“Fuck you,” I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but I needed just one statement out in the open. “I wouldn’t touch them.”
The vicious laugh can be heard over me dragging the trash can over the tiles, revealing the color they used to be. Climbing on top, I use the extra height to push open the window because I know thesewomenwill never let me walk out that door.
Their words repeat in my head.
Weak.
Meek.
Worthless.
And I feel all those things as I stand on a wobbly can to reach the window.
But I still climb, even though another image of that basement fills my head as I shove myself through the window, arms and head first. I picture myself leaving it.
I land awkwardly, the gravel cutting my arms and bruising my face and breasts. That’s when I realize they’re still exposed, and I feel violated.
The rain doesn’t ease, hammering down and hurting each bruise a little more as I sit there, trying to hold my dress together, my body hurting, my breast and its unknown lump hurting, my mind numbing.
Each rain droplet washes away a piece of the stupor I’m in.
I need to get home.
I can find my way home.
I’d taken in each landmark and fascinating building on the way here.
Throwing myself forward, I reach for my phone that landed a few feet away, and I clutch it withmy fucked-up hand. It’s got a new crack in the top corner that I notice instantly.
Forcing myself to my feet, I wobble in my heels as I run from the voices around the corner of the bar. I’m halfway down the road before I struggle to unlock my phone with my non-dominant hand, making sure it still works.
Four messages from Lucky wait for answers on my broken screen, but the rain prevents me from answering any of them.
Lucky:
You left yet?
Dollancie?
Did you find your ex?
I’m gonna worry about you until I get an answer.
The weather distorts my attempted reply, and the jumble of random letters sits in the text box, failing to be sent.
Voices from the bar continue, the sleazy men at the door still calling after me with crude slurs and wolf whistles.
The rain prevents me from hearing what they’d like to do to me.
Bright lights pierce through the mist and rain. The golden glow highlights the damage of my tattered dress as I hold it together, as I hold myself together.
The car isn’t slowing down.
The brakes slam on at the last minute, and it skids to my side.
The red vehicle isn’t new, and it’s a little battered. The driver’s door squeaks as it opens, and a tall, dark figure steps out with the lyrics of an AC/DC song.
I don’t know the car. I won’t know the person, and the idea of running into a stranger with my breasts hanging out terrifies me.
