Influence

Chapter One-Defense

Truth is, I never wanted to be like this.

"Could I have a black coffee, please?" I ask nicely, pulling my jacket tighter around me to ward off the chill. Manny, my favorite coffee guy, nods and busies himself around his little cart. He parks in the same spot every day and I visit on most. His white smile is stark against his Hispanic skin and our fingers skim each other's when he hands me the coffee. "Thanks. Hope you have a good day, Manny." I tell him and he nods sweetly at me.

"You have a good day too, querida." Our eyes meet and I stare at him a little longer than necessary as his words go on a loop in my head. So simple. Telling someone to have a good day seems so easy. Benign. For me, every word in my mouth is a bullet in a gun.

New York is a unique place. Full of people milling about not giving a shit. It's great. Yet somehow, I'm always the one that gets covered in shit. Stumbling over a forgotten umbrella, I run face first into a woman's shoulder. She instantly shoves me off and I fall ass first into a puddle. My eyes shut a moment and I just sit there. Cold water seeps through my jeans and my eyes only open when I hear a strange sound. My coffee cup, rolling towards me now without the very thing that gave it purpose.

"What the absolute fucking shit," I ask myself rhetorically before standing at last. Water seeps down my jeans and I stare at the sky to avoid looking at the passersby ogling me. At least of course, until I hear screaming. Not the fun, stop-tickling-me, sort of laugh, but the oh-shit-I-don't-know-what-to-do-and-I'm-terrified kind. I spin in my little puddle towards the sound. My feet start moving towards it without my brain even thinking about it. Dodging running people, my eyes finally find the source of panic. The middle of the sidewalk is vacant except a man in a bright orange shirt curled up on the ground being kicked by three men. "Would you stop?" I ask, running up and hitting the concrete with my knees. Worried hands flit over the male to check for serious injury. The standing assholes take a second to get over their shock.

"Chick's got guts, but this ain't got nothin to do with you. Get outta here." A tall man with pale skin and hair the color of straw commands. I look up at him in particular and frown.

"Is this your first time doing this?" I ask him and watch his bushy blonde eyebrows furrow.

"What?" He asks intelligently. The man beside me groans and I only now see the blood soaking his side.

"He needs a hospital," I tell mostly myself, doing my best to yank the orange shirt to his feet with an arm anchored around my shoulders. Straw hair stops me with a rough hand on my shoulder.

"He'll be needing a morgue when we're done here, sweetheart. Let him go or I'll have to hurt ya." He threatens and angry acceptance settles in me. Gently, I lay orange shirt back on the ground.

"You give me no alternative then." Cracks emanate from my neck when I turn my head side to side. "Want to fight over him?" Skepticism enters his eyes while he and his buddies look me up and down. I'm thin, brown curls crushed under a navy beanie, dark eyes with darker half circles under them, pale skin, and a wet ass to top it all off. I must not look like much a threat because they smile.

"Your choice, baby." He says and simply takes a step towards me. "Free shot." He holds his hands out to the side. A corner of my lips turns up. My fist pulls back and I punch his face with just a little relish. Of course, I'm not an idiot. My one 'freebie' becomes two, then three, then four. It's only when straw-hair is on the ground that his buddies spring into action.

"Hold her back!" Brunet shouts while short and stout bumbles towards me. My arms are held behind my back before I can dodge and stout gets two good hits to my gut before I press myself back against the brunet and kick the face of short and stout. Pushing off his face gives me enough power to flip out of brunet's grasp. Now behind him, it takes a few hard punches over his kidneys and one sharp elbow to his head before he goes down. Short and stout is holding his bloody nose and I huff when he storms towards me. All two hundred pounds of him. His hands land on my ribs and I grunt when he turns and shoves me into a brick building.