The Girl Who Would Be King(59)

“Ow,” he says touching his lip. I look at him, horrified. I want to make it better, undo what I’ve done, but the woman is still screaming and it’s all I can hear.

“Oh my god,” I say, covering my mouth and sitting up. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry…”

“Yeah, I’m fine, are you okay?” he asks.

“Uh-huh. Yes. Fine. But um, I have to go,” I say, scrambling to get up.

“Right now?” he asks, stunned.

“Yes!” I call, already at the elevator and pushing the button.

“Bonnie!” he yells after me, his voice a mix of confusion and concern.

“I’m sorry!” I yell as the elevator doors close behind me. And I am sorry. I’ve just ruined my first kiss and maybe now I’ll never even get it. He’ll probably never want to kiss me again. Man, I’m never going to have nice things. By the time I burst out the front door onto the street the woman’s screams are muffled. I’m worried I won’t be able to find her, but I run south, and strain my ears for more. I hear her twice more, and it’s just enough to pinpoint her. I come crashing into a black alleyway and see two men shapes looming over a woman. I stand there for just a minute and one looks at me warily while the other smiles as if he’s getting a two for one special.

“Get her,” he whispers to the wary one, but it sounds like a booming command in my ears. He rushes me, despite his wariness, and he’s big and fast. When he’s an arm-length away I ball up my fist and throw it at his face. I connect and the sound of his cheek shattering is surprising bliss. He cries out and holds his cheek like a baby. His friend is cussing in the background. Broken Cheek comes at me again, less wary and more pissed. He lunges and manages to grab a bit of my shirt as I spring backward. We fall to the ground ungracefully. I hear the other one coming closer but I can’t see him with Broken Cheek on top of me. I smack him in the same cheek as before and he wails and bucks up enough that I’m able to get my feet between our bodies. I launch him off of me, and hopefully into the lower stratosphere. His friend is on me before Broken Cheek even lands, thirty feet away in a moaning heap. The friend has a blade and he stabs at me with it. I move just enough that it misses my midsection and breaks his wrist when it connects with the concrete beneath me. He recovers quickly though and I’m barely able to get up before he’s coming back at me. I hear the sound of feet running for the other end of the alley and hope it’s the woman, escaping. The knife comes at me again with his other uninjured hand and I juke backwards and swat hard at his wrist. The knife pops free and clatters across the ground, sliding to a stop under a dumpster, nicely out of reach. He yells out in frustration and runs at me, but I grab the edges of his shirt and use his own momentum to send him flying at the wall. He hits it head-first with a dull wet thud. I stand in the alley quietly, waiting to see if either will get up for more, but they’re done.

I’m about to exit the way I came in when I see the woman again, with two policemen in tow. She’s pointing at the three of us and saying something garbled. A policeman says ‘freeze,’ and I do, for just a second, before turning and running full tilt for the opening at the other end of the alleyway. One of them chases me half-heartedly, but I’m already gone.

A few blocks from the scene I start my walk home, lost in conflicting thoughts of Clark’s mouth and beating up rapists in an alleyway. It was less than twenty minutes ago that I was there with Clark in his magical rooftop garden but somehow it feels like a lifetime ago. It’s dawning on me now more than ever before that getting to have Clark and still being me is nearly impossible, something I’ll never quite manage. Without even realizing it, however, I find I’ve wandered back to Clark’s building instead of home, perhaps some part of me deciding to fight the idea that I can’t have both things, can’t be both things. Drowning in some toxic mixture of euphoria, regret, excitement, and resistance, I almost don’t see him until I’m right in front of him as he closes the door to the building I’d run out of such a short time ago.

“Bonnie?” He looks me up and down. I must be a mess – the kind of unsexy mess you become after rolling around on New York City streets – but I don’t care. I don’t say anything, I just step toward him. Our bodies fit together, some parts touching lightly, others pressing tightly. I brush his lips lightly with mine, unsure of everything, except what I want. He tastes alive and beautiful, and a little like vanilla. We part for just a second, his eyes searching mine, and then he puts his hand on my neck, his thumb brushing my cheek, my jawbone. He pulls me in closer and kisses me deeply.