Read Online The Fallen by Celia Thomson - Free Book Online

clown shoes, and goldchains. Paul had worn jeans and a jean jacket with a pin of a DNA helix that said Selfish Gene. Chloe had just worn a vintage evening gown and a half mask, one that Amy had helped her take apart and put on a stick so she would look like a Venetian attending a ball.
    â€œHey—
smile,
sister!”
    Chloe broke out of her reverie to see one of San Francisco’s many friendly street people approaching her. He was tall and probably in his twenties, with blond hair in stupid white-man dreads. His clothes were grubby. Chloe forced a smile at him and kept walking.
    â€œHey, sister, can you spare a dollar or two?” He ran alongside her and put out his hand. “I really need a beer.” He flashed a toothy grin at her. His honesty was refreshing—and amusing—but Chloe suddenly realized there was no one else on the street with them, and all of the shops were closed for the night.
    Her Spidey sense, as Paul would have called it, tingled. She picked up the pace.
    â€œSorry,” she said.
    â€œCome
on.”
He grabbed at her hand. “You gotta have a dollar or two. Everyone does.”
    Chloe pulled her hand away. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”
    â€œI’ll bet you do.” He grabbed her harder and spun her around.
    â€œLet go of me!” She yelled it, looking him right in the eye, just like they had taught her in the self-defense class she and her mom had taken. He put his otherhand over her mouth. It stank of old body, dog, and pee.
    â€œCome on, don’t be like that. We can have a little fun.” He leered at her.
    Suddenly she was
angry,
all fear gone. Rage burned in her: who did he think he was? What gave him the right to do this to
her—
to anyone?
    Chloe bit down on his hand, catching a thick piece of palm meat. She ground her teeth down and pulled back her head, ripping something loose.
    â€œHoly
shit—motherfuckerl”
He pulled that hand away, stared at it dumbly, thick ropes of blood gushing out of it. Then he whacked her in the face.
    It hurt
bad.
Chloe didn’t care. She spun around. Using his hand to balance herself, Chloe leapt up and kicked him on the chest.
    Which was odd, because she didn’t know a single martial art, and she’d actually been aiming for his crotch.
    He stumbled backward, winded.
    Chloe waited.
    â€œYou little—” He dove at her.
    She leapt easily out of the way and grabbed his hair as he passed. She yanked back hard on it so he lost balance, then spun and kicked him in the side as he fell. She channeled all her rage at the world, at her friends, at Alyec, at her dad who’d left her, at her bad chemistry grade into that kick. There was a very satisfying sound of ribs breaking. He rolled onto his stomach and she kicked him on his other side.
    â€œFucking—bitch—,” he wheezed. “I’ll kill you—”
    Chloe backhanded him on the side of the head. He went out immediately. Blood trickled out of his ear and down his jaw.
    She stood there, panting.
What now? Call 911 anonymously for the second time in a week?
    Nah.
He didn’t deserve it. She turned and started walking home.
    The night was the same as it was when she began her walk: beautiful, cold, and quiet. Chloe whisded a little time, still full of adrenaline, realizing something strange.
    She had enjoyed
every second
of the fight.

Seven
    Her mother didn’t come home until late that night, after she was home and asleep, so Chloe was spared the almost inevitable confrontation about the bruises and scrapes on her cheeks. She slept dreamlessly until her alarm rang and managed to hide her face from her mom until she got out of the house.
    â€œWhat the hell happened to
youi”
It was blunt, but at least Amy didn’t start off with any is-your-mom-hitting-you bullshit. She was smoking a clove cigarette this morning, trying to look cool by casually dropping it and stepping on it as they approached