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The first time you saw her, through the dirty, much too crowded bar, you knew.
At the time, the ‘what’ you knew, was a mystery. But her eyes caught yours — just a single, passing glance, and everything stopped.
One, stupid, lonely fueled trip to the bar, changed everything.
“Quit staring, girl,” the woman scoffed, tossing back the last mouthful of her drink as she sat down in the chair beside yours. “It's rude.”
Butterflies bloom in your gut, more light and insistent than the normal, anxiety driven fear. Barely a few inches between the two of you, you have no choice but to lean into her — or the drunken, handsy man on your other side.
“Sorry,” you murmured, eyes lingering on her hands. “I didn't mean— just zoned out,” you amend, unable to say that without lying. Something that you just know will get you in trouble with her, despite knowing not much of anything when it came to that woman. Sheepishly, you added, “it's hard. Not used to crowds.”
Her eyes soften just a fraction, almost unnoticeable. “This is a lazy night,” she commented.
It was true, you supposed — no fights had broken out, just a tense quiet. No one was willing to risk the wrath of the woman beside you.
“Gotta get used to it somehow,” you shrugged.
After spending so much time alone, everything was uncomfortable. Terrifying. What better way to get over your fear then dive into the deep end?
She laughed. Easy and soft, not malicious. “Suppose so.”
Her eyes lingered on you a moment, before dropping back to the bar. “Don't come here on tuesdays. Ain't safe.”
.
.
.
The next time you saw her, it was in the marketplace.
Busy and loud, your mind a mess of nerves and all fuzzy, you run into her trying to run off into a quieter back alley.
“Watch it,” she snapped, hand grabbing your wrist tightly as she yanked you backwards.
More nerves flooded your mind, torn between bolting and cowering — but she moved before you could.
Pushing you back into the wall of a busy store, she pins you there under the cool weight of her prosthetic. “Pull that shit again and—” her voice died off as she looked down at you, really seeing who ran into her. Dropping her arm immediately, she pulled away with a curse, voice a touch softer. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“Sorry!” you stammered, still cowering against the wall. Coolness of the bricks against your back was comforting — nothing could sneak up on you then, and nothing could get past the woman in front of you. The comfort that brought almost made the way you stumble over your words not feel so bad. Almost. “I didn't—”
“You didn't mean it,” she mocked, though not cruelly.
Looking away, you didn’t try to defend yourself.
She watched with a sigh, softening some at your much too weak display. This wasn't planned. Was just you. “Too loud again?”
Shame flooded your mind; that's your only impression on the terrifying, enchanting woman?
Of course she would know you as the anxious doormat who didn’t belong in the bar. Just your luck.
“…yeah.”
Not giving you a chance to protest, her hand snaked down to your wrist and she tugged you along with her. “C'mon.”
“W-where are you taking me?” you stammered, trailing along behind her as she led you through the darkening alleyway like a lost dog. “I still needed to buy food—”
“There's a store back here. He's a dick, but has everything cheap. Just… c'mon. It's on me.”
Even without a name, you knew, that the terrifying woman at the bar wasn't so cruel as the whispers made her out to be.
.
.
.
After a long, stressful day, you spent the evening sitting out on your porch. Back against the railing, you absentmindedly watch the world pass by, everyone oblivious to your eyes lingering on them.
Not many people walk down the street, most only taking the quiet path to or from the market, or wandering aimlessly after one too many early drinks at the bar a couple blocks down.
You didn’t think much of hearing footsteps walk up beside you, and just mind your business. Who, or what was happening, was none of your business.
“Startin' to think you're stalking me, girl.” Her voice cut off your wandering thoughts. Looking down at you on your porch step, she leaned against the railing.
“Or you followed me home,” you retorted. Looking up at her with the safety of your home at your back made you braver. Albeit barely.
She laughed. Actually laughed. Rough and hoarse, like she'd forgotten how to. Eyes crinkled and smile unforced.
It was something better than anything you had felt in months.
“Oh, honey, don't give me ideas.” Her words are deadpan, low, but teasing. A hint of playfulness hiding underneath.
It made you smile in turn, the cadence of her voice making your belly feel funny in a way you weren’t quite used to. “Like what?” you bravely asked.
“Asking your name,” she replied without hesitation.
And without a thought, you offered it up.
She tested it on her tongue with a hum, eyes lingering on you. Before you could ask, she offered hers. “Sevika.”
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.
.
You didn't see Sevika for a few weeks since she told you her name.
But each week, the day you would brave going into the crowds to get whatever food you needed, you would wake to find a bag and note on your porch.
Not everything you needed, but enough. Enough that you could survive a quick run to the closest store that sold so little and had even less customers. The note simply had your name, written in hurried, but neat, cursive.
If it wasn't for the random notes on the porch, you were completely alone again.
But it wasn’t so lonely as before.
.
.
.
After what felt like forever, you forced yourself back into the bar. The one place you knew — or rather hoped — Sevika would be.
And you were right.
Off in the corner like normal, she sat in her normal booth, left leg tossed over the corner of the table, lounging with a cigar between her fingers. Smoke lazily floated around her, adding to the slight haze that never quite left the bar.
The sight of her relaxed, at least, you thought was relaxed, made you more nervous. What if her random visits had simply been coincidence? Surely you were a nobody to her — a quiet woman with nothing to offer but a laugh.
But her eyes caught yours before you could back out, and you simply went with it. Something, besides the always constant presence of anxious butterflies in your gut, told you you should. She seemed the type that needed the easiness in her life.
“I haven't seen you in a while,” you spoke first, steadying yourself for what surely came next as you slid into the seat across from Sevika.
The bar was quieter, only a few others off alone, but more tense than before.
“Been busy,” she replied. Doesn't offer up anything more. Her fingers tapped her jaw, smoke wafting off the cigar between her index and middle. “You eating?”
While not an admittance of guilt, you knew, those notes had been hers. Without knowing her writing, surely, it was hers. No one that knew your name would leave things out for you like that.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “It's… been good. Quiet.”
She hummed. “Good. Stay home next week.”
Downing the rest of her drink, she stood to leave, and left you alone.
.
.
.
You didn't know why she said it, why she warned you, but you didn't question it.
Normally, staying home didn't matter to you, but the whole week, you couldn't help but worry about her.
Surely she could handle… whatever it was that was happening. But still, you worried. It was simply what you did.
It wasn't until the next tuesday you finally had some answers.
She let herself in, holding her shoulder, prosthetic arm missing. Doesn't look you in the eye, keeps them on the floor. Beaten and bloodied, ashamed. But still, she held herself upright, refuses to show more weakness than what was already there.
“Sevika! What the fuck—”
“Don't ask,” she cut you off with a glare. “Just don't. Better that way.”
You went to protest, but held back, standing there unsure of what to do. What she'd let you do. “…okay.”
She sighed heavily, rolling her surely stiff shoulder. “Just… need a place to crash. If…” she trailed off, unsure but the question clear.
“Yeah, I've got a spare bedroom.” You hesitated, wanting to reach out despite yourself, but held still. “Do you—”
She just shook her head. “Nah, keep your nose out of it.” Looking away, she shifted on her feet, wincing a little. “Just… for tonight.”
“Okay.”
The rest of the night was quiet, your home feeling less than comfortable despite everything, but still, knowing that she was here, willingly went to you, for whatever reason, made it easier.
Countless times she’d helped you already, without a single thing in return — the least you could do was return the favour.
Not that you wanted to push her out anyways.