Being Kalli(81)

The fuck? Was it the absence of dreamy eyes that gave him the hint? Or that I haven’t once tried to touch him in any way? Maybe it was the fact I just wanted to get the hell away from him.

My sense kicks in and I pull back, but he gets both hands around my face and tries to stick his tongue in. Fighting the urge to knee him, I get my hands and push against his chest, hard. The guy’s probably as drunk as I am, so I give him the benefit of the doubt since he’s been strangely nice to me.

The moment he notices how hard I push against his chest and how I try to swivel my lips to the side so he can’t kiss me, he yanks me close, ripping at my hair. He gets his hand, blindly feeling up my thigh.

“Donovan,” I scream. “Get off.”

He pulls back, but it’s only his face. His hand remains clamped on my upper thigh and at the back of my hair. “What? Aren’t you fucking drunk enough yet? For fuck’s sake!”

I stare at him and everything starts clicking. Donovan isn’t a nice guy. He’s been strangely nice because he’s acting, and I’m now fighting for my strength because my body is too drunk to fight back as it should.

“Why will you fuck everyone but me? I licked you up, made you come. You promised to give it up to me, so where is it? Huh? I only want it once, ‘kay? I have a pretty good clue you’re good after that shit against the wall in fucking public, and my girlfriend won’t fuck me yet.” He pushes me horizontal on the bench with a hand over my mouth and his other hand forcing me down by my chest. “So I only want this once to tide me over.”

He leans in close, teeth bared. “Once, okay?”

I bare my teeth too, try bite him, but he has his hand purposely bent outward to muffle my voice and prevent my teeth from hurting him. I thrash my legs, but his weight suddenly on top of my thighs glues them down. My heeled feet thrash against the planks. I barely feel the pain with my head spinning and my teeth and senses numbed, so I keep thrashing and moaning. Writhing.

Nothing.

Nothing gives.

I don’t have to look to know someone would probably notice if they walked by, if they turned, if they then stared into the darkness back here. But someone might not come, and if they do, there are cars I can hear on the main road, and there’s still the music inside which would muffle the loudest moan I can make.

“Quit moving and this will be easier.”

I’ve heard that before.

He said it to me and I didn’t listen.

The whole time I thrashed in my handcuffs and cut my wrists enough to bleed, but not enough to leave a scar. Same as my ankles. I moaned so much I lost my voice. My body betrayed me and I’ve spent nine years since living with the repercussions of not being able to do anything.

I nod and the tears slip out easily. I won’t fight uselessly this time; every action for my escape will be with intent.

Who’s to say he won’t get annoyed, kidnap and dump me somewhere? There are fields back there, and plenty more darkness. And he seems sober.

“Okay,” I cry. “I’m sick of playing hard to get.”

The tears slip out more, so he lets me worm up one arm under the weight of his chest to wipe them away. I leave my hand there, covering my eyes so I don’t have to see.

Donovan starts making a fuss at our crotches. Must be undoing his button and fly. He looks down, and with the distraction I feel into my cleavage and press the call combination I’ve committed to memory from so much time on my phone. I press where the call function is, I press at the top of the screen where my last caller should be and dial. Nate should be there if I’ve actually done it right.

If my shaky fingers and limited movement have allowed me to do all these steps properly, the buzzing I’m feeling through my chest should be real. Donovan’s knuckle grazes my bare skin down there and a thick, long thing presses on me.

Now.

I’ve been still.

I’ve cried like a damsel in distress.

He thinks I’m a useless slut who deserves this.

The problem is privileged fucks like Donovan don’t understand the desperation of a broken person fighting to survive.

I squeeze my extremities in with a swift tug. Then out. My knees power into his balls from behind and I use my free elbow to knock off his chin.

His jaw makes a spine-tingling cracking sound as his head follows through with the force upwards. His pelvis convulses, and one hand flies between his legs. When I wiggle this time, I come free, worming out from under him and to the ground like a slinky, feet last to follow.

Donovan whispers, “You whore,” and yanks back up on my feet. Hands to the gravel path, ass up to his mercy, he pulls me up, and wallops me across the cheek.