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“If you were sorry, you little cunt, you wouldn’t have snuck into his room this morning and did it again!” He screams in my face, his hands grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. My head bounces off the metal behind me and I see bright pops of light behind my eyes. If I don’t fight right now, I’m going to be raped or worse. The truth is there in his crazed eyes.
Blake, help me!
“He doesn’t even know you need help, stupid bitch.” He slams me back against the metal doors again. My knees buckle and the only thing holding me up is the bruising grip of his hands on my shoulders. I didn’t even realize I’d said it out loud. I wish I hadn’t. A helpless sob rips from my throat. He does it again, but I don’t feel the pain this time as my vision blurs then fades to grey. He lets me go and I collapse to the floor in a heap. I want to protect myself, but I’m too dazed to figure out how. Then he’s on me, ripping the dress from my numb fingers. I feel the cold air slide over my bare breasts. I should have worn a bra. It’s such a pointless thought. I make a move to cover myself, but my hands are pinned against my sides by the insides of his knees.
Stay calm. Fight when he thinks he has you beaten. I don’t know where the thought comes from, but I know it’s right. I refuse to lie here and let him do this to me. Swallowing the bile rising in my throat I lie motionless beneath him. I know I will only get one chance and letting him believe he has me subdued is the only way I will get it. With as little fight as I’ve put forth so far, I’m not surprised when I hear him chuckle. I keep my eyes closed, listening to the swoosh of his belt being pulled from his pants and the quiet rasp of his zipper being lowered, over the sound of his labored breathing.
“If you stay quiet, I won’t hurt you,” he croons, his breath hot and moist against my ear.
I don’t move. I can’t. I don’t even breathe. I’m going to hurt you! I know that he can’t do what he wants to me in this position, but neither can I, so I need to bide my time.
“See… I knew you could be a good girl.” The smell of unbrushed teeth and stale garlic makes me fight another wave of revulsion twisting in my stomach. The eggs I ate with Blake for breakfast threaten to come back up. I stop fighting the nausea and twist my head to the side and let it out, choking a little from the awkward position.
“Fuck! Fuck!” he screams jumping to his feet. How has no one heard him? I roll to the side crawling away from him, my head spinning, coughing and gagging. Didn’t plan on that, but it got me out from under him.
My retreat is halted by his fist in my hair dragging fully pain to my feet. I scream just as the sound of something large crashing into the far side of the door reverberates through the room. For an instant Lawrence is distracted by the sound and looks away from me.
I take the small window of opportunity the momentary interruption affords me and lift my knee as hard as I can, connecting with the testicles and hard penis that are hanging out the front of his slacks. He releases my hair and I gag again at the evidence of his intentions as he falls to his knees howling and cradling his injured manhood.
“You fucking bitch,” he gasps, reaching for me with one hand. I stagger back a step and trip over the bench, falling to the floor with a startled cry. White hot pain shoots up my spine and down my legs as my tailbone makes agonizing contact with the concrete, freezing me in place while my mind screams at me to move. MOVE! His hand grasps my ankle, dragging me toward him.
Fight or he’s going to hurt you!
I lash out with my other foot, my heel connecting with his nose. He screams again, blood gushing down over his bared teeth and chin. He releases me, gurgling and muttering curses while clutching his face, injured privates temporarily forgotten. This time I’m able to move, despite the pains rattling my body, and I scramble on my hands and knees across the floor toward the door. The distinctive sound of the lock turning overwhelms me with relief. Someone is coming in!
“Help me!” I scream, terrified when I hear Lawrence rising to his feet behind me, cursing under his breath as he shuffles toward me.
The door flies open and two large forms barrel through from the hall beyond. I can’t see who it is, my vision still blurred from the impact of my head on the lockers, but it doesn’t matter. It’s a good thing I’m on the floor because I think I might faint. Strong arms enfold me, pulling me close, and a voice whispers in my ear. I fight to free myself, still screaming for help.
“Shhh. Angel, it’s okay. I’m here. Shhh.” The familiar voice breaks through my panic. Blake!
“Blake?” I sob past my raw, painful throat.
“I’m here, Ellie. I’m sorry. So sorry,” I can smell him. The distinctive, clean scent that I love overpowers the smell of fear and vomit and a fainter, metallic smell that I can’t quite place.
“Blake…” his name is the only word in my shocked vocabulary.
“You did so good, baby. So good.” Strong arms sweep me off my feet and I weakly rest my head against his shoulder.
“You got this?” he says to someone I can’t see.
“Yeah, cops are on their way.” I recognize the voice. It’s Ana’s husband, Xavier. My boss.
“I’m taking her next door.”
“What’s next door?” I whisper against his throat. The tears burning in my eyes stream down my cheeks, clearing my vision somehow and as he turns I see Xavier, a big black pistol in his hand trained on Lawrence who is sitting on the floor with his flaccid penis still hanging out the front of his pants, blood streaming from his broken nose while he sobs and mutters to himself.
“Doesn’t matter, Ellie. Just need to get you out of here. I’m so sorry baby.”
“Not your fault,” I whisper, suddenly so tired. My head hurts. “My head,” I lift my hand and touch my forehead where the pain is and feel something wet. My fingers are red with blood. “What happened?” I ask, confused. I remember hitting the back of my head, not the front.
“I don’t know babe, you were bleeding when I got to you.”
Next door is the men’s changing room. I’ve never been in here, not even to clean. Carefully, Blake sets me on the wide counter by the sinks and quickly snaps pictures of my injuries with his phone before wetting a clean towel from a cabinet and gently wiping my face clean.
“Did he…” he starts, a dark cloud settling over his striking features. I shake my head, then moan from the dizziness and fresh wave of nausea the movement causes.
“Almost,” I say, “but then a voice told me to fight, so I did. I got away, and then you were there.” Tears start flowing again and he crushes me against his familiar chest, carefully stroking my hair, avoiding the tender place where the back of my head connected with the lockers.
