My hero.

My feet carried me along the wet cobblestones right in the middle of the roadway; headlight beams scattered to the sides from cars swerving around me, mixed horns sounded, all aimed at my soul. I vaguely understood what was happening, or rather, didn't understand at all, completely unable to assess the trajectory of my movement. I twisted my ankle on the slippery road surface, broke a heel, kicked off both shoes, and wanted to continue my journey into the unknown. As soon as my feet felt the coolness of the wet, uneven road, I felt a hard shove and fell. I realized it was a hit from a car's right rear fender. A man ran out of it and began examining me, asking how I was.

I got up and silently trudged on. He stood there, watching me go in a state of shock, then caught up with me.

"Miss, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. I have to go."

He just stayed there, watching me with his eyes until I disappeared around the corner. I went into the nearest bar and sat at the counter. Just as the bartender opened his mouth to ask for my order, I asked him to pour me some vodka. He just silently nodded and handed me an already filled shot glass. And so I drank three in a row. It was noisy, apparently there were plenty of people here, but I didn't look around, just stared at the countertop, propping my head up with my hand.

"Rough day?" a male voice sounded close by, to my right.

"I've had better," I answered quietly without turning.

"That's sad. Mine's not great either."

I remained silent, tracing imaginary patterns on the cool surface of the dark wood with my finger.

"Haven't seen you here before."

And I kept my silence again.

"Sorry, I talk too much."

"Yes, you do. Bartender, pour."

I quickly emptied the shot, paid, and headed for the exit, still not looking around. My feet got cold; the summer evening was cool. My feet again led me in an unknown direction through some dark alley.

"Hey, beautiful. Where you headed?" a male voice sounded very close, in front.

I stopped and looked up. Two guys stood in front of me, eyeing me with predatory looks. I felt no fear, I just wanted to keep going.

"Why so quiet, sweetie? Don't wanna have some fun?"

"No, thanks. Take my purse and..." — feeling myself, I realized I had lost my purse.

"Oops... And where did our Cinderella lose her shoe, and not just one?" the thugs laughed — "So what can you offer us instead then?"

"Just let me pass, I'm not in the mood for you."

"Someone's not in a good mood. But we can lift it for you," the snide laughter sounded again.

"Get lost!" I shouted angrily.

One of the guys came up to me and grabbed my face, and the second went around behind and grabbed my arms.

"Don't scream, or I'll cut you into little pieces."

I felt such emptiness inside that it seemed I had nothing left to lose in life. With all my strength, I pushed the creep in front of me away with my foot and kicked him between the legs; he fell to the ground in pain and screamed loudly. The second one grabbed my hair and pinned me against the wall, I started screaming. He covered my mouth with his hand, and I bit him with all my might. He also screamed and slapped me hard across the face; I fell to my knees, stunned by the blow. The one lying on the ground came to his senses and stood up; a flick knife flashed from his pocket, and he moved towards me. I realized this was my end and covered my face with my hands.

"Hey, creeps!" someone shouted at them.

I lowered my hands from my face and saw a guy holding my purse.

"What do you want, asshole? Go where you were going."

"You hurt a girl and now you'll deal with me, scum!" he pointed his finger at them — "And you, get behind me," he said to me and handed me my purse.

"Alright, freak, you asked for it."

I just managed to run behind the guy's back when a fight broke out between them. The guy fought off the thugs but also successfully fought back. He knocked one out with a single punch, and the second lunged at him with a knife. I watched the terrible scene in horror, screaming for help from anyone. The thug's knife aimed for the guy's torso, but he managed to deflect it, yet the blade still grazed his side. A red, bloody stain instantly appeared from under his white t-shirt.

"Please, stop. Enough!" I cried out in tears.

Realizing the fight would continue to the end and it needed to stop before someone died, I attacked the thug from behind. I put him in a chokehold, wrapping both my arms around his neck and my legs around his torso; he started trying to throw me off. The guy then managed to knock the knife out of his hand and take it from me. Pinning him to the ground, he started punching him in the face until he was knocked out.

"Are you okay? Did the knife cut you?"

"No, I'm fine. But your t-shirt is covered in blood."

The guy lifted his t-shirt, noticed the wound, and quickly pulled it back down so as not to scare me.

"Just a scratch, no big deal. Let's get out of here."

We left the alley, came to some square, and sat on a bench.

"Thank you so much for helping. I thought I was going to die today."

"I did what I had to. Your purse, which you forgot at the bar, saved you more likely. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been here."

"Were you the one talking to me at the bar?"

"Well, yeah, that was me. Now I have a chance to introduce myself. My name is Mark."

"Sorry. I'm Olya."

"I noticed at the bar you were barefoot."

"Oh, yes. I lost my shoes somewhere along the way. Doesn't matter."

"How did you lose them?"

"It's a long story."

"I'm in no hurry."

"But I have to go."

"I'll walk you. As you can see, it's dangerous for a girl to walk alone on the street late."

"It'll be fine, I'll make it."

"Let me at least call a taxi. You're barefoot, freezing, and on top of that, such stress."

"Yes, I've had enough stress for today. Okay, I agree to a taxi."

Mark called and ordered a taxi; we didn't have to wait long for the car. He opened the back door for me and helped me in.

"Where to?" asked the taxi driver.

"To the nearest hotel," I said quietly and lowered my eyes.

"A hotel?" Mark asked in surprise — "Don't you live here?"

"I do. I... I'm not ready to go home right now."

"Why?"

"So, are we going or not? Time's ticking," the taxi driver was getting nervous.

"Listen. You can trust me, I won't hurt you. Why aren't you going home? Do you have problems?"

"I told you, it's a long story."

"Alright, okay. Then let's go."

Mark got into the car next to me and gave an address.

"Where are we going?"

"To my place. You'll stay with me, get yourself together and your feelings, rest. I can't leave you alone right now, I'm sure of that."

"But I..."

"No 'buts'! It'll be better this way, believe me."

I just silently nodded and turned to the window. We quickly arrived at the address; Mark paid and led me to his modest, cozy apartment.

"Here's a clean towel, the bathroom is straight down the hall, you'll find everything there."

I went to the bathroom, took off all my clothes, and stood under the stream of warm water in the shower. After about fifteen minutes, I came out, wrapped in a large white towel, and headed towards the kitchen. There I found Mark without his t-shirt, trying to treat his wound. Seeing me, he quickly turned his injured side away and covered it with the bloody t-shirt.

"Let me look at your wound."

"Don't worry about it. I told you, it's just a scratch."

"Please, show me."

He sighed, stood up straight, and moved the t-shirt away, sitting on the edge of the table. I approached him and began carefully examining the wound. The cut was quite long but not deep. I used the first aid kit already on the table, soaked cotton pads with disinfectant, and began carefully treating the wound. Mark hissed in pain; I looked into his eyes, and he into mine.

"Bear with it a little, I'll cover the wound."

I folded a piece of gauze into several layers and taped it over the wound.

"Thanks. You did a great job. You're not a doctor by any chance, are you?"

No, not a doctor. But I know a thing or two.

"Yeah, now I'll definitely be okay. How are you feeling?"

"I'm tired."

"I understand. By the way, I made us some tea."

"Thank you so much. That won't hurt."

We drank tea and looked at each other in silence. I felt so calm, so safe, and so warm with him. I felt a sense of security like never before. Plus, he's so handsome, so sexy. His bare torso was bothering me, and I couldn't take my eyes off him.

"Still..." he cleared his throat — "How did you lose your shoes?"

"Broke a heel and threw them away. That's all."

"Hmm... That's all? What's behind that? And what upset you so much? You were completely out of it at the bar, and still are now."

"I don't want to talk about it," I said with pain in my voice.

A text came to my phone, but I didn't want to read it. I knew who sent it; only that person would write at almost one in the morning after everything.

"Aren't you going to answer?"

"No."

"As you wish. You're probably very tired and want to rest."

"I just want to sit in silence."

I put my dress back on; Mark led me to the living room, we sat on the soft sofa. I put my phone nearby and lay my head on Mark's lap. He turned on the TV with the volume on low and covered me with a warm blanket. He began stroking my head, my hair, my face. I felt so light, so calm, and so peaceful; I fell asleep. Through my sleep, I heard the sound of another incoming message, and then a call.

"Olenka, some Misha is calling you," Mark whispered.

"Tell him I'm not here," I answered through my sleep.

"Hello, yes... No, I can't... She can't answer right now," he answered the phone.

It dawned on me that Mark was answering my phone. I jumped up from the sofa and took my phone from Mark's hands.

"What? Who? Why? Did he hang up?" I shouted anxiously.

"Quiet, calm down. You told me to answer."

"I did? Damn, sorry. I wasn't thinking. What did he say?"

"Who was it?"

"Doesn't matter. So what did he say?"

"I didn't really understand much. He apparently didn't expect to hear a man's voice; he was angry."

"Okay, whatever," and I laughed.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Now he probably thinks I'm with someone."

"Well, that's kind of the case."

"No, I mean something more. Serves him right."

"Is that your boyfriend?"

"Ex-boyfriend."

"Then why is he calling if you're exes?"

"Because I need to block him, that's all."

"I don't understand."

"Don't pay attention. He's just a jerk."

The phone rang again, and it was him again.

"Apparently, he still hopes to hear you. Answer him."

"And I will answer... Hello, I'm listening," I said into the phone.

"Who is he, Olya? Who is that guy who answered your phone?"

"None of your business. What did you want?"

"To talk. But now I mostly want to talk to him!" Misha shouted into the receiver furiously — "Give him the phone right now!"

"I'm listening," Mark took the phone from my hands and answered Misha.

"Who are you, you freak? Why is she with you?"

"I strongly advise you to watch your language; otherwise, there will be no dialogue."

"Who the hell are you to dictate terms to me?! I'm asking, who are you?"

"I'm Mark. Anything else?"

"I don't give a damn about your name. I'll find you, and then we'll talk."

"Then write down the address."

"Wait for me, asshole!"

Mark texted Misha the address.

"Why did you do that? He'll come."

"Let him come; then we'll find out what grievances he wants to present to me."

"You're crazy. I'm leaving."

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"Away from here. I don't want to see him."

I took my purse and left. Mark caught up with me on the street by the entrance