I had just walked into the cafe to start my shift when Maggie came bouncing up to me, smiling brightly.
I looked at her, hesitant to ask what had her so excited, but one glance at the huge bouquet of gorgeous red roses in her hand and I knew.
"Cyrus feeling romantic again?" I asked Maggie, smirking slightly. It was adorable how she still blushed every time he did something romantic for her.
"Oh no, darling. These are for you," Maggie said, thrusting the bouquet into my arms.
"And it's got a note," she added in a singsong voice as I looked at her in confusion.
Why had I gotten roses when I wasn't romantically involved with anyone?
I fished through the flowers, found the little white note, and pulled it out.
"Happy Birthday, my love," the note said in elegant script.
Once I got over the initial flattery, I turned the card, expecting to see a name. Upon finding none, I looked up at Maggie questioningly.
"Who gave these to you?" I asked her, confused as to why somebody would send such beautiful flowers without taking credit.
"I don't know. They were outside the store when I got here," she replied.
I shrugged. It was probably just a prank, or sadly, perhaps delivered to the wrong address. Maybe I wasn't the only one in town whose birthday it was.
After putting away my stuff, I got to work organizing the books, bringing the roses out to the front with me.
"Should I just put them by the romance books? I really don't know what else to do with them," I asked Maggie.
I didn't even have any glass vases in my apartment to stand them up in, so they'd be put to better use here.
"You sure your secret admirer won't be offended?" she asked.
"I'm kind of just gonna keep my fingers crossed that it's a fluke. I mean, the last time I got hit on was sophomore year—and if it's that guy, then he needs to see I'm not interested and give up. It's been four years."
"He wasn't your type?" she asked.
"Truth is, I don't think I was his," I answered.
She raised her brows in confusion at my statement, but I just shook my head at her, trying to subtly gesture toward the customers who had just come in and were uncomfortably staring at the two of us. I sent an awkward smile at the customers before walking away to the back, where our romance books were.
I set the flowers on the small wooden coffee table we had in the center of two lounge chairs. The red roses actually looked very nice among the soft, woody browns of the reading area.
The day went by quickly, with me attending to the few regulars and sending side glances to the gorgeous roses. Unfortunately, there wasn't even a florist company's name written anywhere so I could send them back. The real recipient of the gorgeous flowers was just going to have to miss out.
Maggie wiggled her eyebrows at me every time she caught me looking at the roses, making me scrunch my nose in distaste.
She was convinced I had a secret admirer, while I knew better than to be that idealistic. It was obviously just a misunderstanding or an expensive prank, and I playfully rolled my eyes at her every time she suggested otherwise.
I wasn't involved with anyone, so unless the flowers were from my parents—who were forgetful enough to forget a card—they were pretty creepy if they were actually intended for me.
At lunch, Jay and Sophie stopped by, bringing with them a chocolate feast. While gorging myself on the delicious, creamy chocolate, I told them about the flowers.
To my dismay, that completely took over our conversation, and they came up with multiple theories—none of which seemed even remotely possible.
Sophie's theories were entirely gruesome, always ending with me being kidnapped by a lonely old man—whether he was a farmer or a retired pirate.
Jay's theories, on the other hand, were extremely romantic, full of fairy-tale scenarios. Maggie had a lot of fun with Jay's ideas, while she swatted at Sophie's head every time she voiced one of her morbid stories.
Maggie encouraged me to leave with my friends even though my shift hadn't ended yet. Before I left, she pressed an adorably wrapped gift into my hands, telling me it was from her and Cyrus both.
Although I would have rather seen Cyrus in person, I understood he wasn't well enough to come in.
I knew they loved me like their own, but I didn't want to bother Cyrus if he was too ill to be at the café. Cyrus wasn't one to be stopped easily—he must have been extremely sick to be absent for as long as he had.
Jay and Sophie refused to listen to me and got me dolled up, dragging me to a party one of Sophie's friends was throwing.
I had tried bargaining with them, but my criminal-minded friends had all but kidnapped me, insisting this was for the best and that I needed to get out more.
Admittedly, I wasn't very social—but was that truly something that needed fixing?
I actually quite enjoyed my introvert lifestyle.
When we finally arrived at the house, I cringed as we walked in. The music was mind-numbingly loud, and the drunk people were far too excited to see each other.
I stood next to Jay, trying to talk to his friends and not be my awkward self for once—trying to let loose and have fun.
But really, parties weren't my definition of fun.
I didn't particularly understand the hype of getting intoxicated and rubbing your privates on a stranger—though, if that made them happy, they were free to do as they pleased.
Birthdays weren't very important to me, especially not if it was my own.
So, if it made Sophie and Jay happy, I'd just suffer through the loud music and the putrid smell of alcohol.
It also put my parents' minds at rest; they'd always worried that I stayed in reading more than was healthy.
Their excitement over me going out had outlasted my high school years and trickled into my university life—as if moving away from home to live alone wasn't enough proof that I could take care of myself.
I soon found myself sitting on a couch in the house while my friends tried to get me to come dance with them, making odd gestures from the dance floor.
Fortunately, the weird rope move Jay was currently doing worked on the couple next to me, and they made their way to the dance floor.
I stayed in my seat, laughing at their attempts before motioning to them that I was leaving. Of course, they had no idea what I was saying, so I decided I would just message them and leave.
Luckily, I had the keys to Sophie's car—she had told me I could go home whenever I liked.
I searched through my purse, trying to find my phone, before realizing I had left it at the café. That was probably why I hadn't gotten a call from my parents to wish me a happy birthday.
I figured I would just grab it from the café on my way home; otherwise, my overprotective parents would freak out and either call the cops or show up at my apartment.
I said a quick goodbye to my friends and, after assuring them I would get home safely and promising to call them when I got home, I was finally out of that party.
After being cramped in a house that smelled like booze, smoke, and sweat, the chilly night air that caressed my skin was an absolute blessing.
I sucked in a huge breath of fresh air, getting strange looks from the people who had ventured outside the house—not that it mattered.
I was a strange person, and growing up, I'd gotten used to the weirded-out stares thrown my way.
All people were different—that was accepted—but the results of these differences weren't. The portrayals of them were gawked at, mocked even, especially during our youth.
I drove slowly and carefully to the cafe grabbing my spare set of keys.
I got out of the car locking it and getting startled by the confirming beeping sound it made.
I quickly let myself into the cafe grabbing my phone and walking back out locking the door.
I smiled at my phone when I saw the sweet birthday wishes lighting up the screen.
My happiness was cut short when I suddenly felt an arm go around my waist and a large cold clammy hand clamp onto my face, preventing me from screaming.
I struggled against the vile hands trying to get free but the man held me tightly.
I felt him tighten his grip, effectively cutting off my air intake causing me to struggle more.
"Stop struggling hot stuff we are going to have so much fun." A croaky voice whispered into me ear.
I panicked starting to feel light headed.
The absolute disgust of being touched against my will,as a woman alone at night making my face twist up immediately.
It seemed some people didn't understand for it wasn't uncommon for a woman to go through some form of assault through the duration of her life, and not just women but men too.
To me it seemed too many of us had gone through it.
Whether it had been as small as holding onto our wrist, or grabbing us, or as horrid as sexual assault, it all made you feel filthy.
The way his hands gripped me tightly as if I were just an object for him to possess, to grab when he wanted, not a living breathing person.
My panicked state didn't allow me to do much damage, but the one thing that every parent, every book and movie had taught me was the only thing that stood out in my foggy mind—kick him in the groin.
My leg raised on its own accord, and I reeled it back only to have the misfortune of kicking his thigh instead, the slight heel pushing into the skin, but the man was adamant on keeping his hold on me.
His hand seemed to envelope my whole face now, constricting my breathing and causing my mind to get foggier, nearly completely losing focus.
I struggled in his hold, trying to get his hand off, unintentionally ramming my elbow into his diaphragm.
He wheezed, loosening his hold for a moment but tightening it again, now pressing painfully onto my nose.
"You're going to regret that, you little wrench," he grunts into my ear, pulling my body closer to his, my eyes starting to water as oxygen fails to go into my lungs.
"I was going to go easy on you, but not anymore," he whispered into my ear.
As if I owed him any compliance at all.
As if I were some doll, some pet that had to behave for him.
My struggles grew more fervent, and I kicked backwards as hard as I could, wiggling in his grasp.
A slight "oomph" sounded behind me, letting me know I'd connected with a weak spot, but he was too drunk to care about pain.
His hold on me grew tighter until it felt like I couldn't breathe, his hand covering my mouth and nose completely, not allowing any space for air to trickle in.
If I passed out there was no knowing what he'd do to me—there was no escaping.
No one would be out at this time of the night, not in this part of town, and the people who would, wouldn't bother to help.
My lungs began to ache, begging for air, my body beginning to grow weak until it was difficult to even wiggle in his grasp.
"That's it, sugar, just let go. I'll take care of ya," the man promised falsely, his words nearly falling on deaf ears as I tried once more to elbow him—only for him to squeeze my midriff tighter, until it felt like my ribs would crack.
Black dots began to appear in my vision, my panic not helping me, when suddenly the man holding me was ripped off of me.
My saviour was dressed in a suit and towered over my assailant, making him seem small and meek—when just moments ago he'd seemed to hold all the power.
The man threw his fist into the face of the dirty, old man, and I swayed slightly in my woozy state.
A loud crack resonated, ringing in my ears as I struggled to stay conscious, but even in my panicked state I flinched, my foggy mind only conjuring up how hard it would be to clean the blood off the sidewalk in front of the cafe.
I took deep, gasping breaths, trying to get large amounts of air into my lungs, but my already weak heart wasn't able to handle it, and I fell further into the darkness, my legs crumbling under me.
Warm, strong arms wrapped gently around my waist, the stranger cradling me as if I were a delicate girl
My eyes opened only to see stormy grey eyes, surrounded by thick black lashes, gazing deeply into my own, before my eyelids grew much too heavy to keep up.
As the darkness sucked me into its safe hold, I heard a husky, deep voice whispering, "You're safe, little one."