Museums

2.5

I tug my jean jacket a bit closer around me. The subway has left the station, it was strangely empty. My phone illuminates my face as I check the time. I stayed out until 2AM. Shay probably thinks I've been murdered or worse... mom's caught up with me and taken me home.

My footsteps echo as I walk past a few drunk partygoers. One girl in a short glitter dress laughs so loudly that she teeters on her stilettos. Her friend catches her before they both tumble onto the ground.

I'm caught up in their spectacle so I don't see when the man in the hoodie approaches me. When I notice the gray sweatshirt I immediately tuck my cell into the back of my pants. I always take this precaution. Just in case I ever were to get kidnapped, I'd prefer to keep my phone hidden.

He walks straight at me. I hold my breath, wishing I could stay near the drunk girls, or at least warn them. But, he's so close and his hand is jammed inside his pocket. I cowardly press myself against the wall once he's around the corner. A slow, steady breath emits from my lips. I am okay. I am okay. I am okay. He's gone now.

Something cold against my hip changes my mind. I am not okay. He is not gone.

My eyes squeeze shut and the gun moves against my ribcage. Sweat has already started to dampen my hair and trickle down my neck.

"I don't have that much money." I breathe, trying not to look at him.

His response is the single most terrifying, unexpected phrase.

"I am so sorry." He whispers. His voice cracks on the word, 'so.' I dare to glance at his face. He's younger than I expected. Hispanic, with kind brown eyes. How could I say kind eyes as he held my life in his hands?

He had tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I don't have any other choice." He swallowed.

Horrified, I pull my backpack off and shuffle through it. My hand brushes against the pepper spray, I linger there for a second. He seems to realize, pressing the gun against my scalp now.

I pull cash out of my wallet and crumple it in my hand. And then I do possibly the stupidest thing I have ever done. I stare straight down the barrel of the gun and say, "What do you need this for? Drugs?"

He shakes his head, more tears spilling.

"Good. Because if it's for drugs you'll have to take it over my dead body." I proclaim. My stance looks threatening, but I'm shivering. It ruins the effect. "What is it for?"

He suddenly becomes shifty, making sure no one is near.

"I need to get out of here." He cries. He cocks the gun. "Please give me the money."

With a sharp intake of breath, I lean forward, pressing my forehead to the gun.

"Go ahead. Do me a favor. Kill me right here. I'd be happy to die. In fact I've been dreaming about this for quite a while. I'm not afraid. But I know you are. You deserve more than this. Please don't go to prison over murdering me. I'll give you this money."

I hand him a wad of cash, shoving it at him.

He takings it in his quivering hands and mutters a simple, "Thank you. Thank you so much." Before running away.

I stumble backward, my knees clattering together.

Shay. I've got to call Shay.

I slide through my recent calls, knowing she's the only person I ever talk to. The dial tone rings in my ear. Suddenly my feet are propelling me forward and into the New York night. A few taxi's park against the curb, waiting for someone to hail them. There's surprisingly no one out tonight. Only a few homeless people stumbling drunkenly.

The call is received and before Shay can say 'hello' I break down.

"Shay, I've just been mugged and I'm still far from home and I'm scared. Please come pick me up. I don't have any money for a taxi. God, I'm so scared." I cry, tears tracing the curve of my face.

"Shilo?" A voice asks.

Oh shit. It's Noah.

"Noah, oh, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry." I squeak.

"Shilo where are you? I'll come pick you up." He asks. His voice is gentle.

"No. I just need Shay. Please, forget this ever happened. I didn't mean to call, I'm sorry." I hang up quickly. Shay's number is right below, I must have forgotten that Noah was my most recent call.

She doesn't pick up. Panic bubbles inside me. Not now. Not now.

I try TJ. He doesn't answer the first time. The second call, his sleepy voice says, "Shilo? It's two in the morning."

"TJ. I got mugged. Shay isn't picking up. I need help." My voice crackles with every word.

"What? Shit, Shi, she's here with me. We're coming right now. Send me your location."

Sniffling, I send TJ the information and try to stop crying. The adrenaline is slowing wearing off. I feel wearier every second I'm standing. I had forgotten that New York, despite its beauty and glamour, was a goddamn dangerous place to live.