PLEASE SAID THE DARKNESS
She stumbled out of the restaurant in a burst of smoke and chatter, her laugh loud and piercing. It was a laugh Katie reserved for times when she wanted to be heard over everything else. The door slid shut, clamping off the noise from inside and leaving her and two friends to sway on the sidewalk.
“Coming over?” asked Liz. “Remember I wanted to show you – “
“Fuck no,” said Katie. Liz pawed through her purse, red-faced. Katie and Veronica giggled. “I’m waiting for my car. See you bitches later!”
Katie whipped out her phone. Veronica and Liz hesitated, then said goodbye and took their keys from the valet. They honked a friendly pattern as they pulled away from the curb. Not looking up, Katie flipped them off.
She waited for twenty minutes before realizing her car hadn’t arrived yet. After a drunken internal rebellion against calling an Uber, she turned and began to walk, swearing as the sharp heels of her Jimmy Choos poked in and out of large cracks in the cement.
“Fucking Jeeves,” Katie muttered. Her driver’s name was Ramona, but she found it entertaining to call people by the wrong name. Youre totally fired Jeeves, she texted. She continued down the street toward her apartment, located in a high-rise hotel owned by her father, just three Los Angeles blocks from the restaurant. It was an easy trek, but nobody walks in LA.
As she reached the end of the first block, she hesitated. This part of the street descended under a bridge which blocked the streetlights. Are you afraid of the dark? Annoyed at her own fear, she stomped ahead into the black. The clack of her heels bounced off the walls and the walls felt close, like a tapering tunnel rather than a broad underpass. A feeling of panic had started to rise in Katie’s chest when suddenly, her feet went out from under her. Her body slammed down onto the pavement.
She flailed and cried out, and a low moan rose and echoed around her. Katie whimpered, frozen from the assault, waiting for the next blow. She thought she saw movement in the dark, heard the moan again. A hand clamped around her wrist and she squealed.
“Please,” said the darkness. Katie was overwhelmed with the smell of urine. Revolted, she yanked her arm away and lurched to her feet. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she realized she hadn’t been attacked, but had tripped over something on the path. Someone, with several quilts and jackets massed around them. “Please,” they said again. Only a face and bare feet poked out from the blankets, and both were grimy and sunburnt and raw. Normally when people spoke to her on the street Katie liked to react with a shameless disgust, or simply ignore them; this time, though, she stared into the weary face, which slowly retreated into the bundle of blankets.
Katie stumbled out from under the bridge. She wanted to run but had broken a heel. She heard a car drive up next to her and saw a black Escalade, Ramona looking worried in the driver’s seat. She heaved open the back passenger door and got in.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Warner,” said Ramona. “There was construction on Hollywood. Are you alright?”
“Let’s go Jeeves,” said Katie.
Ramona turned around and began driving the two remaining blocks to the hotel. The car hit a pothole and Katie’s broken heel flapped. Her seat felt sticky, and vaguely she realized she had pissed herself.
by Jessica Brock
Jessica Brock is a multigenre writer and MFA candidate in the Creative Writing & Environment program at Iowa State University. She is a recent transplant from California to Iowa, where she lives with her family. More of her art, music, and writing can be found at: https://jessibrock.wordpress.com/