evening. Before I can fill my lungs completely with fresh air, a hand is clamped roughly around my mouth, and I’m pulled up and off of my feet.
After the shock wears off that someone has just grabbed me while I'm alone on the street, I don’t immediately begin to fight. My first thought is that Brady has followed me out here and wants to teach me another lesson.
As the man crosses the street, I realize too late that this isn’t Brady. Brady is lean and muscular, not built like a linebacker with arms the size of tree stumps. I frantically begin kicking out my legs in front of me and squirming as hard as I can. My screams are muffled by the large, sweaty hand that pushes harder against my mouth, and my weak attempts at getting free are no match for the giant who towers over me and clutches my back against the front of him. He’s dragging me away from the building and across the street. My eyes desperately search around for someone, anyone to come outside and notice me. His arm is banded around both of my arms, forcing them to stay put at my sides so I can’t even claw him or pound into him with the fists I’ve made. I’m still trying to scream around his hand, my voice straining with the effort, but he only squeezes onto my face harder—so hard I can taste blood in my mouth from my teeth cutting into my cheeks. I jerk my head angrily from side to side, trying to dislodge his hand while I continue kicking my feet out as hard as I can. He’s holding me off of the ground as he hustles backwards, further and further away from the side door of the club, and my high heeled feet hit nothing but air. One of my shoes flies off and clatters to the ground.
Why did I come out here alone? Even if there wasn’t some strange guy sending me letters, I KNOW better than to do something this foolish.
The man suddenly stops walking, setting my feet on the ground but keeping a tight hold on me. He leans his face to one side of my head, and I can feel his sweaty, stale breath against my ear. I shudder in fear and revulsion as he traces his tongue along my earlobe before whispering into my ear.
“You’re going to be mine someday very soon, princess. I’m not ready for you just yet, but I will be. And you’re going to be ready for me,” he states menacingly as the arm wrapped around my arms and waist moves lower, the fingers of his big, meaty hand sliding in between my legs right where my short dress stops.
Oh God, don’t let him do this. I don’t want his hands on me.
I’m so busy squeezing my eyes shut and trying to block out the way his callused fingers feel on the inside of my thighs as they inch upward, it takes me a moment to realize his grip around my mouth has slipped and he’s not holding on so tight. Without giving a second thought to what I’m about to do, I open my mouth wide and clamp down as hard as I can on the knuckle and finger of his right hand. The man lets out a shocked, painful scream as I squeeze my jaw together as hard as I can. His hand between my legs immediately drops, and he shoves me roughly away from him. Only having one shoe on throws me off balance, and I stumble, tripping over a bump in the sidewalk, and fall down hard on my knees. The palms of my hands scrape against the concrete as I use them to brace my fall. Ignoring the pain that shoots up my knees and my arms, I let out the most blood curdling scream I can muster as I awkwardly try to push myself back up to my feet and scramble away at the same time. I continue to scream as I crawl and stumble my way back towards the club, back towards people who will help me.
I see the door of the club that I came out of burst open and slam against the opposite wall, and a feeling of relief washes through me. A feeling that is quickly snuffed out when rough hands clutch a handful of my hair and yank me backwards roughly. My feet slide out from under me, and