#malheur

Simon parks the car across the street from a bustling nightclub, carefully manoeuvring it into a vacant parking space. He leans back into the comfortable leather seat, enjoying the serenity that swallows him once he turns off the engine and tosses the keys onto the unoccupied passenger seat. Cracking open the window, he smells a gentle breeze that carries the faint scent of the city's nightlife.

As he reaches for his pack of cigarettes, his fingers twitch. With practised ease, he flicks open the lighter and ignites the end of the cigarette. Taking a long, deep drag, he feels the smoke fill his lungs. The familiar taste of nicotine lingers on his tongue, bringing comfort to his weary body and easing the tension in his shoulders. In the dimly lit interior of the car, Simon becomes a mere silhouette, blending seamlessly into the cold shadows; passersby, engrossed in their own affairs, scarcely spare him a passing glance.

His deep, dark eyes wander across the busy street, fixating on the rowdy individuals who continuously pour in and out of the nightclub. He has no intentions of going in. These kinds of establishments, where the music blares at an unbearable volume, the air is thick with perspiration and alcohol, and navigating through the crowd inevitably leads to frequent shoulder-to-shoulder encounters, do not appeal to him.

However, he had a keen interest in observing people and their behaviours. Simon finds himself particularly drawn to intoxicated women, who seem to be his preferred subjects of observation. He attentively analyses and judges their actions, paying particular attention to their clothing choices. He notes that many of them choose to dress in short skirts that barely cover their assets, revealing bare backs in flimsy blouses, and exposed cleavages, which guys gawk at without even bothering to disguise their stares.

Simon can't help but question their fashion choices, wondering how they can dress like that and expect not to be groped. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He tosses the cigarette out of the window and then lights another one, oblivious to the fact that a thick cloud of grey smoke has grown inside the car and that the pungent scent of tobacco is sticking to the leather upholstery.

Simon's attention is drawn to a group of men. They appear to be in high spirits, stumbling around, laughing boisterously, and playfully gesturing at people walking by. Suddenly, their focus shifts as they notice a woman with long legs, dressed in a skimpy red dress. She completely steals the spotlight, and one of them even whistles in appreciation, hoping the woman will stop and look at them.

Simon, unimpressed by their behaviour, and to be honest, slightly disgusted, can't help but roll his eyes in response.

His stakeout is growing increasingly tiresome and monotonous. A yawn, filled with drowsiness, escapes him as he sits in the car. His fingers lightly tap on the steering wheel twice before he scratches his chin. The thought of going home crosses his mind, as it is already late, and he knows he has to wake up early tomorrow. However, just as he turns on the engine, causing the car to emit a gentle hum, he takes a moment to stretch out his stiff back, which causes his gaze to land upon you.

As you stumble out of the club towards the solid brick wall, you feel its rough texture against your fingertips and lean against it for support. Simon watches you with piqued curiosity and notices you fumbling with your purse. You pull out a lighter. Intrigued, he pauses and lets his hands drop into his lap. Are you alone? You must be; five minutes pass and no one approaches you.

Before Simon can fully comprehend his actions, he swiftly exits the car and locks it. While fiddling with the keys, he crosses the street and approaches you from the back. You're utterly unaware of his presence. His eyes smoothly glide down the contours of your body. You are wearing a flowy black dress. The fabric hugs your body in all the right places. Your back is exposed. His fingers quiver, and he clenches his hands into tight fists, resisting the urge to caress your exposed skin. Unlike other women tonight, you have chosen practicality over fashionable heels, a decision that may prove to be in your best interest since, based on his observations, walking in a straight line seems to be a challenging feat for you.

You feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, causing you to wobble. Slowly, you turn around, your body never peeling away from the brick wall that is keeping you grounded. He wets his lips with his tongue, and a faint smile forms on his face when your eyes meet his gaze.

"Have a light?" He tilts his head, watching as your drowsy eyes shift towards his lips and the cigarette, which is wedged between his teeth.

You nod and fumble with your purse once again, handing him the lighter. You feel the warmth of his hand as your fingers graze against his while he takes it from your palm. A jolt of excitement runs down your spine, sending shivers through your entire body. The heat rushes to your cheeks, colouring your face a bright, rosy red.

"Having fun?" Simon asks, making you shrug.

"I guess," you reluctantly respond, your voice trailing off. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing against your weary body. Leaning against the cool bricks, you close your heavy eyelids for a second. All you want to do is lay somewhere down, curl up and sleep until your head stops spinning. But instead, with a hint of curiosity, you return the question, "And what about you?"

"Not really. Came here to pick up a friend, but it seems like he ditched me." Simon is unsurprised when the lie comes effortlessly to him.

"Bummer." A giggle slips past your lips as you watch him smoke, the cigarette loosely dangling between his thumb and index finger.

He is tall, incredibly tall, towering above everyone, including you. When you speak with him, you find yourself tilting your head back to meet his gaze; otherwise, you are left staring at his chest. His dishevelled, dirty blonde hair adds to his rugged charm, and he absentmindedly runs his fingers through it every few seconds. His eyes dart around, never settling on anything or anyone for too long. But the moment you capture his gaze, you become spellbound by it.

You notice that his lips are moving, and you can hear the faint sound of his voice. However, you are too tired to make out his words that are buzzing over in your head. It is challenging to concentrate on the conversation. The desire to wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him consumes your thoughts. You know it's bold and maybe a little slutty and desperate, but you had no luck tonight with the guys inside the club. And, since you are drunk — you get a free pass tonight. You are allowed to make questionable choices, fully aware that you will probably regret them in the morning when the inevitable hangover sets in.

Simon notices that your head is floating in the clouds and that whatever he is saying is coming in your one ear and flying out of the other. He doesn't mind, though. He enjoys just being near you. But the more he stands, towering over your small frame, watching as your delicate fingers play with the loose thread on your dress, the more he begins to realise how foolish you are.

You are all alone. You came here without friends, and to make matters worse, you consumed an excessive amount of alcohol and now you find yourself engaged in a conversation with a complete stranger, who for all you could know is thinking about how to drag you away from the crowd and lure you into the dark alley, where he could bend you over, lift your dress and tear your panties off.

Could you be any more dumb and reckless? Yes. Yes, you absolutely can. Because when Simon offers to give you a ride, you take him on the offer without blinking twice, not even considering the possibility of him being a crazy serial killer.

As you collapse into the passenger seat, after telling him your address, you fail to notice that he is not driving you home. The car speeds through the unfamiliar streets, the blur of buildings and street signs barely registering in your mind.

Simon's heart races in his chest. His fingers nervously tap against the steering wheel as he firmly presses down on the gas pedal. His mind is a maelstrom of thoughts, swirling faster than he can make sense of them. On the surface, however, he maintains a cool and composed demeanour, appearing almost unaffected and disinterested.

"Did I already ask for your name?" you ask, turning to face him. "I believe I might have, but... I had way too many shots and drank, at the very least, three or four piña coladas, so I'm feeling a little woozy."

He glances at you.

"Simon."

"Simon." You repeat his name, letting each letter roll off your tongue slowly before you click your teeth; he wishes you would say it again, again and again. "I'm Y/N, in case I didn't introduce myself either."

A heavy silence settles in, creating a stillness that engulfs the car and swallows you. He turns on the heat and the warmth envelops your body, letting another wave of drowsiness wash over you, tempting you to succumb to slumber. However, you're determined to stay awake.

You muster all your energy to stay alert and engaged. In an effort to stave off the impending sleep, you decide to break the silence and start a conversation, hoping it would be enough for you to keep your eyes wide open.

However, just as you turn your gaze towards Simon, his hand swiftly rises, surprising you with its sudden movement. Instantly, his palm firmly presses against the side of your head. His fingers sink into your hair as he grasps a handful of it. The pain shoots through your body, causing you to let out a sharp yelp and instinctively recoil. Before you have a chance to demand him to let you go, he forcefully smashes your head against the cool glass.