Tom Cruise

My heart pounds in my chest, as every bit of calm I’d managed to build up slides off of me like oil. Shit. I lock eyes with the man in front of me, his gaze piercing into my soul. I fight to keep my expression calm, not wanting to give him any ideas. Apologize, dumbass.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry. I- I just got in my head and I wasn’t paying att-” Before I can finish my sentence, Tom grabs my arm to cut me off. I think I feel him squeeze a little, almost feeling me up, but try to write it off to nerves for my own sake. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. D-

“Don’t worry about it. It happens to the best of us.” He smiles at me and I mirror his expression, trying my best to get myself out of this situation as fast as possible.

“Alright.” He’s still touching you. “I really didn’t mean to. You know how it is.” He nods in agreement and lets go of my arm, his fingers lingering near my elbow a little longer than is comfortable. Before I can get myself into more trouble, I nod back at him and head back into the crowd, fighting the urge to look back at him. Fuck.

I head over to the nearby bathroom, trying to find a good vantage point. Seeing the way he looked at me and remembering the feeling of his hand on my arm, I know there isn’t even a snowball’s chance in hell that he doesn’t already have someone coming after me. I start scanning the room again, trying to pick out any unreasonably large men in all-black get-ups or something. They’ve gotta be big. You can’t feel me up like that and think a bunch of teenage boys could-

My attention snaps to a group of late-teenage to early-twenties guys walking towards me. You’re kidding. I eye up the leader of the group, trying to figure out what I’m up against, which isn’t much by the looks of them. He has a bit of a babyface, a slight frame, pasty as all hell, and doesn’t look much older than 18 if even that. The rest of the group doesn’t look like they’d have that much more of a chance against me. The oldest of them can’t be older than 23 and still has the build of a seventh-grade football player. This is gonna be fun.

“Hey, motherfucker, what’s your problem?” I raise my eyebrows at the almost-child in front of me, bracing myself for what’s bound to be one of the easiest fights of my life.

“Hey, man, you’re the kid trying to start shit.” His face goes red at me calling him a kid and I watch his friends reach to hold him back like he could really do any damage. The whole thing would almost feel cute if I didn’t know they wanted to try and beat the shit out of me.

“I’m not a kid, jackass.”

“Right. That’s why you cuss like a third-grader and sound like puberty hasn’t even driven down your block. Gotcha.” He grabs my shirt and pulls me closer to him. A smirk slides across my face watching the anger covering his. The rest of his crew starts to encircle me and red flags start going up in my head. I reach to my back pocket for my boxcutter when the oldest of the group pulls a knife and aims the tip at my throat.

“I don’t think so, buddy.” Fuck. My eyes dart from person to person, trying to find a weak point in the circle surrounding me to maybe break out of. The best chance I have of getting out of this without having to fight someone is steamrolling the kid in front of me and forcing my way between the two guys behind him and that’s not gonna happen. Great, now I have to kill a bunch of teenagers- exactly how I wanted my Friday night to go.

I shove the kid in front of me as hard as I can, then swing my arm into the elbow of the knife wielder. He pulls his arm back and I ram shoulder-first into the second weakest of the group, knocking him down. I start to make a run for it when multiple people grab my shirt and arms and pull me back. Before I can try to fight them off and start running again, I feel the blade of a knife pressed against my neck. My mind races, trying to figure out a way to get out of this situation with my freedom and my throat still intact.

I look up at the two guys holding my arms, only to realize that they aren’t any of the teenagers- they’re 6’ 1”, at least 30, and shredded. Shit.

“Hey,” a familiar voice yells from behind the crowd of teenagers. Should’ve fucking known. My heart pounds in my ears as I watch the bodies in front of me drop. Racing thoughts crowd my head and all the noise around me drops out. The crowd around me thins out and I see a painfully familiar face. “Alright, so are you two gonna leave him the fuck alone or do I have to kick your asses, too?”

The two men let go of my arms and move away from me. No. I keep my eyes straight, giving up on trying to avoid eyecontact with Tom. Before either of us can make the next move, a thought flashes through my head. I can probably outrun him.