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I’m here, but I don’t feel like myself. The figure moves again, and the anger that has been sitting underneath everything all day finally finds somewhere to go. My laugh comes out fast and the person in front of me pauses.

“You really thought this was going to work?” The words come out surprisingly exasperated. “You really thought you’d fucking drug me and then what?”

Damien’s voice changes through the phone. “What are you doing?”

I don’t reply, I look at the mask instead, the stupid costume and cowardice hidden underneath it. “Take one more step, and I’ll fucking rip your eyes out.”

For a second he stops, tilts his head and laughs. Slowly he lifts his wrist, the watch catches the streetlight and I stare at it, confused.

My body answers for him, everything starts slipping away. The lights smear together, my heartbeat is way too fast, and I blink. “What did you… What did you put in my drink?”

My legs give up entirely and I fall down to my knees.

The world tilts and all I can hear clearly is Damien’s voice who’s still on the phone.

“I’m on my way,” he says. “Stay with me. Don’t hang up.”

The figure walks closer.

“I can’t move...” I whisper, fighting the urge to close my eyes.

His voice changes as the gloved hand brushes against my cheek.

“You’re not going to let him hurt you. I know you.” I don’t have the strength to reply to Damien and try my hardest to shove this person away. “Don’t give him your fear, Mireya,” he continues and my eyes catch the cracks in the paint of the plague mask from how close he is now. I see my reflection on it, pale, tired, disappearing slowly.

“I’m coming,” is the last thing I hear before the phone slips from my fingers.

And then everything goes dark.

42

Damien

Play - Leave Me Lonely by Ariana Grande and Macy Gray

Ultraviolet

She told me to come. Two words, ‘come here.’

No explanation, nothing clear, just my name leaving her mouth and I drove faster than I should have.

The only thing I keep focusing on since she stopped replying to me, is the knowledge that every second passing between her call and my arrival was a second where I was not there.

The street is empty, and quiet with some faded music from the club thudding in the background when I park.

I see her phone lying face-down near the curb, the screen is still lit and my stupid nickname is on it. Then I see her slumped against the brick wall, head tipped forward, dark and long hair falling over her face. Her bag is open and the contents are scattered across the pavement like she dropped everything the second her body stopped cooperating.

There’s a man in front of her but he’s not the one she was talking about. No mask, no costume, and he looks drunk. He’s standing too close from her, with one hand half-raised like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

I don’t know his name and I don’t know if it’s him, I don’t know anything but all I know is that he looked at her like she was an opportunity.

Something in my head goes still and I hit him. My fist connects with his jaw before I even feel myself moving. His head snaps to the side, his body stumbling backwards as a shocked sound leaves him. I don’t hear the music from the club, nor what he says. There is only the image of her against the wall, the phone on the ground and her voice telling me she couldn’t move.

So I hit him again, this time he falls backward into the pumpkins lining the sidewalks as he curses. He swears, hands up now, shouting something I don’t hear.

“Get away from her,” is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.

He scrambles to his feet and backs off fast, muttering that he “didn’t do anything,” that he “was just trying to help,” before disappearing down the street.