The Desert Standoff

follows the small mugger out of the side door of the club and down the alleyway where the prick stops just in front of a metal gate that he apparently can’t climb. “Alright, you ass, give it back!” Natalie demands, and the mugger turns. She isn’t expecting the way that he is smiling. She isn’t ready for the bloodcurdling scream that she hears behind her, knowing full well she’s likely the only one who heard it.
She realizes this was a trap just a moment too late. Natalie makes a mistake. She turns to see the screaming, only to see Suzi get hit across the temple, hard. Blood is already matting her pretty hair from the first strike. The dapper man stands there, catching Suzi as she falls. To make sure there is no mistake in his intentions, he squeezes Suzi’s breast firmly through her dress to make sure that Natalie can see it. Natalie only makes it a half step toward the man, enraged, when the mugger’s footsteps come up behind her and the golden chain of her bag is wrapped around her throat.
“No, no, keep her too. I like the way her ass fills out that dress. She’ll make a nice price. I can see her as a ‘Snow White Virgin’. Doesn’t even matter if she really is or not—” the man chuckles “—we both know she won’t be for long either way.”
The man behind her laughs even as he’s choking her.
“I mean it; I’m selling them both,” Dapper Man insists and Natalie can just barely hear the groan of frustration from behind her. Black dots are starting to appear in the corners of her vision. She isn’t sure how much longer she can make it. Her fingers scramble uselessly against the chain, fighting to breathe or break the damn thing further, her legs attempting to kick at the man behind her to no avail. Finally, he drops her—and the last thing she sees is his boot coming for her head.

  3 Natalie
G ross.
Something smells like cigarettes.
Not like she herself has been smoking them but that somebody near or around her has been smoking a whole hell of a lot of them. Natalie cannot stand cigarette smoke. Her mother used to smoke. Her mother has a three-pack-a-day habit, something that she picked up because somewhere in her youth, somebody told her that the more she smoked the less she was likely to eat. Therefore, by her mother's logic smoking keeps you skinny. That or the diet of prescription pills that she constantly ingests or the cheap tequila that she likes to chase them down with. Whatever it is that keeps the woman vomiting, that’s what keeps her skinny.
Natalie woke up one morning to the feeling of her mother attempting to stuff laxatives down her throat, and when Natalie woke up and punched her square in the eye Mother had her thrown in jail for a week for assault. Then the next time, she attempted to administer the laxatives rectally against Natalie’s consent. That was the fifth time that Natalie ran away from home and yet every time the police or services would pick her up they would always take her back home. No matter how much truth Natalie told them. No matter how bad she explained things were or the fact that she had mountains of proof in her pocket—they always took her back home, always touting that a mother belongs with her daughter. Perhaps they felt bad for her mother. Perhaps that was why they always looked at her with that special sad look of pity whenever she would throw herself on the lawn, sobbing about how much she missed Natalie. Perhaps that was it. No matter what she did they always liked Mother best. Natalie resigned herself a long time ago to the fact that she was just always going to come second in her own life.
At least until she met Suzi.
Where is Suzi? Hopefully she isn’t the one smoking. Suzi knows how much Natalie hates it. It triggers her. Not to mention the world of bad memories. Both of them attempt to ignore the fact that Natalie even has a mother most of the time so it shouldn’t be an issue. Did she bring somebody who smokes back to the dorm? That’s the more likely scenario, Natalie thinks.
Oh, she drank too much.
Everything hurts.
Natalie doesn’t even attempt to open her eyes at first. She’s still trying to shake the fog from her head before she attempts that, but she thinks that she can pad her way into the bathroom by herself. She’s familiar enough with the routine. Then she can park herself into a nice, scalding-hot shower until the world starts to feel normal again. That’s the plan.
Natalie attempts to move her feet but can’t.
In her mind, she envisions herself sliding one of her feet out from underneath the covers of her bed until it hits the floor and she’s ready for the shock of cold that will result from her bare feet on the cold tile of their dorm room.
Only her feet aren’t bare and she cannot seem to get them free of the covers.
No, not covers.
Something tighter. Did she slipped her shoe on weight and pass out before she could mess with it? It certainly isn’t comfortable. Whenever she tries to wriggle her toes, they don’t want to move. She can barely feel the way they rub against the sole of her shoe ... like they are cold or they have lost feeling.
The pain comes from her ankle. Not like she’s twisted it, it feels like something else. It feels like her legs are strapped together. The smell of cigarettes is only getting worse the more she’s starting to wake up. Cloying, like it wants to make a home in her brain and she’s reminded of home. Only that’s not possible. Her