“Look, the little angel has claws.”
My field of vision still isn’t clear. I’m sick to my stomach. Instinctively, I want to raise my arms and hit him, but I can’t even move them an inch.
“Hold still, little one, so we don’t have to actually hurt you,” I hear John say as if in a tunnel, but he’s not far away.
My jaw is throbbing like hell, I’m swallowing blood, and the stars are still flashing before my eyes like lights that flicker on and off.
I blink several times, trying to orient myself, but I can’t think clearly. Reality splinters and collapses in on itself like a kaleidoscope. Someone is squeezing my breasts so hard that my throat swells from the silent scream. I want to raise my hands again, but the weight pressing them down feels as hard as iron.
I think it’s John. He’s holding me firmly. I can’t do anything.
Old images rise involuntarily within me—Chester, throwing me to the ground: me, running mindlessly through the Davenport mansion.
I stare at the shabby motel ceiling. I don’t want to see anything. See nothing, feel nothing. Disappear. Into my silence and stillness, into the waiting until it’s over because it always is at some point. Everything will be fine for those who can wait.
I feel myself falling. Down to the other universe where everything hurts less, where events are broken up into sequences.
My shirt—River’s shirt—is ripped open with a jerk, the fabric cracking and the buttons popping off.
I feel the weight of a body. The sweat. The moist breath on my cheek.
Scream!I don’t understand what’s happening. I kick, and they grab my hair as if to scalp me.
Words. Think of beautiful words. But I can’t find any. I cannot find them.
Suddenly, something bangs against the door. Several times in a row. Hard. “Open this damn door, or I’ll kick it in! That’s a damn promise! You hear?”
Tears of relief spring to my eyes.
River!River, River, River.
The black-haired man covers my mouth as a reflex, but then the door flies off its hinges and crashes to the floor.
I can’t describe what I feel—somehow everything and nothing, as if I’m floating in a vacuum.
It’s dead quiet for a few seconds. Eerily quiet.
Then, the black-haired man flies off the bed, and John is frozen.
“Get away from her! Now!” River’s voice drops to a deadly whisper that cuts through to my bones. He stands in the doorway, his hands clenched, his face red with anger. John releases my arms and climbs off the bed.
Suddenly, all the feelings are there at the same time—relief and embarrassment. With my cheeks burning, I gather the torn shirt over my chest and slide to the edge of the bed.
“Go,” River says calmly to me as I stand up on wobbly legs. “Go to our room, I’ll take care of this.”
He doesn’t have a gun and is alone. Has he gone crazy?
“She ain’t goin’ nowhere ’til I fuck her,” Jack says menacingly now, walking toward River. He’s taller and broader, but River remains in place, folding his arms.
“I should call the police,” he growls belligerently. “Then you and this assface can go straight to jail. Now, let the girl go and leave quickly.”
Jack bares his teeth, and John steps next to him. “She wanted it. She didn’t sayno,” he scoffs, shooting me a sly grin. “Ain’t that right, little angel? You wanted it.”
River’s fist crashes into John’s face so quickly that all I hear is the blond slamming into the closet with a loud thud, and then River’s next punch lands in John’s stomach.
With his lips twisted in pain, John collapses to his knees.
“Get out of here!” River shouts at me. At that moment, the black-haired man lunges, grabs River by the throat, and slams his head against the wall.
