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Chapter One
Lacy
There’s this movie that I kinda remember going to a premiere for at some point called Some Kid and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Well, that kid has nothing on the day I’m having.
First, my very best friend in the whole world just up and dumps me for some lumbersexual. Okay, he might have been kinda hot, but there is no reason for anyone to be that tall. Plus, the whole sensitive brut thing was so last year.
Anyway.
Marci said I was ugly. Not like actually ugly, obviously. Because that would just be a lie. But like ugly on the inside or whatever. There was something in there about using people and some other stuff. I don’t know. I kinda tuned out a little after she called me ugly. But all of that is beside the point. The point is that my best friend, the person I always thought I could count on to be there no matter what, just dropped me like last year’s hemlines.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, said BFF dumping happened in the middle of possibly the lamest blind date ever. With an accountant. And not even a rich one, just like, a regular one. And yeah, I guess I could have been a little nicer to the guy, but honestly, being nice to guys just gives them hope and makesthem think they’ll get into your pants at the end of the night. Frankly, it is a waste of both our times to pretend like he was going to be doing anything other than his palm at the end of the date.
All that was horrible and would have called for a house call from my pedicurist. But that isn’t even the worst of it all. No. I tried to get an Uber, but the app wasn’t working on my phone for some reason and said my payment method wasn’t valid. So I had to try and catch a cab, but there weren’t any in the backward neighborhood that weird café-slash-bar thing was at. So I ended up walking five blocks trying to find a stupid cab, or hell, even a subway if I really had to. Have you ever walked five blocks in four-inch, Louboutin, pink, snakeskin, limited-edition shoes?
Of course you haven’t, because those shoes were hella hard to get and like no one has them.
Anyway. Five blocks later, my feet are on the edge of death, I still haven’t found a ride, and now, the cherry on the sundae of my night, a vagrant is following me.
Fear isn’t something I’m super familiar with. I’ve been afraid I wouldn’t get this season’s hot Hermes bag. I’ve been afraid P.Diddy would forget to put me on the list at his club opening, but I’ve never actually feared for my life. Or safety. But this dude has been following a foot behind me for a couple blocks now, and he’s breathing all heavy through his nose, like a bull or something. The stench of urine keeps wafting over me, and I’m shocked I’ve been able to keep down my skinny white chocolate mocha and vodka from the café.
My heart is going wild in my chest, beating out of control. My skin is covered in goosebumps, and for once in my life, I’m speed walking for something other than a pop-up sale at Bergdorf’s. But no matter how fast I go, the guy won’t let up. His breathing just gets heavier and closer. I can’t run in these shoes. I’m not Sarah Jessica Parker. Just as I kick them off and write off mymost prized possession in favor of keeping my vagina untouched by psychopaths, the guy barrels into me from behind, pinning me up against a dirty brick wall outside some dive bar.
Another thing I’ve never had to do in my life is fight. I’ve literally never fought for anything. Ever. I want something, I need something, I get it. No questions. If I can’t get it, I figure out a way for someone else to get it for me. But now, I’m fighting in a way I’ve never even contemplated before. And it’s getting me nowhere. I twist, try to shove my elbow into his side, push against the wall, stomp on his foot, anything to getaway. But nothing works. The guy just pins me against the wall, his gross, hard, stubby dick poking me in the butt cheek.
“That’s a real pretty dress.” Oh god, his breath is so horrible, I think I might throw up. “Be a real shame to rip it, so just hold still.”
Fuck that. I might not know how to fight. I may not know fear. But one thing I do know how to do is scream. So I do. At the top of my lungs, with every last wisp of breath in my lungs. My attacker’s grimy hand comes up to cover my mouth, but I bite him hard enough that I taste his nasty copper blood wash over my tongue. I spit and keep on screaming.
Apparently, I pissed the guy off, because he pulls my head back by my hair and slams my forehead against the brick wall he’s got me pressed against. The world goes hazy, fuzzy around the edges, like someone just pulled the Barbara Walters filter over the camera. Nothing in my vision is clear anymore, and a hot drip of what I think might be blood oozes down my temple. Pain, unlike anything I’ve felt, sears through my head.
My muscles go liquid, and I slump down until the guy’s leverage is the only thing keeping me off the ground.
“I don’t care if you’re awake or asleep. Feels good either way.” The tinny sound of a zipper opening reaches my ears, and I whimper, trying to get away again.
Nearby, a door opens, loud music drowning out the sounds of the city. It slams shut again the music falling away.
The hem on my dress gets pushed up until my ass is almost hanging out for the world to see.
“Get off her!” A deep growl reverberates down the alley, heavy boot steps seem to shake the ground beneath us. I fall to the wet pavement as the attacker is ripped away from me, his nasal voice whining followed by a heavy thud and groaning.
I turn to look, but even that small movement makes everything swim and my stomach turns over. Black creeps into the edges of my vision, and the little strength I still had in my limbs seeps out. Somewhere in my brain, I’m thinking I should stand up, leave the shoes, and run as fast as my French-tipped toes will take me, which probably isn’t very fast. But my body won’t listen. My limbs just keep getting heavier and heavier until it feels like my body is going to sink right down into the pavement.
I’m so tired. I’ve never been this tired before. Maybe if I just close my eyes for a couple minutes, I can gather the strength to walk home. So, I give into it, let the oblivion in, welcome it.
* * *
“Shiiiit.” The soft sheets whisper beneath me as I turn onto my back. Did I get drunk last night? I press the heel of my hand against my forehead, but then hiss in pain and immediately pull it back. Everything rushes back. Marci. The date. Walking. Getting cornered by the homeless guy. My head bouncing off the brick wall, then nothing. Just a deep voice yelling and blackness.
Gingerly, I sit up. One thing becomes apparent the moment I’m semi-upright: I’m naked. Not one stitch of clothes anywhere on my body. The second thing to penetrate the pain anddizziness is that I am not in fact in my bed. Or my bedroom. Or my apartment.
“Morning, sunshine.”
My butt comes three inches off the mattress, and I spin around to find the origins of the half-growled words. The movement sends my head off its axis, and I groan at the pain.
“Yeah, that bump on your head’s gonna hurt for a while.”
“What happened? Who are you? Where am I?” I clutch the sheet puddled at the end of the bed around my chest and skootch back until I’m leaning against the headboard.
