Drunk Duck's Assault

"Oh my god! What happened here?" Greta asked and was stunned by the whole mess in the living room.

"You came early? Well, I guess I can explain what really happened here. I know I'll be fired because of all this chaos, but at least pay me for today," I rambled and Greta rushed towards Clark to examine him. My mind was racing through all the terrible thoughts. What if she asked me to pay for the damage? That bitter excuse of a Brownie would be clearly taking revenge.

But to my astonishment, Greta came and hugged me. "Oh, thank you honey. It was my fault, I assured you that Clark wouldn't do any harm. But he did, so I'm sorry. I never expected you to actually take great care of him."

"I'll take that as a compliment," I said and smiled smugly. I helped Greta with all the stuff scattered on the floor and all the while Clark was shut in his room. After spending some time cleaning the floor, I stretched myself and yawned. "Greta, I should get going. I'm soo hungry and tired!"

"You can stay over for dinner," Greta offered and I pretended to think. I couldn't deny such an offer and couldn't even accept it right then. My stomach was growling and I was tired of eating takeaways. I nodded to Greta and she disappeared into the kitchen. I was fiddling with the table cloth when the Cinderalla moment happened.

Clark glided down the stairs looking quite sober. It seemed that he took a shower because his smooth dark brown hair was wet and tousled. His hidden muscles evident under his plain, light, blue t-shirt (a lighter shade of Cinderella's gown). He wore sneakers instead of glass slippers. His glasses added a kind of a blend of mystery and cuteness to his manly look.

He ignored me and sat at the farthest corner of the table. Greta appeared from the kitchen and I got up to help her. After arranging the dishes on the table quickly, I sat down and helped myself. The aroma was mind blowing. I dumped load of food which was red sauce pasta on my plate and shoved the spoon into my mouth. OH. MY. GOD. I was in pure bliss.

"This tastes just like the food my mum cooks. How is it even possible? This is exactly my mum's style of cooking," I pointed out in astonishment and licked the spoon. This couldn't be real. "Greta, you have fantastic cooking skills, just like my mum's. I'm absolutely gobsmacked."

Greta looked amused and then she laughed. I glanced at Clark who was awkwardly eating his pasta, poking it with his fork. I poured the orange juice into my glass and sipped it.

Greta said, "There is a misunderstanding, honey. This food is not cooked by me, but by Clark."

"Oh really? Mamma Brownie, will you cook for me often?" To which he glared at me.

* * *

After gobbling up the delicious food, I left their place. I went home and straightaway crashed on the bed. I slept for quite some time, but then I couldn't sleep anymore. I was constantly tossing and turning on the bed while contemplating on whether to just lie down or get up and have some more fun. I chose the latter.

I hopped out of the bed and threw on a denim jacket over my white t-shirt and black jeans. I ran a comb through my shoulder length, frizzy brown hair and took my backpack. Dad was probably at home working till late night over some case in the study room so I decided to not sneak out from the front door. I climbed out of my window and stood on the roof. I took the help of the nearby pipe, slid down like a slimy snail and landed on the the green grass with a soft thud.

On the streets while walking, my eyes met a plain white wall. This would be the most appropriate place for me to show my skills. I dug into my backpack and threw some spray paint bottles on the ground. I loved graffiti art. When I was a child, I once went through my brother's stuff and discovered a spray paint bottle. It immediately caught my attention and I started to paint and draw. At first, my parents and the entire town encouraged me because I was distracted from doing any mischief and was sincerely doing some great art. However, soon when I grew up, I started painting a lot on the walls.

That was when people shooed my interest away. My beautiful colourful paintings were all over the town's walls. Most of the people liked it, while some didn't. I was eleven when I was first sent to jail for vandalizing the public property. Turned out, that I painted on the walls of an old grumpy man and he reported it to the station. My parents were extremely disappointed, but I was happy in making new friends in the jail. My dad's co-workers pampered me with a lot of candies and delicious treats [they apparently smuggled it, but oh well] when I stayed in jail. As I said earlier, it was like my second home.

I fervently started painting on the plain white wall. I was painting a fierce, bright lion with it's hair coming off as fire. It was difficult to paint on such a dark night, but then again, in the daylight nobody would allow me to do so.

"Hello, hawtie! Wanna come home wiff me?" I heard a drunk voice behind me and I whirled around, my eyes widening to see a man in his late twenties grinning stupidly. His eyes were bloodshot and he stumbled awkwardly. The man was definitely not from our town because I trusted my town people. I went on so many midnight trips, but not once had I encountered a drunkard with clearly wrong intentions. Just fantastic.

He approached me with a creepy grin. I randomly threw some paint bottles, but even in such a state he dodged those and even when one of the bottles hit him, he just laughed. He pouted when I backed away from his reach and suddenly I remembered that he resembled someone. Donald duck!

I started laughing hysterically and sprinted away from him. I heard loud footsteps and knew that he was following me. I glanced behind and he was pretty fast, but what was more funny was that he was galloping. I laughed loudly and squeaked, "Quack, Quack, Quack."

"Don't make it hard for me whore, come here and we'll have lots of buns-nuns . . . fun," he slurred and I shook my head while running.

I giggled and shouted back,"I ain't your daisy, sucker!"

I huffed and tried to increase my pace. I was good at running, but then again that man wasn't bad either. He chased me and didn't give up on me. I thought he'd leave me after some chasing, but turned out that man was really desperate. And that was when it clicked to me that this shit was serious. I was already panting and I couldn't run more. I tried many attempts of knocking the drunk Donald duck, but I failed miserably.

I reached for my pocket to grab my cell phone, but I realized I forgot it at home. How could I be so stupid?

I had to think of a new plan or else he could do anything. I swallowed hard and tried not to cry, I had to be strong. In the darkness and all this chaos, I couldn't find my way to the police station or home. So, I ran into the backyard of a random house and made my way to the front door. I had seen the topmost room lit brightly, so somebody must be awake. The town people would definitely help me.

I felt angry for seeking help from somebody else since I wasn't any damsel in distress. But now I knew I had ran out of my energy and the sad reality of getting raped and killed settled into me. Sweat formed over my forehead of exhaustion and nervousness. I desperately banged the door of the house loudly and rang the bell continuously. I screamed like a madwoman, "Open the damn door! Please! Open---"

I flinched when I felt the hand of the drunkard lingering over my back. I turned around and before I knew, I was being pulled by him. He dragged me behind the bushes and enclosed me in his filthy arms. I thrashed and kicked and threw random punches in the air. I tried to scream, but he put his large hand over my mouth and squeezed my cheeks.

The thorns of the bush was pricking me and tearing my flesh. My vision was turning obscure, but I didn't give up though. I wiggled under his grasp and continued to struggle. His grungy, cold hands roamed freely over my body as he groped my breasts, eagerly trying to slip his hand underneath my shirt, but I swatted it away. My body was shaking uncontrollably as I tried to bite his hand covering my mouth.  He then went to unbutton my jeans, but I managed to stomp his foot hard which prevented him from going any further and he hissed in pain.

Suddenly, I heard faint footsteps, but the drunk duck didn't seem to notice it. I waited for someone to pull me up and I was not disappointed. Somebody really came to help me. The person threw the drunk duck who was on top of me and helped me up. The drunk duck narrowed his eyes, stumbled over a rock and then quickly fled before we could catch him. The silhouette of the helper turned around, but I couldn't see him in the dark.

"Come home, I would do you no harm. Just give you first aid and drop you home safely, I assure you," I heard him say, the voice was warm, young and assuring. I hesitated, but impulsively stepped into his house. I trusted my town people completely. I knew each one of them and I was damn sure I knew him too.

He switched on the lights and the entire house flooded with brightness. I first looked towards the kind man. He turned around and I recognised him immediately. He was in his early twenties, the same age of Clark and my brother. He had light brown hair and twinkling black eyes with tanned, rich skin. He looked at me and was stunned.

"Hope you're okay. Just wait here and let me bring the first aid box," he said gently and I nodded. I looked around and saw rich embroidered carpet flooding the floor and expensive vases around. I was standing in the hallway and drummed my hand on the shoe stand. I sensed him approaching me and he smiled. "Here show me the bruises. Next time be careful and safe, okay?"

"Ah, I know. I could have handled that drunk duck myself but then again I gave you the privilege of doing so," I said playfully feigning courage and he chuckled. He dabbed the cotton over my hand and took out the materials to dress my wound.

He fiddled with it and glanced at me. "Sorry, I don't know how to---"

"It's okay. I know, give it here." I took those materials and dressed the wound myself.

He looked at me amusingly. "I never thought the girl behind the bushes would be you. You're so bold and popular around the town, George."

"Eh, yeah. And that's why you are going to keep this a secret. Tell this to anybody and I'll make sure to pull pranks on you too," I threatened and he laughed.

After I finished dressing my wound, he asked, "I came here only a few months ago. Do you know me?"

"Of course, I know you. You are the richest man of the town!"

He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair. He stuck out his hand and I shook it warmly. He then introduced, "I may not really be the richest man of the town, but I'm just Ian, Ian King."