Popping The Cherry. Aurelia Rowl B.

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СКАЧАТЬ stood on the corner of the junction and I stared in each direction, finally convincing myself that the glow seemed stronger coming from the left. Setting off again, I’d walked only another five hundred and twenty-seven steps when I spotted a bus stop glinting in the distance.

       Yes!

      Unfortunately, it wasn’t like the modern ones I was used to, with the digital board telling you the time and when the next bus was due. There was a timetable on the wall, though. And that meant I could study the route and finally work out where I was and try to figure out a way home. A car sped past, the first one I’d heard for ages, but I didn’t think anything of it until car doors banged and I realised the car had stopped a little further up the road.

      Footsteps drew nearer—two sets of footsteps, in fact—so I shot a look over my shoulder. The street lights cast a dim orange glow, offering just enough light for me to see two men approaching the bus shelter. My body recognised the threat before my eyes had even focused properly. They were slowing down, looking right at me rather than ignoring me, so I turned my attention back to the timetable, hoping they’d get the message and keep walking.

      ‘Hey, gorgeous,’ one of them said, his voice slurred. ‘What are you doing here all by yourself? You know it’s not safe for a good looking girl like you, you never know what might happen.’

      His partner in crime laughed, and not in a friendly way. The sound made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and stand on end.

       Shit!

      Every instinct screamed at me to get the hell out of there.

      A sudden surge of adrenaline raced through my veins, making my heart beat frantically inside my chest. I couldn’t stay in my Perspex prison. That would be way too dumb. I was like a sitting duck—except that I was standing, not sitting—and, according to the timetable, the next bus might not be along until morning. Keeping my head held high, I thrust my shoulders back and started walking, continuing down the road. I’d have to find a phone box, or a taxi, or flag someone down maybe.

      Typical.

      The only time I needed a road to be busy, there wasn’t a car in sight. I decided to cross over, just in case I was being silly and letting my overactive imagination run away with me. No such luck: the two men crossed the road behind me as well. Well, I hoped Hayden and the rest of Screwed felt bad when they read the news reports in the morning about the girl they’d abandoned at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere who got attacked and …

      Screwed.

      I swallowed.

      No, I couldn’t think like that. I needed to stay calm, think clearly. Focus.

      Breathe …

      I can do this.

      As a kid, I’d had big dreams of representing Great Britain in the Olympics, but not as a long-distance runner. My cross-country coach had a right go at me once for not trying hard enough, but I hated it—and him, to be honest—as it just wasn’t for me, not by a long shot. I didn’t have the stamina for it and my lungs always felt as if they were about to explode, which all pointed to my having to conserve my energy now, to try to outsmart these two goons rather than leg it and run out of steam.

      I picked up my pace instead but, judging by the footsteps, the men had sped up, too. Damn it, I hadn’t even got a good look at their faces, but it was no good turning around now. My breath formed clouds in front of my face as my feet pounded the pavement.

      Think, Lena. Think.

      The bus timetable had imprinted itself in my brain, so I worked back from the stop I recognised. Finally, I had a good idea where I was, and if I was right, and if I remembered rightly, there was a small shopping precinct somewhere along this road. It couldn’t be too much further away, either, maybe another quarter of a mile or so, and I was pretty sure one of the shops was an Indian takeaway. On a Friday night, surely they would be open late. All I had to do was get there, and then, hopefully, they’d let me use their phone, and everything would be fine.

      Ha! Yeah right … nothing to it.

      I crossed the road again, putting me on the right side of the road for the shops, and again the goons followed. There was no way it could be a coincidence, no chance at all. They were after me. While I’ll never be a long-distance runner, I’d always been pretty good over short distances, especially sprints. I used to be able to outsprint half of the boys at school, and I got picked to represent the county one year. The two goons didn’t seem to be gaining on me—yet—so, with the element of surprise, I could maybe get enough of a head start to reach the Indian before they caught up with me.

      It had to be worth a shot, and I didn’t exactly have any other bright ideas.

      The voice of my old track coach roared in my head, yelling at me to get my hands out of my pockets and swing my arms like a pendulum; telling me I’d need to create extra momentum and to use my arms to drive my legs, that and be thankful my favourite Schuhs had only a small heel, which shouldn’t compromise my balance and stride length too much.

      A flicker of hope sparked to life when I saw bright lights three hundred metres or so away—I was right—but then I noticed that the footsteps behind me were getting louder, closing down the distance with each stride. It was as if they knew they were running out of time. An attack of nerves brought bile to the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down. It was now or never.

       Go!

      Another spike of adrenaline hit and I launched myself into a full-on sprint, trying to stay in control and not run like a maniac, waving my arms in the air like a pathetic damsel in distress. I gained only a second or two’s advantage before they started running as well, but it could be enough. My hair flew out behind me as the wind bit at my face, clawing at my lungs from the inside, but my years of training kicked in and I pumped my arms as hard and fast as I could, forcing my legs to match. I opened out my stride pattern, trying to trick my body into thinking it was just another session on the track.

      Less than a hundred metres to go, and the lights were getting brighter, but the goons had reached full speed now, too. It was going to be close, too close to call. I was running the race of my life and I couldn’t afford to lose.

      Twenty metres … the muscles in my arms and legs were on fire.

      Ten metres … the fire spread to my lungs, ready to give up.

      Five metres … a hand grabbed my shoulder but I shrugged it off and dodged its grip.

      One metre … I ran full pelt towards the door to the takeaway and prayed that it opened.

      Both of my feet were off the ground when my outstretched palms hit the glazed door. It burst open with such force, I half expected it to smash, or come off in my hands, wrenched away from its hinges. A loud shriek met my sudden arrival and the lady behind the counter leaped to her feet with a look of pure shock over her face. I carried on sailing through the air, my body in flight, as the floor got alarmingly close.

      Then it all got really weird, as though I’d hit a switch to turn everything into slow motion, with my senses on high alert, taking in every sight and sound. I swore I heard laughter from outside, and the sound of a car pulling up, but then the door slammed shut behind me, creating a draught strong enough to scatter paper flyers and menus all over the floor. What a pity there weren’t enough of them to cushion my fall.

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