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I decided to leave at 11:30 p.m. It was getting rowdy and out of control. One whiskey breath guy after another wanted to take me home. Blinding, bright flashing lights intimidated me to an extreme point of aggravation. My egotistical friends were apparently too cool to leave, and I didn't feel safe, so I left. Alone. Click, clack. My heels hit the hard pavement. Click, clack. The cool breeze and light showers of the December night brushed past my exposed legs. I decided to make a shortcut down the fish market alley. “Lizzie!” I jumped in shock and looked around frantically. Who could have possibly followed me all this way? “Lizzie, where are you going?” The voice called again. This time, I didn't turn around. I didn't flinch. I ran. I ran as fast as I could through the wet alley toward the small light at the end. Click, clack, click. My fiery red stilettos hit the now puddled pavement harder. “Lizzie,” the voice sounded seemingly closer. Then, I heard a smash and felt a hard hit. I’m trying to comprehend how I ended up in this room. Small, enclosed, and dark. Very dark. Too dark for my eyes to try to adjust to see anything. I couldn't remember how I left, where I left from, and where I was walking. I guess when I left the party I had hurt someone’s feelings. And now, I am not alone.

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