Disclosure: This chapter contains depictions of sexual assault, including groping. M/F violence. Reader discretion is advised.

***

With their glasses empty and only crumbs on their plates, Olive and May hold each other tight in a parting embrace. Everything is happening so fast but they plan to meet again soon. Olive makes May promise to keep her location on and to send her updates if they don't see each other again before she leaves. She watches May get on her yellow motorcycle, placing a matching helmet on her head. 

Olive turns in the direction of the bus stop but May lifts her visor to call out, “You know sissy, one of these days, you’re gonna let me give you a ride on this baby!” She pats the back of her seat. 

“In your dreams, Pedals!” Olive chortles, using her sister’s childhood nickname. 

As she watches her ride off, an image of a young May riding her yellow tricycle down the neighborhood street flashes in her memory. 

Smiling to herself, she takes her phone out to check the bus schedule. It looks like another 20 minutes before the next one. Although it feels like her day just started, it’s getting to that time of the year where the days are shorter. It is nearing 4pm now and Olive knows the sun will start to set before she can get home.

With a little time to kill, Olive decides to walk across the street to the corner store and check out the latest CelebSecrets Weekly. She pulls out her hair claw, tucks her curls into a loose bun, and assesses her surroundings. It is nearing rush hour, and the roads are busier now. 

From inside the bodega, she can hear horns and the rush of cars outside. Olive contemplates waiting inside, until a suspicious character enters the space. A lanky fella, in camo hoodie, and a staring problem shoves past her. The smell of stale liquor, cigarettes, and body odor orbit his person. He grunts heavily as he opens the fridge door beside her full of beers. Nothing too alarming for the area, but as he hunches behind the open glass door, Olive can feel his slimy gaze through the building condensation.

Creep.

Olive doesn't need another reason to abandon the magazine and leave. 

Better safe than sorry.

She exits the store and turns the corner, still about 15 minutes until the next bus. She leans against the other side of the building and decides to kill time scrolling through her notifications. Her phone is at 10% now and the sun is setting, casting the perfect shadow where she stands. She can still see the bus stop. To her left is a small alley but from what she can tell, it’s empty. Olive decides to put her phone away to conserve battery. 

The minutes progress at a glacial speed. A nearby horn blares and doesn't stop until Olive looks up to identify the miserable asshole who's decided that everyone else needs to be miserable too. Instead, her attention is stolen by something else—someone else. Standing across the street is the woman from last night. 

Can’t be…

With postural perfection, her striking frame is a beacon against the chaos. Dark circular shades cover her eyes but Olive can feel her heated gaze.The woman’s stare somehow feels different than the man in the store and her body warms in response. Almost in a trance, Olive pushes off the side of the building and takes a step forward. The woman raises her chin as if challenging Olive, daring her, beckoning her.

A car directly in front of her jerks forward causing a domino of horns and she takes her eyes away just for a moment. A moment however, is all it takes because when she looks back, the woman is gone.

Okay Olive, pull yourself together.

Olive shakes her head to calm herself. In doing so, her hair falls loose from its bun, and the flimsy hair claw crashes to the concrete in pieces. She pauses.

Really? Really!? Cheap piece of shit…ugh.

She sighs and crouches over to collect the shards of broken plastic. A silvery curl falls into her line of sight. She grabs it and for the first time, she allows herself to ponder its cause.

I know I've been stressed lately, but how could I miss a whole strand of greys growing out of my head? If living under the simplest of routines can cause this, maybe I was not meant to see success. Maybe…

Brown and grey tones flicker in her periphery. Her only warning is a male grunt and foul smell invading her senses as a gloved hand yanks her up by the arm. A spike of pain explodes in her shoulder and she gasps. Before she can react, she is whipped around, face shoved against the cold, gritty wall. 

“Stay quiet my pretty little mouse.” A deep, watery voice commands. He places another leather-bound paw on her mouth.  

“You are mine now. I own you.” The stranger takes a deep inhale, sniffing Olive's neck. 

She unmistakably recognizes that this is the same man from inside the bodega. He pushes his full weight on her, making it hard to fight. His pungent smell penetrates her senses; he opens his rotting mouth as if to lick or bite her. She jerks in his tight grasp once, twice, and with one last shove, he goes flying.

Olive turns around in surprise of her own strength until she sees the man being dragged, head first, into the alleyway; his captor, already covered by the dark path.

He wails like a pig, a slur of profanities following his cry. His legs thrash and convulse until he fully disappears out of sight. Silence follows a sharp crack and then the slow echo of heels tap against pavement. 

Olive squints into the shadows in fear and curiosity. Just as a gold-tipped shoe breaks the cloak of darkness, the screech of approaching bus sounds across the street.

Without time to think, Olive turns away and cuts into the slow-moving traffic to her bus in time for the doors to close. She swipes her metrocard and rushes to an open window seat. As the bus pulls off, she looks through the foggy window. At the entrance of the alleyway, she sees the woman standing alone. A long piece of metal—no, a sword—in her left hand captures the glare of headlights as they pass.

I’m sorry…what? No…what?!

The scene shrinks in the distance. 

Of all the weird things and people I’ve seen in New York City, and I’ve seen people with swords, this is completely different.

Olive does her best to appear calm, as if her heart isn’t pounding, as if her shoulder isn’t burning, as if she wasn’t just attacked—and then… saved? That her “knight in shining armor” isn’t a knight at all but a…

knightess.

Is that what I should call you?