back.
That nagging non-stop voice saying it’s not too late to turn back keeps
repeating over and over in my head, but I don’t listen.
I follow him. He opens the passenger door. Standing
by, waiting. Reluctant, I get in. He slams it. Inside the car it’s freezing.
The leather below me chills me to my bones. I hold my mouth tight shut, biting
my teeth together to stop them chattering. It may not only be the cold that’s
making me shake. Maybe I’m more scared than I even know. He pulls the door
open on the other side and swings into his seat. The whole car sinks under his
weight. Seeing him now sitting, head, shoulders, legs, I realise just how big
he is. As tall as Rob at least. His legs are solid with muscle. His whole
body broad. The arm I can see is thick as a tree trunk. His black coat creaks
awkwardly against the cream seat.
He interrupts my silent thoughts by planting a firm
kiss on my lips that tastes and smells of mint. His lips feel dry, like
sandpaper. I’m in shock and disgusted too at his abruptness but instead,
stupidly , I gauge the silly girly reaction of smiling coyly. I even
hear myself giggle. This is not funny. Perhaps this was not the best
reaction. I should have just got out the car and run as he then moves his
whole body, shifting his titanic weight over on to me. His mouth pushes
against my lips again. His hard poky tongue inside my little shocked mouth
that is still chewing gum. He’s too heavy for me to be able to move at all so
I feel I have no choice but to go along with this ridiculous charade.
Then he stops, suddenly. “Right lets go to mine.” My
plan was then to jump at the chance to make a quick getaway by swinging open my
door and running for my life, but no time to. He clicks down all the locks
with his elbow before moving his weight off me. He’s started the car and spins
it round, way too quickly for me to even think about making a break for it.
Out the door now would be suicide. Shit . Trust your instincts. Too
late now...
It’s not often I’m in a car with a stranger, a
complete unknown. In fact, it’s never. This is the first time I’ve ever been
in this situation and so dangerously out of control. His driving makes me
think he’s a certified maniac. He even has the front to drive in a loop back
to the club, rolling down the window, tooting his horn to the appreciative
hollers of the people outside, his bouncer mates and a few stragglers hanging
on.
“Where are we going?” I say quickly, trying to keep
my voice deep and steady even while all my nerves inside me are totally
freaking out, like I’m about to die. I sound about as sexy as a drain and
hopefully like the hard-faced cow I now want to be. “I want to go home.”
“We’re going back to mine. Like I said.” He says it with
a frightening smile. I absolutely hate him now. As I look round the car I get
the urge to stick a knife in the leather or burn it with a cigarette or put
down dirty finger prints, cause as much damage as I can. At the same time
thinking, clinging to the thought of my advantage, the bottle in my jeans that
would look so good broken over his skull right now. Red blood trickling down his
face. It frightens me what this fear could make me do. I am scared but ready
to kill him if I have to. But not right now, not yet. Hold fire, wait.
I sit in silence. Minutes pass by. No talking. I
want out. I plan my escape. If only he could see my thought bubbles. I could
make a break for it at the first set of traffic lights but in these quiet
suburban streets, there now seem to be no lights at all. I could just attack
him now, outright, but I don’t want to do that really. Last resort. I don’t
want to end up getting picked out of a car wreck bit by piece. I will bide my
time, sit tight.
He’s humming now loudly, unnervingly, to some weird
shouty rock music playing on
That nagging non-stop voice saying it’s not too late to turn back keeps
repeating over and over in my head, but I don’t listen.
I follow him. He opens the passenger door. Standing
by, waiting. Reluctant, I get in. He slams it. Inside the car it’s freezing.
The leather below me chills me to my bones. I hold my mouth tight shut, biting
my teeth together to stop them chattering. It may not only be the cold that’s
making me shake. Maybe I’m more scared than I even know. He pulls the door
open on the other side and swings into his seat. The whole car sinks under his
weight. Seeing him now sitting, head, shoulders, legs, I realise just how big
he is. As tall as Rob at least. His legs are solid with muscle. His whole
body broad. The arm I can see is thick as a tree trunk. His black coat creaks
awkwardly against the cream seat.
He interrupts my silent thoughts by planting a firm
kiss on my lips that tastes and smells of mint. His lips feel dry, like
sandpaper. I’m in shock and disgusted too at his abruptness but instead,
stupidly , I gauge the silly girly reaction of smiling coyly. I even
hear myself giggle. This is not funny. Perhaps this was not the best
reaction. I should have just got out the car and run as he then moves his
whole body, shifting his titanic weight over on to me. His mouth pushes
against my lips again. His hard poky tongue inside my little shocked mouth
that is still chewing gum. He’s too heavy for me to be able to move at all so
I feel I have no choice but to go along with this ridiculous charade.
Then he stops, suddenly. “Right lets go to mine.” My
plan was then to jump at the chance to make a quick getaway by swinging open my
door and running for my life, but no time to. He clicks down all the locks
with his elbow before moving his weight off me. He’s started the car and spins
it round, way too quickly for me to even think about making a break for it.
Out the door now would be suicide. Shit . Trust your instincts. Too
late now...
It’s not often I’m in a car with a stranger, a
complete unknown. In fact, it’s never. This is the first time I’ve ever been
in this situation and so dangerously out of control. His driving makes me
think he’s a certified maniac. He even has the front to drive in a loop back
to the club, rolling down the window, tooting his horn to the appreciative
hollers of the people outside, his bouncer mates and a few stragglers hanging
on.
“Where are we going?” I say quickly, trying to keep
my voice deep and steady even while all my nerves inside me are totally
freaking out, like I’m about to die. I sound about as sexy as a drain and
hopefully like the hard-faced cow I now want to be. “I want to go home.”
“We’re going back to mine. Like I said.” He says it with
a frightening smile. I absolutely hate him now. As I look round the car I get
the urge to stick a knife in the leather or burn it with a cigarette or put
down dirty finger prints, cause as much damage as I can. At the same time
thinking, clinging to the thought of my advantage, the bottle in my jeans that
would look so good broken over his skull right now. Red blood trickling down his
face. It frightens me what this fear could make me do. I am scared but ready
to kill him if I have to. But not right now, not yet. Hold fire, wait.
I sit in silence. Minutes pass by. No talking. I
want out. I plan my escape. If only he could see my thought bubbles. I could
make a break for it at the first set of traffic lights but in these quiet
suburban streets, there now seem to be no lights at all. I could just attack
him now, outright, but I don’t want to do that really. Last resort. I don’t
want to end up getting picked out of a car wreck bit by piece. I will bide my
time, sit tight.
He’s humming now loudly, unnervingly, to some weird
shouty rock music playing on
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