by Chloe Adams
“Hey, chill,” I say and push his hand away.
“Don’t stop me, baby,” he says and takes my wrists, pinning them behind me. “Trust me. You’ll love what I do to you.”
I’m not sure what’s going on, until his hand unfastens my bra then travels down my stomach. I try to pull away but he pushes me back against something hard and shoves a knee between my thighs. He shoves fingers into me there.
“Wet and hot,” he whispers into my ear. “Ready for me, aren’t you?”
This is too weird to be real, even if I can hear the music and see my wristlet light up, indicating a call or text. But I can’t feel much. My body isn’t working right, like in those nightmares where I’m trying to run from someone chasing me but can’t move.
I blink again, and when my eyes open, I’m somewhere else once more. It’s like living in a strobe light. I have glimpses of my world between dark pauses. I don’t know how, but my dress is gone and so is my bra. I’m dancing among fireflies while two still gnomes sit on the edge of a fountain with a dancing fish.
Blink.
Robert is holding me from behind and on his knees in front of me, kissing my belly.
No. He can’t do both. Who’s holding me? I’m trapped, and my body won’t work. I feel like I’m watching myself in a dream, trying to tell myself something important.
Blink.
I’m sprawled over a low, stone bench that hurts my ribs. Someone is holding my hips, and my cheek is rubbing against the stones on the ground. I can see … legs? Behind the bench I’m slung over. Mine are slender and smooth. The other ones are hairy, and someone’s pants are down around their ankles. I don’t feel it or whatever is slamming against my butt.
I need to warn me. Something is wrong.
Blink.
This dream still? I’m on my back. Someone is on top of me. The fireflies nearby light up a face framed by dark hair. His face is blurry. I hear him grunting. He smells like whiskey. He’s holding my hands above my head. I tell myself to move. The bartender can help me. He has a phone.
Blink.
On my belly. This time, I’m not watching me. I am me again. The dream is over- I think. Why am I just lying here? My cheek hurts like it’s been rubbed raw. I’m not sure why. I touch it with one hand. Am I naked? The stone beneath me is cold. It’s not my bed, that’s for sure. My head is pounding, my right ankle hurts and my … private parts feel sore. I feel hung over. It’s still dark out; I wonder how long I was sleeping.
“My turn.”
The speaker is behind me. I push myself up. He plants a boot in my back and shoves me down. I lay still, not sure what’s going on. I’m not even sure where I am, and my head hurts too much to think. The blare of techno is familiar.
Is someone touching my butt? My body still isn’t quite right, but there’s new urgency in my mind. This isn’t a dream. Something is wrong. I hear the techno music again. In my dream, I told myself to run.
Sven’s party. Robert. Madison. Garden.
Before I can react, he thrusts a finger inside me! This isn’t a dream. Was it ever? I try to jump to my feet and run. He grabs my hair and yanks my head back, pulling me back. I gasp as pain makes the world more real and blindly reach back to free my hair. His grip is firm and my fingers clumsy. So I kick in the direction I think he is.
My foot lands solidly against his body.
“Goddamit!” he shouts. He yanks me around to face him. I teeter, but not before I see Madison’s face. Robert is just behind him.
I don’t see Madison’s fist, but I’m suddenly on the ground, my ears ringing. This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening! I know Robert. My daddy and his are friends. It’s gotta be a nightmare.
Gasping, one of my eyes is watering and aching with a new kind of pain. I’ve never been hit before, not even by my half-sister. I want to lay there and cry, but part of me knows this is no dream.
Run. Now. I look wildly for my phone, so I can call for help, but don’t see my glowing wristlet anywhere.
Madison grabs my ankles and drags me back. I kick my legs to free them and claw at the ground. He yanks, and I’m flat on my belly again. His body drops on top of mine me, and I gasp at how heavy he is. I’m trapped on the ground, can barely breathe.
He’s naked. I can feel his skin against mine. I start clawing at the ground. My nails break and fingertips grow raw fast, and I feel more pain.
“I’m not done yet,” he says into my ear. He shoves his hips against my ass, and I can feel his penis pressing between my butt cheeks.
“Don’t!” I manage.
“The more you fight the more it hurts. Just take it. You’ll be fine.”
His words terrify me like nothing else ever has. I wish desperately to fall back into the darkness and for the dream to take over again.
Madison raises his lower body to reposition himself. He keeps one arm across my shoulders, and I can’t move with the weight of his upper body on my back. I cross my ankles and tense up. He shoves a knee between my legs, and I stifle a cry, trying hard to push my legs back together again.
It does no good. He’s stronger than me. I can’t fight him. He shoves my legs apart then wraps one hand in my hair to pull my head back again. His other hand I can’t feel, until he spreads my butt cheeks.
“Don’t!” I shout. “Somebody! Help!”
Madison’s weight is gone from my shoulders, but he wrenches my head back until I can hardly breathe.
“Hey, Madison, maybe – “
“Shut up, Robert!”
I tense as hard as I can, and he rams into me. I scream. I feel like I’m being shredded by hot fire. Madison pumps hard and fast, tearing me more each time. He makes sounds of pleasure, and I start to vomit. His grip loosens on my hair. I jerk my head free and struggle not to throw up as I lay there. His hands are holding my hips. I twist to stare at him and see his head tilted towards the sky, pleasure on his face as he hurts me.
I scream again and shove myself up. I push him away – out of me – and stagger to my feet. I run into someone else and look up to see Robert. He grabs my arms and stares at me, glassy-eyed and wobbling.
“Please, let me go,” I beg him. “I won’t tell the police. I swear it. Just let me go!”
There’s indecision in his gaze.
“Come on, man, she won’t remember anything,” Madison says.
I shove Robert and run. Madison grabs me, lifts me and throws me down. I scramble up. He kicks me hard then kneels over me and hits me in the face again. I go to an in-between place, where I’m aware of the world but can’t react to it. Watching myself again, this time I know it’s not a dream. I can feel the pain. I see him shove me onto my back then fuck me again, until he’s crying out with pleasure.
Robert takes his place. I try to move, to push him away, but I can’t get my body to respond. Robert hurts me then flips me over and steps away. Sobbing, I can’t do more than gather my strength to scream. I blink away tears and force my mind back into my body.
One of them slaps me hard on the ass, helping pull me fully out of the in-between place. My first fleeting sense is that it’s quiet. The music is gone. My lower body throbs in pain, but none of them are hurting me. I think it’s over. If I lay still, they’ll leave me alone. I just need a little time to make my body work again. Please, God, just a little time!
“Madison, what’re you doing?”
“The bitch busted one of my balls. I think it’s fucking ruptured!”
“Don’t be a dick, man. Let’s get outta here.”
I feel one of them near me again, and I close my eyes, praying. I can’t fight them. I can’t escape. I can’t even call for help, because my purse is gone. I don’t want to move. Should I? Can I? I hurt too much … I cry again.
“I’m going to return the favor.”
“Just get dressed. This is stupid,” Robert says.
“Stupid is you not mixing the Rufis in her drink right!”
“She kept spilling them!”
> I feel a knee shove my thighs apart and a hand on my butt. I don’t fight it this time; I don’t have the strength. I just sob and pray as he goes one more time.
Maybe Ari will come to the party after all. Maybe it’s so late, she’s worried. Maybe she’s here now, looking for me.
Please find me, Ari! I’m here. I’m right here!
Tonight, I’m going to die.
“You said she won’t remember,” Robert’s voice sounds worried.
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”
Madison slams something across my shoulders, my back, my thighs. I scream. He laughs. I see him raise it over my head and watch it fall so, so slowly …
Everything goes black.
Chapter Two
But not for long.
“Miss? Can you hear me?” A woman’s voice. She pries one of my eyes open. I’m blinded by a light. “We’ve got possible head trauma.”
No shit, I want to say. I just got beat up.
And raped. Robert, Madison, and the metal thing. I feel the pain, tearing me from the inside out while my head explodes into pain …
I scream and try to escape. Someone subdues me.
“Miss! It’s okay! We’re the police!”
Police.
I’m about to slide into darkness when she passes smelling salts beneath my nose. The world bursts into clarity. I start to cry. I hurt so bad … my head, my body …
“You’re safe,” she says. “I want to keep you awake ‘til the EMTs check you out.”
“Please let me die,” I sob.
“You won’t die, honey.”
“I found a blanket in the cabana.” This voice is male. “And her purse.”
“Calm down … Julie?” the woman cop says.
They drape the blanket over me. I don’t notice I’m shaking until the warmth of the blanket makes me stop. My tears slow. I’m too tired to cry. I just want to sleep and close my eyes. In the morning, this nightmare will be over.
“Julie, I need you to stay awake until I know if you have a concussion, okay?” the female cop says.
I don’t want to. I don’t care. I want to die.
“We need to call your … someone in your family. Can I look at your phone contacts?”
“Ari,” I say. “Call Ari. Please.”
“Who’s Ari?” the male cop asks.
“My friend.”
“Any family members? Mother, father, siblings?” the female asks.
I close my eyes.
“Stay with me, honey.”
“Just call Ari,” I say.
“Open those eyes, or I get the smelling salts.” The female cop is trying to be funny, but she sounds too tense. “You don’t look like you’re twenty-nine.” She pauses. “Your name’s not Julie, is it?”
My eyes water again. I shake my head. I hear techno again then realize it’s a siren. They’re coming to take me to prison for the ID. The light in my face leaves, and I see the woman move away.
New fear slams into me. They’re going to leave me here. Alone. To be hurt again. My arms feel heavy and don’t move right but I throw them at the blue uniform I see.
“Don’t! Don’t leave me!” I scream. “They’ll come back! Don’t go!”
The woman curses, and the light is back in my face. She’s standing a few feet away while I cling to the other cop.
“We have to meet the EMTs,” the male voice said. He sounds uncertain, and I blink until I can see him. He’s a few years older than me, with olive skin and dark eyebrows. I’m struck by a thought that makes no sense: he looks like a younger version of my dear, sweet grandpa. The same brown eyes, the same gravelly and low voice. Grandpa would never leave me.
“Don’t leave me!” I beg.
“Miss, we’ll only –” the woman starts.
My pain intensifies, and I gasp but refuse to let go of the cop. He lifts me. His badge is cold, nice, against my burning cheek.
“Protocol states – “
“I’m not gonna her like this,” he says in his husky voice. “Write me up. I don’t give a shit.”
He sounds like a New York taxi driver. So did Grandpa Abbottt, the first Yank that married into my Southern family. The pain starts to fade as I close my eyes. I can see my grandpa’s face in my mind, and suddenly, I’m sitting on the porch with him.
He looks older than I remember. We’re on the back porch overlooking the rocky beach of our Tybee Island summer retreat, protected from the summer insects by the screening. We don’t talk, just sit and watch the ocean. Before his death, I lived with him for three years. I used to sit with him every day on the porch, like we are now. He never talks on the porch. He stares. I think he’s waiting for my grandmother to bring him tea. Tea sounds good right now. I’m so thirsty.
Some boat’s horn is making a buzzing sound. The sun is too bright. I feel like someone is trying to take me away from the porch.
The buzzing and light wrench me from the dream, and I wake up to see lights flashing by. I’m on my back. The world freaks me out: the lights are too bright, the voices too loud. We’re moving so fast, I feel nauseous. I can’t make sense of it. I don’t recognize anyone or anything – but the brown eyes and blue uniform. I tighten my grip on the blue uniform. Grandpa will protect me. I won’t let go. I can’t let go, not until my mind is right again.
Finally, the world stops, and the lights are dimmed. I’m in a small room with three people.
“Miss? Can you hear me?” The female cop is there. “We need to take pictures of what happened to you. Can you let go of Dom?” She takes my hand and starts to pry the fingers.
Confused, I look at what I’m clutching then up at the other cop she calls Dom. His eyes are like my grandfather’s, and I recall he carried me away from the garden where …
I shake my head. Dom is a cop. He’s big enough to take on the bad men when they come back.
“Honey, he shouldn’t be here for this,” the lady cop says.
“Don’t leave me,” I say. I want to scream it but my throat hurts from screaming. My eyes are blurry again as more tears start.
“What if he stands outside the door?” the woman cop says. “I’ll leave it open. You can see him. Okay?”
“I promise. I’ll be right there,” Dom says. “It’s not that far. Seven, eight feet max.”
I don’t want them to leave me here alone. Ever. But if I can see him, he can hear me scream when they come for me. I’m staring at his back in the doorway when the flashes start.
I look over. The female cop is standing beside me, holding my hand, while another woman cop takes pictures of me. I’m used to paparazzi, but I don’t know what they’re doing in my hospital room.
“Why?” I ask the lady holding my hand.
“Police report. So we can get the people who did this to you.”
I start to panic again. I hurt, but I can’t exactly remember what happened. I’m not even sure what part of my memory is real. Were there fireflies? A dancing fish? A man whose head floated above the bushes?
“Breathe deeply,” the nurse on my other side says. “What’s your name?”
Flash. Flash. I try to ignore the photographer, but it’s hard when she’s got the camera inches from my face.
“Mia,” I say and blink as another flash leaves more black dots in my vision.
“Hi, Mia. I’m Robin. The police officer who brought you in is Kiesha. Can you stand up for me?” The nurse talks to me like I’m five. Probably because she’s wearing scrubs with zoo animals. But her smile is nice.
I wobble to my feet with their help. I’m almost too dizzy to stand. It’s agony! More flashes then I try to sit, only to find it even more painful. Swallowing hard, I manage to lie on my side without the fiery pain tearing through me.
“Mia, we need to take pictures of your lower body,” Robin-the-nurse says in her zoo-animal voice.
I squeeze my working eye closed and nod. I know why now. They’re taking pictures of the damage. I don’t want to see these pictu
res. I don’t want to know how bad it is. I want to lay here and wake up feeling all better. It can’t be that bad. It hurts, but not like it did.
Kiesha-the-cop smiles when I open my eyes. It’s a tense smile, and the way she looks at my lower body when the nurse removes the gown tells me it’s not good. The nurse is looking at the damage as the photographer snaps pictures. I’m admiring Kiesha’s ruby lipstick – a shade I could never wear but wish I could – when the nurse touches me. I jerk.
“Mia, what’s your last name?” Kiesha asks, her dark eyes on me. She’s a small African-American woman, though I can tell she’s tougher than she looks from the calluses on the hand that grips mine.
“Abbottt-Renou,” I say.
“That’s a mouthful.”
“Like the politician from down South?” Kiesha asks. “Are you related?”
“He’s my daddy.”
No one says anything. I close my eyes. I wish I’d died in the garden.
“We need to do an exam, Mia,” Robin-zoo-animals says. “The doctor’s name is Minnie, like the cartoon. I’m going to ask her to come in, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“After the exam, we need to check out your head.”
“It hurts,” I tell her.
“Once the doctor checks you out, we can give you something for it,” Robin says.
The doctor comes in. She doesn’t look like a cartoon. Unlike Kiesha, she doesn’t smile and isn’t wearing zoo-animals. She barely acknowledges me. Kiesha puts a blanket over my lower body, and the doctor and the woman with the camera hunch under it to stare at my private parts. I feel one of them poking at my tender parts, and I start crying again.
The doctor stands. She peels off bloodied gloves and tosses them in a wastebasket with biohazard signs.
There’s so much blood, it looks like I’m on my period. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe any of this. I’m still praying this is a terrible, too-real dream that’ll end soon.
The doctor moves my legs and pauses at my swollen right ankle. I have a vague memory of twisting it chasing fireflies. Or something. She continues testing my limbs while the nurse and the other cop take notes. The doctor rolls me on my side and touches the welt across my back.