But his confidence was shaken when he noticed the figure following him. A woman, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and her eyes locked on him with a predatory gaze. She wore a black leather jacket, the collar turned up, and dark jeans. She was older, perhaps in her late twenties, and her presence made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
The boy picked up his pace, but the woman followed suit, closing the distance between them. He could hear her footsteps behind him, steady and determined. He felt a knot form in his stomach, a mix of fear and anger.
"Hey there, handsome," the woman called out, her voice smooth and sultry. "Where are you headed in such a hurry?"
The boy ignored her, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't speak English well, but he knew enough to understand what she was saying. He turned to her, his dark eyes flashing.
"Você é uma pedófila?" he asked, his Portuguese thick and heavily accented.
The woman blinked, confusion written all over her face. She didn't understand. The boy sighed, frustration creeping in.
"Leave me alone," he said, his voice firm and clear. He tried again in English, hoping she would understand. "I don't want to talk to you."
The woman nodded, a fake smile plastered on her face. She pretended to understand, but the boy could see through her facade. He flipped her off, his middle finger raised in a show of defiance.
"Go away," he said, his voice harsh.
But the woman didn't take the hint. Instead, she reached out and grabbed the boy's hand, her fingers tight around his wrist. The boy recoiled in disgust and fear, pulling his hand away.
"Don't touch me," he said, his voice shaking.
The woman tried to follow him, but the boy quickened his pace, his long legs carrying him away from her. He could hear her footsteps behind him, but he didn't look back. He ran, his heart racing, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
The woman chased him, her footsteps echoing in the darkness. She was gaining on him, her determination unwavering. The boy's mind raced, looking for a place to hide. He spotted a baseball bat lying on the ground and picked it up, clutching it tightly in his hand.
The woman caught up to him, but the boy was ready. He swung the bat at her, connecting with her arm. She cried out in pain, stumbling backwards. The boy took the opportunity to run again, leaving the woman behind.
He didn't stop running until he was sure she was far behind him. He leaned against a wall, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He looked back, his eyes scanning the darkness. He saw the woman standing in the distance, holding her arm.
The boy smirked, feeling a sense of satisfaction. He knew he won this round, but he also knew the woman wouldn't give up that easily. He turned and continued walking, the bat still in his hand. He was ready for whatever the woman threw his way.
The woman watched him go, her arm throbbing in pain. But there was a look of determination in her eyes. She'll be back, and next time, she won't be so easy to shake off.
The boy heard her footsteps behind him, but he didn't turn around. He knew she was there, but he wasn't afraid. He kept walking, the bat still in his hand. He was ready to face whatever came his way.
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