soul. They weren’t angry. Not surprised. Curious.
Not that curious is any better than the other options.
I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, unable to get those damn steel eyes and that smile out of my head.
