She went by the park on the hill by her house every night after her shift finished.
At first, she started going because she craved being alone, even if just for a few minutes. She was surrounded by people at work in a city that was quite actually teeming with people, and her home was frequently the destination for parties or get-togethers thrown by her extroverted roommate. But she craved solitude - and the park provided just that.
Sometimes she would listen to music - finding the perfect song for her mood each time. Sometimes, if it was still light out, she would just sit there and watch the world unfold around her; from the top of the hill she could see the houses in the valley below, cars going up and down the grid-patterned streets, and people strolling on the sidewalks - she could even see all the way out to the breathtakingly immense bridge that was plastered all over postcards in her childhood ("wish you were here!"). She would look around, breathe in the crisp ocean air and just appreciate how nice it was to be in that park, at that time, in that city.
On other occasions, if she was feeling particularly antsy, pissed off, sad or just had some pent up emotions, she would roll herself a spliff and stomp up to the park with just her journal and pen in hand. She didn't care if anyone caught her - if someone should feel the need to scold her, she would have no problem telling them to mind their own business. How dare they steal the only moments of solitude and relaxation she might have all day?
This is what she was doing on the night she met him.
He could smell it from his apartment, which was situated just outside the entrance to the little park. Everything was so close together in the city - there wasn't really a such thing as a "backyard." It was just someone else's house, or a park in this case. He liked to keep the windows open on cool nights like this to let the breeze in, but this didn't include the scent of hoodlums smoking pot in the night.
How annoying, he thought. Why hike up to this hill to do drugs when you can do it in the comfort of your own home. Why subject everyone in the surrounding area to the stench? Normally he would just shut his window and grumble to himself, but tonight he felt the need to go say something. After all, this had been a nightly occurrence for the past couple of days, and if it was the same person, he wanted to inspire them to do their business elsewhere. The annoyance was now seriously cutting into his work hours at night
As he walked up the steps to the top of the hill, he could only make out the shadow of a girl sitting on the bench. The only color visible in the darkness was the small ember at the end of her joint, growing brighter as she inhaled, and dimmer with her exhales. She had her headphones in and was swaying to the music, occasionally bringing the joint to her lips to take a puff - completely oblivious to the approaching man's presence.
She was sitting with her legs crossed on the bench, wearing dark jeans tucked into some fashionable boots and coat bundled around her with the hood up. Once the sun went down, it got cold. And on the hill, with nothing to break the wind, it felt even colder. But she liked the cold. She would always challenge herself to not be cold; to block out all of the sensations; focus on how warm she is internally. It never really worked and she would end up shivering anyways, but maybe if she tried hard enough, she could forget about it.
She had brought her journal with her, but didn't really feel like writing yet. First she had to let the day simmer in her mind. Absorb everything that happened and comprehend it. Let go of all the thoughts that no longer served her. So the journal sat on the bench next to her - unopened, with a pen resting on top of it.
She's listening to music, so of course she doesn't hear him, but she does see him as he starts to make his way up the hill. A figure moving through the night, headed her way.
It was late. No one else should be on this hill. It was her hill right now. She assumed it was just someone out for a stroll, but started getting nervous when it got closer and closer to her. She started to bring the joint down beside her, out of view. The shape was close enough now for her to recognize that it's a man. Tall, broad shoulders, walking fast as if he's on a mission. The only thing illuminating him is the light from the moon.
What's this guy doing? She thinks this to herself as he walks towards her, taking a few final strides before standing before her.
"Put it out," his voice says.
She could tell that his lips were moving, but couldn't hear him - her headphones were playing the music too loudly. She stared at him blankly.
"Put it out," he says again.
She blinks. "What?" she asked, yanking the buds out her ears.
"Put. It. Out." he growls.
Great, a cop. Just what I need. Can't a girl get high in peace?
He took one more step closer towards her, and his face become more visible. She recognized this guy, He must have lived nearby, because she saw him every once in a while at the bus stop that was situated at the bottom of the hill. He was handsome - slightly unshaven, unassuming clothing with just a hint of trendiness, dark eyes peeking out behind disheveled hair. There was no doubt that he was good looking, but something about the look in his eyes made her slightly uneasy.
She took one last, long drag on the joint - looking straight into his eyes while she did so before tossing the joint on the ground. It hissed on the slightly damp ground as the ember fizzled out. She blew the smoke in his direction.
"You shouldn't be doing that here" he said, waving some of the smoke out of the way.
"What are you, a cop?" she said with an attitude. Screw this guy - ruining the only peace and quiet she has all day.
She could see him carefully selecting his response. "What are you going to do, run away?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Stand up." he demanded when she was silent.
"What? Why? Are you going to search me? I promise all I have is that joint," she started defending herself. The hardened, pissed-off girl persona slowly drifting away as she got genuinely nervous about being arrested.
He stared at her expectantly. She put her feet on the ground and rose to stand, facing him directly. Now that they were both on equal ground, she realized how tall he was. And how genuinely stern he looked.
There was no doubt in her mind that he was an undercover cop now, but she thought about asking to see his badge just in case.
"Turn around." He said it so assertively and matter-of-factly that she obediently turned around, facing the bench, back exposed to him. But she caught herself, realizing what she was doing - bending to the will of this stranger in a park on a hill. "Wait, what?" she said, looking back at him with an incredulous look on her face - the angry girl slowly starting to come back.
"Turn. Around," his voice was low and precise in the darkness behind her. "Now," he added.
She obeyed, and a deep, nervous feeling raced through her and she turned around. She stood completely still.
"Put your hands on the bench."
She closed her eyes as she did it. Her mind raced. What's he going to do, what's he going to do.
But she knew what he was going to do, she'd been arrested before (well - at least placed in cuffs before).
He left her waiting for a few good seconds.
When his hand met the cheek of her clothed ass, the only sound she made was a small gasp. And it took her a few seconds before she realized what happened. Or rather, what hadn't happened. She whirled around, staring up at him with anger in her eyes. "You're not a fucking cop!" she lashed out, outraged.
He couldn't help but start laughing.
"Fuck you, asshole," she growled as she picked up her joint and started huffing her way down the hill - their eyes meeting for one last moment before she left that hill. She thought about what happened - so angry at first, so violated. But the anger turned into curiosity, especially about this person. Who did he think he was? Spanking girls in parks while letting them think that he's an undercover cop. Normally she would label him as a pervert. A predator. But she'd seen him before, he was handsome, and there was something that intrigued her about him. She found herself wanting to go back up to the hill and give him a piece of her mind.
But what she didn't realize was that the strange man did, in fact, have a piece of her mind. A rather incriminating piece of her mind, actually. The careless, stoned girl had left her journal on the bench - right next to where he had spanked her. She didn't realize it was missing until the next morning, actually. And she just hoped to god that it wasn't in his possession, but a part of her knew it was.
Maybe if it was a normal girl's journal, it wouldn't have been so bad. But it was her journal. For the most part, it was filled with boring things: random thoughts, quotes she liked and thought she might forget, little doodles, retellings of dreams, descriptions of her sexual encounters, and little snippets of the fantasies that would seep into her mind. This journal was her. It was like a roadmap to her innermost feelings and desires; her truths, her fears. And now it was his.
Maybe if he wasn't a cruel man, he would feel bad about having such a private possession. But he was loving every second of it. He read it cover to cover multiple times in the few days that he had it, taking care to understand each and every word he could.
And he remembered it for the next time he saw her a week later.
