It was already afternoon when we arrived in a city I had never been to before.

I am silently observing the busy streets and people as we pass by, when the motorcycle comes to a halt.

We stopped in front of a club.

Through the years, we always find Marsha, the welder and expert of swords—in urban places. She keeps moving from place to place. Last time, we found her in the middle of the forest.

I have no constant contact with her so I always ask Mark for help whenever I need to meet up with her for my needs.

He seems to establish a great connection with her.

We parked the motorcycle just in front of the club and I walk immediately towards the bouncers to enter.

Both of the bouncers leered at me until I felt someone put a jacket on me, holding on to my shoulders for a while.

I am wearing black leather jeans and a white tank top paired with boots. There is nothing wrong with what I am wearing, but these guys— always finding a way to devour people— have something wrong with their minds.

Mark gave a card to the bouncers without leaving my shoulders empty and the bouncers made way for us to enter.

I was the first one to enter the club, and I notice how they purposely made the place dim so that whatever time you enter, the club can be equally accommodating. The scene is like the usual setup of a typical bar so I was not shocked to see some stripping and whatsoever happening here.

And it wasn't like I'm innocent to not know these things.

I was left to survive and explore alone.

No filter, no white lies about life.

I became aware of what's really happening and what's not.

I guess being able to see the real world at a young age, stripped by the princesses and damsel in distress tales, is a huge contributor to what I am today.

This is a high-end bar.

I can easily tell that as I roam my eyes on its interiors, appliances, and means.

We are crossing the group of dancing people when suddenly a persistent drunk guy appeared in front of me with a malicious smile. I can feel Mark towering behind me but the man is consistent in showcasing himself on me, blindly seeing the man behind me.

He is still not opening his mouth, but I can already smell alcohol in him.

I ignored him continuously until I saw his hand move, planning to touch me on my butt aggressively, but before he can even lay skin on me or before Mark move to attack him, I already twisted his hand making him shout in pain.

The dancing crowd was alerted by the commotion— but not too long.

Some remained their eyes watching us, but most of the drunks continued dancing as the music boom louder.

I continued twisting his hand until Mark pushed him down, out of my hold.

"You should be more careful with your hands." I declared before leaving him whimpering in pain on the floor.

I held my head high as I walk with my usual stoic face. Ignoring anyone looking my way.

"What room is she?" I asked Mark because we were down in the alley of VIP rooms.

"Room 37," he said behind.

We passed a few more rooms before I twisted the knob to open the said room.

She is sitting alone in the wide room, watching on a 60 inches television. In front of her is a bottle of alcohol that is almost still full.

She lazily turned her gaze towards us. Her eyes lingered at me for a moment before she proceed on the person at my back.

"Oh, it's the two of you," she greeted us, crossing her legs as soon as we enter.

Mark stepped forward first and hop in at the left side of the U-shaped sofa. I suited myself on the right side, making Marsha the center.

"Come. Take a shot with me," she said, before reaching something under the table, her long red hair falls freely on her waist as she bends more, only to place two more glasses on the table.

That was certainly for us.

I am not up for an early-drinking session though.

She is wearing a leather skirt matched with a skintone tube top so her bending revealed some of her chest.

I moved my eye a bit when I noticed something. I smirked a little at the obvious atmosphere here.

None of us made a noise except the television playing in front.

She was finally done pouring alcohol on the two glasses she added, not pouring any bit on her seemingly untouched glass.

"Cheers?"

She raised her glass at us with a smile on her lips and Mark drink with her, while I let my glass sit on where it was placed. With no intention to empty it.

I watch the two of them finish the shot before I started talking.

"I need your help with my swords." I started to break the silence in here.

She lifted her eyes on me casually after she placed the glass back on the table.

"And I'll probably add a gun…I'll give you a call when I needed it," I added.

"The last time we made a transaction for swords was like 3 years ago," her eyes wandered for a second before she continued, renewing the crossing of her legs.

I watch how her eyes turned so interested in me.

It was too easy to read her.

Them.

Their unguarded eyes can make me read what's on their mind.

"I am sure I made those swords sharp and perfect when you said you need them to protect yourself from something, did it lose its sharpness, or… did your intention of using it changed?" she asked carefully watching my expression.

I maintained the same expression shielding myself from those persistent curious eyes.

"I am in need of chasing," I replied shortly.

We both stared at each other's eyes— her to confirm something and me to show her nothing.

"This room is unexpectedly bright don't you think?"

Mark inserted out of topic which Marsha and I, ignored effortlessly.

I only roamed my eyes on the room and noticed how Mark is correct about how this room has more light compared to any part of the club.

She was fond of bright places— that is something I've noticed too everytime our paths meet. She may be always in urban places, but the places she stayed… were never dark.

I am thinking what made her love the light so much and why I, love being isolated in the dark too much?

I looked at her again.

Differences.

And different reasons.

Those reasons were something the person needs to keep just by herself.

And I am certain with myself that it wasn't my responsibility to make people understand the reasons I have- especially because I understand those more by myself.

Besides, they are not genuinely trying to understand it, so I'd rather keep it to myself.

I've sense someone being irritated immediately as he straightened up and move his neck on the side because he was completely ignored.

I stood up and placed a card on the table.

This is a done talk. I've stated what I wanted.

"Just call me up when you were to visit the house," I said, to determine the end of my agenda.

I removed the jacket on me and threw it back at Mark.

"She needs it more than me."

I turned my back at them and walked away. But she interrupted me in the middle of my steps.

"And what if I don't wanna go?"

I continued walking away disregarding her. I reach for the door and close it as I leave.

I know she'll come.

My phone beep and I tore my eyes off it when I read who the text is from.

The club is more crowded now but I still insist to walk in the middle of it. The music, the dancing, those drunkards, and the lights landing on my face didn't bother me as I fix my eyes on the door.

I can feel lots of breathing on my skin and I was sure the smell of alcohol is penetrating on my skin now.

I am swiftly dodging anyone trying to touch me and interested in me until a group of guys blocked my way when I am near the door.

Of course I cannot escape these kinds of encounters.

I mentally counted on my mind.

"Where is your boyfriend Miss, did he leave you for another girl here?" one teased me, making his companions laugh. I recognized the smell of alcohol and cigarette from his mouth.

I eyed him boredly, not finding humor in it.

What's with these maniacs laughing when there is nothing to laugh about?

I always encounter these kinds. Ones with dirty minds and intentions.

And they are always keen to laugh together with each other.

Doesn't that make them a group of laughing morons?

As soon as he turns on me, with his lips painted with a smile from their laugh, he tried to hold me to push me on the wall but I already anticipated it so instead of letting him hold me, I manage to duck and place myself on the wall, the way he wanted, but with his hand not touching any of me.

He turned to his group again and smiled widely this time. Making his members smile wide too.

This is a sick practice I've been so sick of. They always laugh and smile in unison.

It's irritating.

My eyes wandered on the second floor because of the feeling that someone is watching me. And yes, there's someone watching me right now.

He is wearing a suit and I felt like he has been watching me for a while.

However, my focus turned back on the situation I am in when the alcohol in the guy's breath registered more as he leans closer to me.

"Feisty," he breathed near my ears.

The patience that's stopping him to hold me vanished as he watched my consistent expression.

He was about to hold me on my waist but I was quick to hit him with my knee down there.

Hard.

"Your feisty. " I exclaimed teasing his description on me earlier.

He's dropped on his knees, soothing it.

I stared blankly, watching him ache.

His other three friends came to attack me then.

The two held me by my arms but I used my free hands to press their muscles hard, and used the wall behind to flip when they lose their tight hold on both of my hands.

I kicked the other one in his face and he was pushed up to the attending bouncers.

The two, faced me again and I made a quick dock when they tried to capture my upper body. I kicked both of their knees and I heard something crack.

I was just not sure whether it's from the guy 1 or guy 2.

Maybe both?

I fixed the now crumpled part of my jeans and monitored the surroundings.

There were too many eyes watching me now. I only sported my usual expression on them.

I didn't make an effort to look back on the group, so the bouncers did me a favor when they moved on the side as I exit by the door quietly.

It is still 5:46 but the outside looks like it's already past 6. The darkness seemed to conquer the day fast.

I roamed my eyes on the busy streets and it seems like some of those establishments are getting ready for the night.

Lights on the streets are opened and the club was gathering more and more guests.

This must be the popular bar in the city.

I walked a bit until I reached my motorcycle. I reach for my phone and navigated it to open the message.

Mark:

Call me when you are home.

I typed a reply immediately.

Me:

I'm home.

I am climbing up my motorcycle when my phone beeped again for a text.

Mark:

So stubborn

I stretch my lips to let a little grin escape.

And I remembered something from earlier...

Me:

Polish your actions.

I inserted the key and brought my motorcycle to life again.

Mark:

What?

I rolled my eyes at his last reply.

He better not confuse a nuisance.

Mark:

Call me when you are home. For real.

Which I replied back "I am home" again.

Being both stubborn, I wonder why we aren't getting tired of each other over the years.

Perhaps friendship.

Mark:

Please drive safely and call me when you arrive.

I turned off my phone and opened my lights.

I didn't reply to him. I'm sure he already saw that I have seen his message.

Instead, I returned my eyes on the second floor of the club where the man is at earlier.

I saw him keenly playing the alcohol in his glass. Our eyes immediately met when he lifted his eyes out of it.

His eyes darkened as he finally notice my gaze on him, he waved his phone at me and drank his alcohol up.

I tore my eyes at him.

Is he my killer this time?

But if he is, why is he only standing right there waving his phone at me?

Should be a gun.

Does he mean he already informed his boss?

Bring. It. On.

I am not scared.

I've been waiting all my life to meet her face to face again.

I inspected the place for a possible danger but with minutes of staying, none happened.

So I drove out of the place for a long ride again.