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Peters' day had been long. He had just gotten off another twelve hour shift at the restaurant. This was the third day in a row he'd worked that shift. It was all because of Cutty. Cutty hadn't shown up, and Peter had to cover for his worthless ass.
"Asshole." He whispered under his breath. Peter was leaning on the balcony of his apartment with his forearms resting on the rail, smoking a cigarette. He was in the middle of his fifth drag, thinking how shitty his life was, when he saw her coming.
It was Marla. He had only spoken to her a few times, about this or that. Peter could see that she was in serious disray, it looked like she had been through a tornado. Marla was covered in blood, her black dress was in tatters, and she wasn't wearing any shoes.
Peter lived on the second floor, so he was looking down at her.
He called down. "Marla? Hey, Marla, are you alright?"
She kept walking. Marla was climbing the steps now which led directly to the second floor balcony. She lived four doors down to the left of Peter, the corner apartment.
Marla was at her door now, she just stared at it, motionless.
Peter put his smoke out on the rail and tossed it over, he walked over to Marla.
"Marla? Hey, what is it? What happened to you?"
Her head slowly turned, and the look she gave would stay with Peter for the rest of his life.
When she opened her mouth to speak, her voice came in a hoarse croak.
"I...I left my purse I..."
Peter couldn't believe what he was seeing. Marlas' face was severely beaten. Her left eye was completely shut and her lips were badly split. Marlas' thick cord of jet black hair was matted to her forehead with perspiration and blood.
"Marla, what the hell happened to you? Who did this?"
Marlas' brilliant, right blue eye peered out at him, but there was nothing there.
"I...left my purse...my keys..."
Peter was still very much stunned by this whole situation. He couldn't believe this was happening. What son of a bitch had done this to her? He decided he would take her to his place and call the cops.
"Marla, come with me alright? We're going to call the police, do you understand?"
Marla wasn't there. Her right eye was a looking glass of nothingness. She was speaking rapidly now, still in that same hoarse croak. She repeated the same thing over and over.
"Mykeysmykeysmykeysmykeysmykeysmykeysmy..."
Peter was a little scared. He had to get her inside.
"Marla, come on, I'm taking you to my place and we're going to call the police."
Peter gently took Marla by the upper arm and guided her in the direction of his apartment. She was still rapidly repeating the same words when they got to his door. When they stepped into his apartment, Marla abruptly stopped speaking. He guided her inside, closing the door with the heel of his foot. He brought her over to the couch and sat her down. Peter squatted down in front of her.
"Marla? I'm going to call the police now, alright?"
Marla stared into space. What the hell happened to you? Peter thought.
He got up and walked over to the phone, he was on the second digit, when, in a hoarse whisper, Marla began to speak.