Trep-i-da-tion
[trep-i-dey-shuh n]
Noun
1. Tremulous fear, alarm, or agitation; perturbation
2. Trembling or quivering movement; tremor
"If it senses any trepidation at all, it will try to own you."
~~
1894
I've always liked the cold. I like the feeling of the cool, crisp air whipping across my skin, raising my goosebumps as it goes along. It grounds me. Reminds me that I'm still a person that can feel. Being in a small town can take its toll on you. I don't have many friends to talk to and, even if I did, I couldn't talk to them about how I'm feeling. I'm not supposed to do things like that. Instead, I take walks, particularly night walks. The town is always quiet at night. Everyone is asleep, and I can get some peace.
Being from a small town is hard. There isn't much to do, and there aren't many new people to meet. The only things to do are gamble, cheat, and drink. So, I gamble. It's the only thing that helps me feel anything. It gives me an adrenaline rush. That's how I spend most of my time and money. Any other time, I'm drinking, sleeping, or walking.
After wasting another night, I'm on my way home. I stumble down the sidewalk, catching myself on every building. I look down my arm and towards my hand. There seems to be three circling one another.
"Shit," I mumble to myself, "I got too drunk tonight." I pull my hand away from the building and continue to stagger down the sidewalk. Putting one foot in front of the other is seemingly impossible.
After gaining only a few paces, I hear a door slam open behind me. I attempt to turn around to see, but I lose my balance and tumble to the ground. My hands barely break my fall as I land on my behind.
"Hey!" I hear a man scream. I try to pick up my head to see the unlucky person who crossed this man. Footsteps come in my direction. There are multiple people, not just one man. They stop at my feet. I lazily look up to see who they are.
"Ahh, well, hello gentlemen," I greet them in an attempt to sound sober and chivalrous, "what do I to this pleasure owe?" My words tumble out incoherently.
There are three men glaring down at me. One in the middle is tall and strong. He has dark, beady eyes with a sharp jaw. The other two are forgettable. They all seem to have the same face.
The middle man scoops down and grabs a fist full of my shirt collar. He effortlessly pulls me up, meeting my face to his. Suddenly, I am acutely aware of what's happening. It was only a matter of time before I got jumped for not paying, again.
"Where's my money, Stales?" he growled. I wince away from his offensive smell. I didn't even know his name, but his breath was awful.
"First of all," I begin, "your breath is awful. Secondly, the name is Styles. And C, I don't have any money." I started chuckling, which slowly began to build into a deep chested laughter.
"Oh, that's adorable! You thought I, Harry Styles, had money?" I roar with laughter, "Everybody knows I don't have any money." At this point, I can't even control myself. I'm almost in a choke hold by this man of reeks of piss and booze, and I find the entire situation hilarious. I really need to stop drinking...
"You think this is funny?" the big man questions me. I can't even help it. I nod and laugh even harder. By this time, I can barely breathe. "Well, let's see how hard you're laughing when my fist is in your throat!" With one swift movement, he pulls his arm back and hits me square in the mouth. He lets go of my shirt, and I hit the ground hard. My head forcefully meets the concrete. The wind is knocked out of me, and my head is spinning. Suddenly, nothing is funny. Before I can even regain my composure, I see a boot clad foot flying towards my face. I can't breathe. He kicks me again, this time in the stomach.
"Aww, why aren't you laughing anymore?" He taunts me as his two buddies join in. I have at least three different shoes kicking me in various parts of my body. Everything hurts. There's blood everywhere. I can't see out of my left eye anymore. I just want to go home. I try to imagine myself taking a nice shower and laying down in my bed. I close my eyes as my body still takes blows from these three men.
Suddenly, the big man pulls me off the ground again. "I want my money tomorrow," he spits in my face, "or I'll fucking kill you." He throws my body down to the ground. I watch from the concrete as the three men walk away together, laughing. I see them reenacting the whole fight, from the man punching me to all of them kicking me. I don't have enough energy to be angry. A tear slides out as I lay on the cold concrete. My body hurts. I'm so tired. I just want to be in my bed.
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rewritten
