There was no more fight after that.
As my head throbbed and everything around me faded in and out, my attacker knelt beside me. I turned my head slightly, trying to get a look at his eyes. I wanted to see if I knew him. Unfortunately, the rain drops and the flashing spots made it impossible for me to focus.
The attacker leaned forward and brought his mouth beside my ear. For a long couple of seconds, he didn’t speak. He just breathed. Maybe even laughed a little. But then my ears were ringing, so I couldn’t be sure.
Finally, he said in a whisper, “Kyra sends her regards.”
Kyra.
Cowardly bitch couldn’t even handle her own shit.
I was fading. In a few minutes, unconsciousness was going to claim me. After that . . .
I’d never thought about dying before, but at that moment I did. Was it going to be quick? Was I going to be made to suffer? When death finally claimed me, which direction was I going to go? Up? Down? These questions and more ran through my mind in a matter of seconds.
What was the meaning of life?
Of death?
What was the meaning of my life?
What was my purpose?
I was a home wrecker. Was that my reason for being?
Was that going to get me past the pearly gates, or was that going to get me a seat in eternal damnation?
I’d never been a religious person. My mother tried to force feed the Bible to me, but I took after my father and preferred devil horns and mischief to the halo and innocence. Every now and then God and I chatted, but for the most part, we left each other alone. Or at least I left Him alone. Was that why this was happening to me now? Was this my punishment?
I was about to die.
Or so I thought.
My attacker chuckled again, or at least I thought he did, and then he grabbed the waistband of my sweats and began to pull them down.
I was dizzy.
I was nauseated.
I was weak.
I was about to pass out.
I was about to be raped.
It was hard, but I found the will and strength to move my arms and legs to try to fight him off of me, despite his weight.
He slapped me.
Kneed me in my side and continued to yank my sweats and thong down below my ass.
I continued to fight.
My arms, flailing.
Hitting him.
Pushing him.
My legs, still trying to kick, knee—anything. He slapped me again.
Then punched me.
Hard. Two . . . three . . . four times.
The world spun.
The black became blacker.
I tried to fight again.
He punched and kneed me again.
The speed of everything around me rotated faster.
The rain seemed to fall harder.
The thunder grew louder.
I’m not a quitter, but I was losing.
Losing strength.
Losing consciousness.
Losing the fight.
Only one other thing I could do.
I screamed.
Above the continuous rhythm of the rainfall.
Above the thunder.
I screamed.
At the top of my lungs.
As water fell to the back of my throat.
I screamed.
Pleaded for help.
Someone had to hear me.
Someone had to be nearby.
Someone.
Anyone.
I screamed again.
And then he pressed his forearm against my throat.
My screaming stopped.
I was weak, but I continued to struggle, continued to fight.
As he pressed on my throat with one hand, he undid his pants and pulled his dick out with the other.
I continued to fight.
As he forced my legs apart, causing the skin of my ass to rip on the concrete.
I continued to fight.
As he took his dick and rammed it past the walls I tried desperately to keep closed.
I continued to fight.
As he slammed himself inside of me over and over and over and over again.
I continued to fight.
As he grunted and came and then pulled himself out of me and ran away.
I continued to fight.
And then I lay still, listening to the thunder and watching the lightning, while being drenched in the downpour, until the devil appeared above me and wrapped me in his arms.
Then I passed out.
23
Not the devil. Just a fat man named Jim.
That’s who had wrapped his arms around me. He’d been on his way to his car when he noticed a half naked, bleeding, barely conscious woman, laying out in the rain. Had he left the gym ten minutes earlier . . .
Too little. Too late.
He rushed me in his car to the hospital and made sure I was seen right away. Fat Jim, the hero who saved the damsel in distress. He’d be larger than life and get his fifteen minutes on the eleven o’clock news and in the newspaper. After that, he’d go back to being just Fat Jim.
I was lucky. Had Fat Jim been a sadistic son of a bitch, he could have put me in his car and taken me somewhere and lived out some sick, demented sexual fantasy, and then done away with my body. But Fat Jim wasn’t sick, and instead of taking me deep into the woods, or to a run down, foul-smelling apartment, littered with boxes of half-eaten fast food with roaches crawling through and over them, he took me to the hospital. I guess he doesn’t deserve to be called Fat Jim.
I had barely been conscious when he carried me into the E.R. I’d been slipping in and out ever since he’d taken me out of the rain. I saw, felt and heard nothing as the doctors and nurses examined me, yet I saw, felt and heard it all at the same time. People in scrubs appearing, disappearing, and then reappearing around me. The prodding, the pressing. The questions, random, varied, repetitive and personal. Everything moved in and out of focus. Became loud and then silent.
It was surreal, yet I understood that what was happening and what had happened was all too real.
The rain. The thunder. The lightning. The man dressed in black with gloves like O.J. The hits. The punches. The kicks. The forearm against my throat. The dick being forced inside of me. The cum being spilled.
I had been raped.
By the man in black.
By Kyra.
Then by the doctors who were all simply just doing their jobs.
Sometime after the prodding, the stitching, the blood being drawn, the medication being given, and the questions I wouldn’t answer, I passed out again.
When I woke up, Marlene was there, sitting in a chair beside me, snoring lightly. It hurt, but I moved slightly. With my movement, Marlene’s eyes snapped open.
She rose from the chair and put her hand on my shoulder. “Hey there,” she said softly.
I looked toward the window and stared at dust floating through the rays of sunlight. I had a bitter taste in my mouth. I said, “I need something to drink.”
“Water or juice?”
“Juice.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Marlene left and returned a few minutes later with a cup of apple juice. I winced as I pressed the button on the side-rail to rise to sit up a bit.
After taking a slow sip of juice, which wasn’t easy to do with the swelling and stitches in the corner of my bottom lip, I asked, “How did you know I was here?”
Marlene sighed and then looked away from me to the window. When she looked back at me, her eyes had welled with tears. “Kyra called my cell two nights ago and . . . and said that I should check on you. She didn’t say anything else and hung up before I could say anything. I called you right away on both of your cell phones and your home phone, but I kept getting your voice mails.” She paused and wiped tears away from the corners of her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Lisette. It . . . it was raining so hard that night. I didn’t have anyone to w
atch Ben, and I didn’t want to take him out into the storm, so I waited until the next day to go to your condo.
“I was knocking on your door when two police officers—detectives—approached me and started bombarding me with questions. What was my name, why was I there, how did I know you, when was the last time I’d seen you? It wasn’t easy, but I managed to convince them that I was a friend, and then I got them to tell me what had happened to you. I rushed over here right away. Lisette . . .
I . . . I’m so sorry,” she said again, her voice trailing off. As she wiped more tears from her eyes, I leaned my head back against the pillow and closed my eyes for a moment.
Friend.
I’d never really associated that word with anyone in my life before. Growing up as an only child, I’d never had to share my time or my possessions, so sharing and giving of myself was just something I never connected with. From childhood, through my teenage years to adulthood, that disconnection never changed. I never let anyone in because I never felt the need to.
Friend.
I don’t know that I’d ever give anyone that title completely, but if I had to give it to someone, Marlene was the closest to being just that. Her concern was genuine, and on some level, I actually appreciated it. But at the same time, I still wished that when I opened my eyes, she would have been gone. It was hard enough for me having to deal internally with what had happened. The tears, the pathetic pity in her voice—Marlene’s presence was just too fucking much for me.
I was a victim again.
Damn it.
I was a victim.
Again.
Behind my closed eyelids, the man in the black ski mask winked at me. I opened my eyes my quickly. Marlene was still there. Still wiping tears.
She said, “The police . . . they said that you’re not talking to them. Is that true?”
I nodded.
“But why? Don’t you want to tell them that Kyra had this done to you?”
“I have no proof, Marlene.”
“But she called my cell phone.”
“Did you record the conversation?”
“No.”
“Then the call doesn’t mean anything.”
“But—”
“But nothing, Marlene. Without that call, or anything else, I have nothing.”
Marlene sighed and walked over to the window. “This isn’t fair,” she said, her voice choking up. “What she did . . . I just can’t believe she’s going to get away with this. She can’t get away with it. There’s got to be something we can do.”
“We?”
I had been trying to stay calm. Trying to ride out her genuine sympathy. But the questions, the insistence, and finally the word just made it too fucking impossible. We.
“What are you talking about, Marlene? There is no we!”
“But Lisette . . .”
“Please, just shut the fuck up! I was the one laying on the ground, not you! There is no we! You don’t have to do anything but get the fuck out of here. Now!”
Marlene’s eyes were wide as she stammered. “Lisette . . . I . . . I didn’t mean—”
“Get the fuck out!” I snapped again.
I hadn’t meant for my words to be so callous, so cruel, but she wouldn’t shut up, and that, along with the pity in her eyes, and the vivid scenes from the parking lot running through my mind, made my words and the feelings behind them fire. I wanted her gone. I wanted to be alone. I needed to be alone. I was a victim again.
My heart raced. My head throbbed. My insides hurt from the tension and the outburst.
“Get the fuck out!”
Victim.
That word. The man in black. Kyra. The thunder. The rain. I tried to fight it. Tried to regain my composure. But it was too much for me. I was losing it. My eyes were welling with tears. I couldn’t catch my breath.
Victim.
The room began to spin.
Rain began to pour.
I was being drenched again.
“Get out!”
Someone grabbed me.
Pushed me down.
Pinned me.
One, two, three people around me.
Dressed in black.
Winking.
Laughing.
Kyra sends her regards.
I screamed. Tears erupted from my eyes. Something stuck me in my arm. Seconds later the spinning went from a hare’s to a tortoise’s pace. The people around me faded in and out. Their outfits changed from black to teal. The tortoise’s pace became a snail’s. I tried to fight. Tried to run away. But I couldn’t. Just as I had in the parking lot, beneath the downpour, I lost. My eyes closed.
Later that night, something stuck me in the arm, and I lost again.
24
A dream.
A very bad one.
That was the only way to describe what I was seeing.
Kyra. The moon glowing behind her. She was wearing scrubs. Looking down at me.
I closed my eyes and then opened them. She was still there. Still staring. I closed and opened them again. The nightmare was still occurring.
I tried to sit up. When I did, everything swooned. I felt like I was on a boat, careening from side to side in the middle of the ocean, in the midst of the perfect storm.
Kyra said, “If I were you, I’d lay still. Moving only makes it worse.”
I opened my mouth, or at least it felt like I did, and said, “W—what did . . . y—you . . . do to me?” I couldn’t be sure, but I think saliva was dripping from the corner of my mouth and down my chin.
“I gave you something to help you relax.”
I tried to sit up again, but the boat careened and nearly capsized. My stomach twisted. I felt as though I were about to throw up.
“I heard about what happened to you,” Kyra said. “I rushed over as soon as I could.”
“B—bitch,” I said, or slurred. “You . . . bitch.” I couldn’t see or think straight. Whatever she’d given me was potent. Hopefully not lethal.
“Is that any way to talk to a concerned friend?”
“Y-you won’t . . . won’t get away with th—this.” Three Kyras smiled at me. I tried, but couldn’t focus them into one. My heart beat heavily and quickly, as though I’d taken speed. “I won’t . . . won’t let you . . . get away with thi—this.”
The three Kyras laughed. Together their voices created a demonic echo. “What are you going to do, Lisette? Go to the police with all of the proof you have? Or maybe run to Myles again? Bitch. You really thought you had gotten over on me, didn’t you? You really thought that by telling Myles that, I was going to be screwed? Well, guess what, bitch? You didn’t accomplish anything.”
The three Kyras walked slowly around from one side of the bed to the other, tracing a finger over my body the entire time. I wanted to call out for a nurse, but couldn’t find my voice or the strength to do it.
“See, after you turned my offer down, I took matters into my own hands, by fucking the only man my husband has been trying to get into bed with. Charles Goodell, or Chuckie, as he likes for me to call him. Besides Donald Trump, Chuckie is the only other major player in the real estate game. He owns several key blocks of property in Manhattan and Harlem, along with some property along the Vegas strip that Trump has been trying to take from him for years. Myles, of course, wants the property in Harlem.”
“For months he’s been trying to get into bed with Chuckie, and for months he’s gotten nowhere. Chuckie’s from the old school. Grew up when Whites owned the front of the bus and the word nigger wasn’t a term of endearment. He understands the world has changed, but he can’t pull away from the times that shaped him into the success that he became.
“That’s why he’d turned down numerous offers from Myles to partner with him. Despite the millions that he’d acquire from tapping into the darker side of the force, he just couldn’t see himself calling a black man his equal. But . . .” The three Kyras paused, tapped several fingers on the bed’s side rail, and then said,
“Chuckie had a secret.”
The Kyras smiled as heavy rhythms reverberated in my head, and the room and the bed I lay on shook, rattled and rolled. My stomach twisted into knots. I struggled to focus, think, speak, and move. What the hell had she done to me? The Kyras moved from the foot of the bed to the top. I could barely turn to look at them.
They smiled devilishly and put their hands on my forehead. They leaned forward, said, “Awww, you poor, pathetic bitch,” and then pressed their lips hard down against my wounded mouth.
However sluggish it was, I squirmed and moaned from the pressure and pain as they forced their tongue past my stitched lips into my mouth. Seconds passed before they pulled away and stared down at me with another maliciously blurred smile.
I tried to call out for help, but my cry was low and muffled, as though I was still being French kissed. I tried to move again, but the effects of whatever she had given me had gotten stronger and everything was just moving too much for me to move with it.
I lay still.
I rose and fell with the crests of the tumultuous waves around me.
I spun off axis.
My heart beat so hard and fast, I couldn’t catch my breath.
Where the hell were the nurses that had been checking on me for what seemed like every fifteen minutes? Where the hell were the doctors? The police with their questions? Where was Marlene with her overbearing sentiment?
As everything rocked from side to side and back and forth, the Kyras said, “Chuckie has a thing for black pussy. That’s his secret. I figured that out when Myles introduced me to him at a business function. I could tell by the animalistic way he looked at me. You see, bitch, you’re not the only one that knows how to use what they have. I seduced the shit out of Chuckie, and made him eat whatever the fuck I was serving from the palm of my hands. By the time I was done with him, I had him telling Myles that after running into me in a café and listening to me explain how beneficial and lucrative a partnership with my husband would be, he saw no reason not to make the deal happen. And guess what? That’s exactly what happened.
“So you see, whore, because I played a major part in adding to my husband’s wealth, I negated his ridiculous prenup. He can’t just walk away from this marriage without giving me a very nice piece of the pie.”
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