Pink

I picture the image in my head: A small, skinny girl with shoulder length bubblegum-pink hair, standing confrontationally in front of a man twice her size. He has a massive stomach and fists the size of plates and is grinning at the girl’s pathetic attempt to scare him. It seems funny in my head now, but at the time I was livid. I had to ask, “What the hell are you doing here?”

I remember the look on his face when I asked him that. I’d only ever seen him look that angry once before and that hadn’t ended well. After the initial shock, he bellowed a laugh that sent shivers throughout my whole body. My very soul shook with nerves; I knew that my eyes were betraying me, showing just how scared I was. “What the hell am I doing here?” he asked smiling, “You silly bitch, I own you! I’ll be here night and day until the breath leaves your lungs”. The words made me shake. I was always a confident girl, my bubblegum-pink hair was proof of that, but I was always unsure of how to win against a man such as him.

And so I just stood there, looking at the floor, trying not to cry. He sat down in my armchair and said, “Make us a cuppa. I’m parched!” Hating him but hating myself even more, I succumbed and trudged into the tiny kitchen to make this man tea. I picked up a teabag and my eyes were drawn to the spider tattoo on my wrist. Suddenly, it looked so small and stupid. How could I think that I was an independent woman when there was always him lurking in the shadows? I was nothing but a silly little girl. His little girl. The need to shower was overpowering.

As the feeling of disgust completely overpowered me I slammed the mug down. ‘I’m going to leave’ I thought to myself, ‘I am going to turn around right this second, walk straight out the door and I’m never coming back no matter how many times he calls me.’ As I turned around my heart stopped, he was standing there in the doorway. The mug slamming down must have alerted him. I started to shake as I raised my eyes to meet his piercing gaze.

And that's when the doorbell rang.

*****

For twenty-one years Michael Ewan had been told that if someone tries to bully you, don't hide or run away, but stand up and confront your attacker. Due to this outlook on life, he had always been well respected amongst his peers and was rarely challenged physically. Despite his tough attitude, however, he had quite soft features. His muscles were visible but small, his hands slender and white, and his face comparable to a Saint.

He was, as you would guess, a quietly intelligent. When with friends, he rarely spoke, but when he did, it would be something interesting or funny. Everyone thought he was the perfect man. He needed to rebel. Rebel in what way though, Michael asked himself. He didn’t want to do your run of the mill, robbing liquor stores, beating up tough guys, sleeping with lots of women and walking around in a constant alcohol fueled haze. No he wanted to do something big. Something that would put him down in history as a legend, someone to be reckoned with. He had the smarts, and he knew he could pull off something that no one had ever dared to try. He wanted to make up for the years of good behavior. That’s what brought him to the bar, standing and watching the very woman that would help him with his daredevil scheme.

It was reckless. He knew it was reckless. The woman at the bar glanced up, caught him looking and gave a little smile. He'd seen that smile before on hundreds of girls but this time he didn't feel the warm bubble of excitement or flattery. This time he meant business. He felt nervous, how could he not? But he had a job to do. He walked confidently over to her, cleverly concealing the writhing snakes in his stomach. When he was close enough to her, he could smell her perfume. It intoxicated him. She was very pretty, much prettier than he'd realised. Slowly, she looked at him again and nonchelently finished her glass of sparkling champagne.

"So" she said in a voice of silk, "Are you going to stare at me all night or are you going to buy me a drink?"