He slams his lips against mine at the same time as he restrains my hands by my sides. The next thing I know, my back is pressed against the wall, his body hard on mine, caging me in.
I’m trapped.
I feel his quick erection dig in my hip, and my senses instantly tell me where this is going.
My heart plummets.
Oh god, no. Not this. Anything but this.
I’ve been degraded, humiliated and beaten. But never raped.
He’s not taking this from me. I have to fight back.
The laughable thing is, I don’t know how to fight back.
Fear is bubbling my blood, adrenaline spiking my senses, so I do the only thing I can think of. I bite down on his lip until I taste blood.
“You f**kin’ bitch!”
He slaps me hard. I expect it, but not the punch that follows.
My head ricochets off the wall. Pain explodes everywhere. Light swims my vision.
Forbes grabs me and lifts me off my feet, then slams me up against the wall. I cry out from the pain it sends hurtling through my already bruised ribs.
Shoving my skirt up, his hand goes down my panties while his other pins my throat, squeezing hard.
Fingers press painfully into my flesh. One violating me. The other stealing my breath. Yet all I can think is: Why did I wear a skirt this morning? Why didn’t I pick pants? If I’d picked pants, it would have made this harder for him. Maybe gave me an out.
Something so small can define how a situation goes.
I will probably never again wear a skirt.
Something small. Insignificant.
But it matters to me.
I can feel myself shutting down. I close my eyes tight.
Warmth. Music. Flying free in the blue sky…
Safe. I’m safe.
“I’m going to f**k some sense into you,” he hisses in my ear. “You need teaching a lesson.”
“Come to my office, Mia. It’s time for a lesson.”
Forbes’ fingers roughly and painfully pull out of me, dragging me back to the now.
For a spilt stupid second, I think he’s changed his mind—that maybe he isn’t going to do this.
Then he reaches for the zipper on his jeans.
In this moment, it’s difficult to say what I feel. Realization, mainly. This is really going to happen to me. He’s going to take from me the last shred of dignity I have.
Only if I let it happen.
Stop this, Mia! Stop being weak and fight back! You stop this, and there will be no more pain. No more hurt. Ever.
Forbes is struggling with his zipper. He moves off me, just a fraction, but I take full advantage of that fraction. Using courage I didn’t know I had until now, I bring my knee up as hard as I can and slam it into his balls.
A sound like garbled agony emits from him.
His hand drops from my throat, releasing me as both his hands go to his crotch, holding the pain I just created.
Now you know how it feels you bastard.
I slide down the wall, gasping for the air I so desperately need.
Forbes staggers a little to the side, face lined with pain, then he drops to his knees.
Now, Mia, go!
I’m moving. Running through my apartment. I grab my keys off the table, and I’m out the door, flying down the stairs.
I don’t stop to look behind.
The street is quiet. No one around. I unlock my car in the race toward it. Slamming the door shut, my hand shakes as I try to get the key in the ignition.
Shit! I can’t get it in.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Forbes come stumbling out of the building, hand still holding his crotch, and I don’t know if it’s sheer luck driving this moment, but the key suddenly punches in.
I turn the ignition, shift into gear, and slam my foot down, getting me out of there.
Reaching the end of the street in a matter of seconds, I turn left and race off down the street. I feel wet on my hand as I push my hair off my face. Pulling it back, I find it smeared with blood.
I take a quick glance in the rear-view mirror.
My eyebrow is split open and the blood from the wound is running down my face, dripping onto my clothes.
“Shit,” I wince, instantly feeling the pain from the knowledge.
I need to clean it up, but I can’t stop. Not now. I can’t risk Forbes catching up with me.
Because he will, undoubtedly, be coming after me.
I press my sleeve against the cut to soak up the blood and press down harder on the gas, firing me onward.
Before I know it, I’m on the I-90 with absolutely no idea where I’m going.
I have nowhere to go.
No friends to turn to. No family.
There’s only me.
***
I drive down the I-90 for an undetermined amount of time. I’m just staring ahead, foot on the gas pedal, putting as much distance between me and Forbes as I can.
It starts to rain, so visibility becomes poor, and my eye is starting to shut. It isn’t easy driving as I am, but with the rain pouring down, I’m going to have to pull off.
The thought of stopping terrifies me, but at the moment, I don’t have a choice.
A few minutes later, I see a sign for a service station coming up in a mile.
When the turn comes up, I pull off and follow the road round.
I park my car into the lot just outside the service motel. Shutting the engine off, I check my doors are still locked, then I examine my eye in the rear-view mirror. It’s looking bad.
I reach into the glove compartment and get out the hand wipes I keep in there. That’s when I spot my handbag sitting in the foot well where I’d dropped it earlier. Relief fills me.