Ang comes up with the best themes.
Glaring neon gave way to pools of gold spotlighting inky blackness. The clack of her heels sounded sharply on the concrete, a rhythm broken often by her stumbles. She giggled to herself, then louder to all the world.
Another sound in the shadows. Her footsteps suddenly were echoed by the heavier sound of boots striking concrete—steady, confident steps. Unhurried. The steps of a predator who already knows his prey has nowhere to go.
Her quickened walk matches her quickened heartbeat: wild, unsteady, a little frantic. This is the nightmare, isn’t it? This is what she thought would never happen; this is what she disregarded with the cavalier carelessness liquor lends so generously.
She tensed to break into a run but was too late. Hot breath on her neck timed itself with the footsteps that were now right on her. Rough hands circled bruisingly around her arms, spinning her and tossing her up against the nearest wall—artfully unfinished red brick, perfect for digging into suddenly so vulnerable flesh.
A big, hard, solid, giant, freaking enormous oh my god I’ll never get away body flings itself out of the shadows and against her, pressing her screaming muscles further into the jagged edges protruding from the wall. A knee wedges between her thighs as an impossibly large hand circles her throat, pressing up into her lower jaw, cutting her off mid-gasp.
Don’t scream, bitch. You won’t live to hear the echo.
Her breath catches. Whooshes out. Eyelids flutter. Heartbeat skitters. Gasp to moan.