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7
TRIGGER WARNING - NEAR SEXUAL ASSAULT MENTIONS
Jack had stiffened when I brought up that horrible day on the streets. He’d growled about failing me, and the sound, the way his voice had distorted, wasn’t the only thing that made me flinch.
It was the fire that ignited in his eyes, burning in his irises with utter fury.
I didn’t want him to be upset.
I remembered that day all too well, even though I’d tried to forget it.
I remembered huddling under the bridge to sleep for the night, wishing desperately that I’d found more food and a better blanket than the one I’d stolen from the back of an open car.
My hellhounds were all standing guard over me.
I’d felt safe with them, they’d helped me sleep so many cold nights alone before.
But that night, when the group of men, other homeless guys I’d seen in passing, found me huddled under the bridge, fear had hit me.
“Look at this one, she’s pretty,” the clear ringleader said as the group came to a standstill not too far from me.
I pretended to be asleep, my heart hammering in my chest as I huddled under the flimsy blanket. At least I had my gloves and beanie on, but the cold night air was just a little too much tonight, and I’d already accepted I was unlikely to get much sleep.
Now, now I wished I’d not chosen this bridge. I should’ve stuck to the park with the other few homeless people I’d come to know, like the aged Dorothy.
Why’d I have to go out on my own?
“I’ve seen her around, she’s young,” another laughed softly. “Always like ‘em young.”
My monsters were growling now, and their distress for me was obvious. A chill coursed down my spine at his words, but I continued to lay still, hoping they’d pass on by and leave me be.
“No one can see us here,” another one murmured, and my breath caught. God, please no.
And then they closed in on me, like wolves hunting a wounded deer.
I snapped up, my eyes wide open as I tried to scramble to my feet and flee.
But harsh hands locked onto my arms like a vice, and I cried out as I was dragged to the ground, kicking out as I tried to fight him off. His fingers dug into my skin as he held me down, and I caught the wretched scent of cigarettes as I struggled against him.
I tried to scream, but he covered my mouth as one of the others joined him, tugging at my clothing as his breath came out in harsh pants.
It was dark, and I couldn’t see their faces easily. But I felt their hands. Their disgusting, harsh hands bruising my skin and yanking my jeans down. I remembered the icy nip of the air touching my now bare skin as tears stung my eyes, my heart threatening to explode from my ribcage. I struggled against them, but it was useless, they were far too strong for me.
I whimpered, hoping desperately that someone would rescue me, that someone on the bridge above would sense something was off. That they’d look over the edge and hear my muffled whimpers and cries and come to my aid.
The growling and snarling intensified, and I cried out as I was rolled onto my stomach, my jeans and panties around my ankles.
“She’s rather clean for a street kid. Bet she’s a virgin too,” one of them snickered, and the others chuckled. I’d never forget their wretched sounds of delight as I lay exposed to them, praying I could escape.
I felt those horrid hands sliding between my legs, forcing them apart, those calloused fingers scraping over my skin like I was just a piece of meat.
I closed my eyes as that zipper slid down, and I wondered if they’d kill me when they were done.
I’d always hoped my first time would be with the man I’d spend the rest of my life with.
But I guess life was cruel, and the streets were mean.
The snarls increased, and I dug my nails into the dirt, biting my lip and holding my breath as tears slid down my cheeks, awaiting the pain I knew was coming. I wanted to slip into my mind, fade away from this whole situation.
