legitimate and terribly, terribly boring, but I do get to keep my clothes on and the money is far better than I could have hoped for. Everybody is really nice to me and Ann, my co-worker, picks me up in the morning and drops me off after work. So no complaints.
That day I work till late and when I get out of the car the night air is warm and thick with an imminent storm brewing.
‘See you tomorrow,’ I call and wave as Ann drives away.
I fish my keys out of my bag and start walking up the path to my front door. I swear I never felt even the slightest premonition. When the man’s hands clamp down on me I am totally taken by surprise. My heart stops cold, but my brain works perfectly. The impressions are fleeting but clear. Caucasian. Skin gleaming sickly in the white glare of the fluorescent lighting from the adjacent building. Breath smelling of cigarette smoke. Wrists full of dark hair. Pale eyes: blank and empty like a reptile’s. Black shirt. Dark blue jeans. Five feet nine. A hundred and ninety pounds.
I know him.
From the club. He wanted me to touch him. I said no and walked away, but not before I had seen the flash of hatred.
My nerves scream for me to run, but he has the element of surprise. He jerks me toward him and drags me into the undergrowth. I try to lift my arms up to fight him off and he pushes me roughly to the ground. I stagger and crash backwards into the bushes. Branches scratch the sides of my face and neck.
He falls on me, his fingers digging into my shoulders. I lie underneath his weight, winded. Unable to move.
‘Refuse me, will you? You skanky, stone cold, cheap whore,’ he hisses, his jaw quivering with fury. Immobile I stare into his eyes. Whatever else he is, he is vicious. My heart thumps wildly with fear. Terrified, I know I cannot run.
He grins hatefully. ‘Still think you’re too good for me, slut?’
‘No,’ I say, shaking my head, and he punches me in the face.
The blow stuns me. Colored stars dance across my vision, blinding me and making me wobble, before my brain actually registers the explosion of fierce pain. Blood erupts from my nose, splatters his hand, and pours down the sides of my face. Sick fear spreads in my stomach. I want to vomit or piss myself.
He digs his knee into my chest and taking his mobile out of his pocket, starts taking pictures of me bleeding and pinned under him! Terror is like an enveloping coat of freezing cold leaves. This guy means to kill me. But it is a good thing he does that because it allows me to recover slightly. My brain starts rolling into action again. He is too big for me to push off and his position means I cannot even knee him or do any damage to him with my hands.
My only option is to pretend to become unconscious and find a way to open my purse, which is still hooked to my elbow. I let my head loll to the side. If I can just get inside my purse. He takes his knee off my chest and starts unzipping his pants. I do nothing. I keep my breathing even while my fingers are slowly moving into the flap of my bag. Suddenly he drops over me and like a rabid animal bites hard into my neck. So hard I am no longer able to pretend to be unconscious.
I scream. My hand searches frantically inside my bag. He slaps me hard. I feel a knife at my throat. I close my mouth. I have located my mace. Very stealthily I bring it out and in a flash I spray it into his face. He falls backwards, his hands clawing at his face. I seize the moment, pick myself up, and run screaming toward the building. A man—I have seen him before, he must live in the building too—runs to me. He wants to call the police but I say no. I tell him I am too frightened to call the police. I definitely do not want him to call the police.
‘You’ve been attacked. You must tell the police.’
I look at him. ‘It’s someone I know. An ex. I don’t want to call the police, OK?’
He shakes his head in a disgusted way. Together we go back and get my handbag. I thank him,
That day I work till late and when I get out of the car the night air is warm and thick with an imminent storm brewing.
‘See you tomorrow,’ I call and wave as Ann drives away.
I fish my keys out of my bag and start walking up the path to my front door. I swear I never felt even the slightest premonition. When the man’s hands clamp down on me I am totally taken by surprise. My heart stops cold, but my brain works perfectly. The impressions are fleeting but clear. Caucasian. Skin gleaming sickly in the white glare of the fluorescent lighting from the adjacent building. Breath smelling of cigarette smoke. Wrists full of dark hair. Pale eyes: blank and empty like a reptile’s. Black shirt. Dark blue jeans. Five feet nine. A hundred and ninety pounds.
I know him.
From the club. He wanted me to touch him. I said no and walked away, but not before I had seen the flash of hatred.
My nerves scream for me to run, but he has the element of surprise. He jerks me toward him and drags me into the undergrowth. I try to lift my arms up to fight him off and he pushes me roughly to the ground. I stagger and crash backwards into the bushes. Branches scratch the sides of my face and neck.
He falls on me, his fingers digging into my shoulders. I lie underneath his weight, winded. Unable to move.
‘Refuse me, will you? You skanky, stone cold, cheap whore,’ he hisses, his jaw quivering with fury. Immobile I stare into his eyes. Whatever else he is, he is vicious. My heart thumps wildly with fear. Terrified, I know I cannot run.
He grins hatefully. ‘Still think you’re too good for me, slut?’
‘No,’ I say, shaking my head, and he punches me in the face.
The blow stuns me. Colored stars dance across my vision, blinding me and making me wobble, before my brain actually registers the explosion of fierce pain. Blood erupts from my nose, splatters his hand, and pours down the sides of my face. Sick fear spreads in my stomach. I want to vomit or piss myself.
He digs his knee into my chest and taking his mobile out of his pocket, starts taking pictures of me bleeding and pinned under him! Terror is like an enveloping coat of freezing cold leaves. This guy means to kill me. But it is a good thing he does that because it allows me to recover slightly. My brain starts rolling into action again. He is too big for me to push off and his position means I cannot even knee him or do any damage to him with my hands.
My only option is to pretend to become unconscious and find a way to open my purse, which is still hooked to my elbow. I let my head loll to the side. If I can just get inside my purse. He takes his knee off my chest and starts unzipping his pants. I do nothing. I keep my breathing even while my fingers are slowly moving into the flap of my bag. Suddenly he drops over me and like a rabid animal bites hard into my neck. So hard I am no longer able to pretend to be unconscious.
I scream. My hand searches frantically inside my bag. He slaps me hard. I feel a knife at my throat. I close my mouth. I have located my mace. Very stealthily I bring it out and in a flash I spray it into his face. He falls backwards, his hands clawing at his face. I seize the moment, pick myself up, and run screaming toward the building. A man—I have seen him before, he must live in the building too—runs to me. He wants to call the police but I say no. I tell him I am too frightened to call the police. I definitely do not want him to call the police.
‘You’ve been attacked. You must tell the police.’
I look at him. ‘It’s someone I know. An ex. I don’t want to call the police, OK?’
He shakes his head in a disgusted way. Together we go back and get my handbag. I thank him,
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