Walking through the giant waterfront market, she couldn't help thinking how the city never failed to overwhelm her. Raised on a small island in the Pacific Northwest, she couldn't wait for graduation, so she could leave home, buy an apartment, and never return to the country. She passionately hated the small high school, the lack of cell reception, and the disturbing lack of excitement. The local newspaper took seven months to stop posting the new ferry as the front page news.
She walked down a flight of stairs, deeper into the market, and couldn't help but think that she should find some sort of pepper spray; the market was busy enough, but she came from an island, so the poorly lit flea market was wholly uncomfortable.
She checked her watch; she was meeting a group of girls for a friend's 18th birthday, the youngest in her friend group. But that wasn't for a couple of hours, so she had plenty of time to see all there was to see in the market.
She picked a silk crimson scarf from a rack in the hallway, and walked into the tiny shop to wrap it around her neck. With her dark brown hair, and her contrastingly pale skin, the color red had always looked good on her. She glanced at the tag. God damn it. There was no way she could afford that. She regretfully put the scarf on a table, and walked around the rest of the displays, trying to avoid the eyes of the shop keeper. Interacting with salespeople always made her nervous.
Finding nothing she wanted, she headed for the door, but as she left, the scarf caught her eye again. Come on Christine, what the hell, she thought. She so rarely treated herself to anything, and she was hardly ever in the city. She took the scarf up to the register, declining a bag, choosing instead to thrust it in her purse. She vaguely realized she should probably be more careful with new clothes, but she dismissed the thought. She liked to look good, but she didn't go as far as to think too much about the quality or care for clothing.
She walked back up the stairs to the main street, cursing the shoes she had chosen to wear. She and her friends were planning to go clubbing, and so she made the effort to look slightly more attractive. She was wearing a creamy gold fitted top, matched with a little skirt and short, heeled boots. The shoes weren't uncomfortable, but after walking all day, the hills were getting progressively more difficult. Sometimes she felt ridiculous for even trying; her tiny island community made dating almost impossible, not when everyone remembers the braces and too big coats worn every day in middle school. She should just accept that she wasn't going to do anything until college, no matter how much she wished for once her fingers could be replaced with someone else's.
She double-checked the address where she was supposed to meet for dinner. She would probably be around a half hour early (they were meeting at 7:30), but she decided it would be nice to sit down.
She walked up the hill towards downtown, mind wandering to what it would be like to live there, and get away from the monotony of the island. Just five more months, she reminded herself. Five more months, then I'm free.
She came to an intersection, and turned the corner to walk towards the main road. Instead, she let out a muffled scream of fright as she was grabbed from behind and dragged backwards into an alley. She was shoved against a brick wall, crying out in pain as her head slammed into the building. His sweaty hand clamped over her mouth, the figure put his face up to her ear.
