It was a shriek of desperation – a shrill, ear-piercing wail born of sheer terror. It was helplessness personified, echoing forlornly off the walls of the alley. And even as the scream left my mouth I knew, deep in my bones, that it was futile; no one would ever be able to hear it over the thumping music inside the club.
My last thought, before his hands clamped down on my shoulders in an unbreakable vise-grip, was that I was no better than the dumb sorority girls I’d constantly mocked. I’d played right into his hands.
Whoeverhewas.
Peoplealways talk about our innate human fight-or-flight instinct. Supposedly, some people just haveit– that will to live, to escape, to carry on in spite of the fear. And others simply don’t. They lack that burning desire to survive above all else.
It’s said that these moments in our lives,those split seconds in which we must decide whether to stand and fight or turn-tail and flee, define us as who we really are.
I’d always thought that was a crock of bullshit.
Of course, possessing the will to live is important – vital even. It can make the difference between life and death, between taking one more breath or succumbing to a quick end.
Butso can a pair of five-inch stiletto heels.
Afterward, I’d often wondered, with a sense of morbid curiosity, whether things would have gone differently had I been wearing different shoes; had the ground had been paved, rather than cobbled; had the light cast by my favorite constellations above had been just a little bit brighter, so I might’ve seen him standing there in the dark with me. Biding his time. Waiting for me to make my move toward the door.
Would it have changed things? I guessed I’d never really know.
The scream died in my throat, turning to a gasp of pain as his grip cut harshly into my bicep musclesand he lifted me onto my tiptoes. Struggling against him, I used all the strength in my arms to try to free myself. I could feel my muscles weakening, my energy waning the longer we grappled. His breath puffed warm on my face – short, quick bursts of air that betrayed his excitement.
He was enjoying this.
He started to move then, steering me backwards with the ease of a master puppeteer pulling the strings of a hapless marionette. I had no control over my body as he closed in, trapped between the brick wall at my back and the monster pressed harshly against my front.
Whenhe 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 sickeningcrunchas 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.