Like Gravity(70)

When he crushed his body to mine and I felt the undeniable hardness between his legs, my stomach began to churn with nauseating anticipation at the thought of what he planned to do to me. I knew then, with startling clarity, that if I didn’t fight back I was going to die here in this alleyway – but not before I suffered a fate almost worse than death.

“Let—” I cried out, tugging at my arms. His hold was unshakable.

“Me—” I tried my legs next, kicking out with my stilettos but never quite managing to make contact with his shins.

“GO!” I screamed, my voice nearly cracking with hysteria as I thrashed in his hold. His grip was too tight, though; I could feel it coming, just like it had with Gordon in the club all those weeks ago. The overwhelming anxiety, crashing like a wave through my system and taking away what little control I was still in possession of. Sapping my will to fight.

I could see it now, played out in my mind in perfect, high-definition color and surround sound: I was going to have a panic attack and then, defenseless, he’d be free to do whatever he wanted – beat, rape, kill me. Here lies Brooklyn Turner, campus casualty and veritable afterschool special.

I wasn’t going to let that happen. I wasn’t ready for my life to be over – not when it was finally getting good.

Taking deep breaths and trying desperately to quell the overwhelming anxiety and fear that had taken hold, I did the only remaining thing that I could think of – a last ditch effort, really. I cocked my head back as far as it would go, and head-butted his face with as much force as I could muster. My forehead smashed into his nose, and I heard a sickening crunch as we made contact. Something wet – I assumed it was blood – poured from his nostrils in a torrent and dripped onto my forehead.

I’d broken his nose.

He let out a muffled curse, and, for a small fraction of time, his grip loosened enough for me to escape. I didn’t waste my opportunity; as soon as my feet settled on the cobblestones, I ducked low and scurried out of his reach.

Knowing that he couldn’t see me in the dark, I remained crouched, moving as quickly as possible without making too much noise. Though every instinct in my body was screaming for me to run, to sprint to safety as fast as my legs could carry me, I knew I had to be smarter than that. In such a confined space, even the smallest sound would give me away.

I slowly crept away, wincing with each step as my stilettos clicked mutedly against the cobblestones. Heart and mind racing, I tried to block out the questions that were rattling around my mind. I didn’t have time to wonder who he was, or why he was doing this. It didn’t matter right now – the only real thing, in this moment, was survival.

Quiet, don’t move too fast.

Don’t let him hear you.

Breathing too loud, take smaller breaths.

Hands on the ground, palms spread flat for balance.

Step, wince, freeze, listen.

That’s it. Slowly, slowly.

I was gaining ground. He was behind me, floundering in the dark as he searched. I could hear his ragged breaths and sense his presence in the shadows several yards away. I could also sense his fury, fully unleashed at having lost me.

I knew if he caught me again, he wouldn’t show what little restraint he had before. He was angry now, uncontrolled – a real wildcard. If I had any chance at all of living through this, I couldn’t let him find me in the darkness.

It was the cobblestone that did me in.

One loose stone, warped enough to set me off balance. When my weight shifted forward, the stone beneath my heel slipped and before I could catch myself, I was careening forward, face-first onto the ground.

I felt the skin tear away from my elbows and knees as I slid across the rough-worn cobblestones, small pebbles and grime from the alley floor biting into my shredded skin. My temple cracked painfully against the cool stony surface hard enough to make my head spin dizzily, and a tiny, involuntary cry escaped my lips.

Immediately, I clamped my mouth closed to stop the sound, biting my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Please, please, please, I chanted, a mantra in my head. Don’t let him have heard me.

For one suspended moment in time my ears strained to hear his movements, but it was utterly quiet once more in the alley. His ragged breathing had been silenced. I could almost picture him, standing stock-still as he tried to locate me in the shadows – listening just as hard as I was, as he crept ever closer.

I knew I had to move; yet, I remained frozen, lying on my stomach and paralyzed with indecision. Would the sounds produced by my movements only draw him closer? Was I better off simply making a run for it in my heels? Or, did I stay on my stomach and try to crawl my way out?

Before I could make any kind of decision, the choice was ripped from me.

Fists closed around my ankles, dragging me backwards. My hands, sprawled as they were on the ground in front of me, desperately scrambled for something to hold onto. My dress rucked up around my waist as I was towed by the ankles, the rough alley floor scraping my bare thighs raw within seconds. As he dragged me back, I managed to grab onto a shard of loose cobblestone, protruding slightly upwards – likely a piece of the cracked stone I’d tripped over. My fingernails nearly lifted from their beds as I tugged at the disrupted rock fragment, but it finally came loose in my hands.

I had a weapon.

He stopped dragging me, his hands moving up from my ankles to grip the base of my thighs, where my dress had ridden up. His grip wasn’t rough, it was very nearly gentle – more akin to a lover’s caress than a murderer’s sadistic clutches.