In the midst of June

June fanned herself with her thick Anatomy book in the sweltering evening. As a second-year college student living alone, she couldn't afford an apartment with central air, and her scrappy place had a broken air-conditioner that would rather incinerate anyone in its proximity. Best she could do was open all the windows and wait for the mid-spring breeze.

The television aired the last episode of her favorite sitcom and the local news followed.

“The NYPD are continuing their search for the infamous downtown serial-killer,” the announcer said with a disappointed face. “So far, he's killed 11 victims, all in their early twenties, all in home invasions. The feds believe he first gains control of his victims at gunpoint, and then shoots-.”

She turned the TV off. Nothing intriguing to watch, just the usual audio-visual tabloid material.

With a long sigh, she jumped off the couch and limped towards the bathroom in exhaustion. She turned on the shower and undressed. The water heater warmed it up to a reasonable temperature before she adjusted it to be a lot more colder than usual.

She stepped in and let chilling water wash over her. It trudged from her spine to her feet for a few minutes, putting her into nirvana after enduring all the sticky afternoon heat.

Lucy, as always, made her way into the bathroom and hopped onto the toilet seat. She glared at June, peeping through the mist on the glass doors, and meowed to announce her presence.

“Yes, your highness,” June said apologetically.

Lucy meowed again.

“Yes, I'm a bad person for showering instead of giving you more food.”

Lucy realized her complaints were acknowledged and flopped down on the seat waiting for the shower to be over.

June reached for the soap and began cleaning herself. She washed her shoulders, then her arms, legs, and her chest. She had just started on her neck when Lucy suddenly whirled around to face the doorway.

Usually an amiable cat, Lucy purred as she stared intently into the living room. She plopped and hid behind the toilet, still staring at whatever had her attention. June craned her neck, but didn't have the angle to see anything clearly. She immediately remembered the news report she had heard only a couple of minutes earlier. The police were still looking for the downtown serial-killer.

No, this can't be it, she thought. It can't be!

Lucy sneaked further behind the toilet.

Someone's in the living room, June murmured. Shit.

She realized she stood paralyzed in the same position for several seconds. If he knows I'm on to him, he'll have no reason to keep sneaking. I can get out of this, I need to think! She splashed the water and hummed, pretending as if she was still taking a shower.

Could it be the landlord? She thought. No. He wouldn't walk in without knocking. Besides, the front door is locked. The only way in would be to climb through a window. SHIT. I left all the windows open. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Maybe it's just a thief? She thought. He can grab anything he want. Then he'll go away. I'll just pretend to not notice and I'll be okay, right?

The idea sounded veritable for a moment, but she shook her head.

No it can't be. A thief wouldn't break into a place with people in it. With all the windows open, anyone could hear the shower running from outside. The only reason to break in is to get me, not steal.

Her adrenaline peaked as she shook in fight or flight. He's coming for me.

She tried not to hyperventilate. I have a gun, but I left it in my car. Goddamnit! She transfixed her gaze around the shower. I need a weapon. Soap? No. Conditioner? No. I need something sharp. There are knives in the kitchen but it's miles away.

She looked through the misty glass door to the bathroom cabinet. Hairbrush maybe...? Oh, I've got it! The ejecting curling iron under the cabinet. Thank god my landlord never got it fixed when I cut my arm. I could do some damage with that.

A shadow dawned across the doorway.

Terror surged so hard, she could barely breathe. He's here. Now. I don't have time to get the curling iron. He'll have a gun pointed at me. I'd be dead before I could make a move!

She could see it all end within seconds, just inches away from her.

I'm done, this is how it ends. she thought as she trembled in fear.

Her mind raced. I'm naked and unarmed. I'm small and I'm a woman. He won't expect me to fight back. He'll expect me to give in and let him do what he wants. That'll buy me some time. He'll probably try and tie me up. I'll have to act before that or it'll all be over.

The gun appeared first, followed by the man holding it. He seemed trained and held the gun defensively, defying any hope of it being a misunderstanding.

He knows his shit, she thought. And he thinks I haven't noticed yet. He's moving very slowly. I have four seconds. Maybe five.

She balled her fists. I'm not letting him get me like this. I'm going to fight with everything I've got. I may only have a few seconds before death, but I'll do some damage on my way out. Maybe he won't expect me and I'll startle him, enough for me to escape. Either way, I'm not giving him what he came for.

The man crouched around the corner and pointed his gun at her head. She had never seen him before in her life. He was young and attractive. She might have hit on him under different circumstances. He looked nervous even though he had every possible advantage. They exchanged glares.

The glass doors! She concluded. I'll break the glass with my elbow and try to grab a piece. I'll tear my flesh but it's much better than my current options. I have to make it quick.

She summoned all her courage and put her arm in position as the man approached the shower.

“June Taylor,” said the police officer. “Put your hands on the back, you're under arrest for eleven counts of homicide and invasion.”

“You'll never take me alive, you ungrateful fucks,” she said as the glass shattered painting Lucy's white fur dark red.