A Perfect Chance by Becca Lee

roam down his back, and I realised the ink went lower, disappearing below the jeans that clung to his arse like a second skin.
    He stepped out of sight for a moment before returning, this time sans jeans and just wearing black boxer briefs. I all but swallowed my tongue as I took my fill and quickly slammed my head back on my pillow before he caught me. It was going to be a hell of a few days if this was my reaction every time I saw a sliver of skin. As I drifted to sleep, a mantra of “bad idea” ran in a loop through my mind.
     
    I sit at the table by myself, the hustle and bustle of the busy café rushing around me. After agreeing to meet Malcolm and Julie at their favourite coffee haunt in the city for our cramming session, I’m relieved I've arrived early and snagged a table. I rarely hit this part of the city; it's too far from campus to be convenient, but as it’s close to Julie's apartment, I agreed.
    Two men walk in. Usually, I wouldn't even notice, but I raise my brows at their heavy clothing. While Melbourne is known for its four seasons in a day, a coat in the middle of March, especially when it's at least twenty-nine degrees Celsius outside, seems overzealous. As the two guys head towards the counter, one makes eye contact with me and smiles. He's cute, so I offer a tentative smile in return before turning my gaze back to my phone.
    Then all hell breaks loose.
    I clamp my hand over my mouth, holding back my scream. If I scream, I'm dead. I can't pull my eyes away from the young boy sprawled on the ground, not five metres away from where I'm cowering. He's not moving, and his eyes are open. The scream threatens again, but I can hear movement and know if I make a noise, I'll be found.
    From the depths of my stomach, I find the courage to peep around the table that's on its side. I know there's a restroom next to me. I have to make it there. Get away from the chaos. Seeing my opportunity as the two armed men walk to the other side of the room, I take my chance. It has to be now. I duck inside the room, and open a stall door, locking it behind me and clambering onto the seat. I perch on top, my trembling fist in my mouth to ease my sobs.
    Loud shots echo around the room outside, making me jump, but it’s the screams that stab through me. All I can do is wait and hope I'm safe. Wait and hope I'm rescued.
    I have no idea how long I've been hiding. Amidst the horror in the café, I dropped my phone. Burying my head against my knees, I try to steady my breathing. It's working until the creaking of the door alerts me that I'm not alone.
    I hold my breath and press both hands against my closed mouth. Wide-eyed, I stare at the door and jump when the stall door beside me slams open. Heart stuttering, palms sweating, I know I'm not getting out of here.
    Thud. My locked door shakes at the contact, and I can't suppress the sob from breaking free.
    "Pretty girl, is that you?"
    Tears flow down my cheeks as I hold on to my legs and remain as still as possible.
    "You sure have a pretty smile. Want to let me in?"
    Oh, God! The door bangs again, this time harder, louder. Again, and I watch in horror as a screw dislodges. My heart is about to burst out of my ribcage, but I can't move. I gasp for breath, not realising I've been holding it. I should be escaping, looking for a way out, but my limbs are frozen, unwilling to move.
    Another bang; this time the door slams open.
    My scream followed me out of my dream. I cut it off abruptly, immediately remembering where I was. Sitting up, I covered my face with my sweaty palms and reminded myself to breathe. There were some days when I reminded myself to do that a lot. I’d never known something as simple, as natural, as taking a breath could be so damn fucking hard. Inhale. Exhale. As simple as fucking breathing. A humourless laugh escaped me, filling the bedroom. The false smile fell when I remembered the last point of my dream. My memory.
    Some nights I slept peacefully. Some nights