The sandwich is another matter. Just looking at it is making my stomach growl, but what if they did something to it? How hungry am I?
Maybe I can just eat a small piece at a time and judge how it makes me feel. Tearing off a corner, I inspect it before popping it in my mouth. I don’t think dry bread has ever tasted so good.
That’s how I spend the next however amount of time, tearing a small bite off the sandwich and take a drink of water to wait and see if it does anything to me. The brightness of the sun in the sky says it’s around midday and the temperature of the little room is getting hotter, but that’s the only way I’m able to tell time.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs flips my stomach and I wonder if it will be the boy again. The lock slides in its cradle and the door opens. It’s him. The man from the feed store. The way he is looking at me is making my skin crawl.
Even though it’s still nearly one hundred degrees outside, this guy is in dress pants, a long sleeve shirt and loafers. All black to match his slicked back hair.
He steps through the door, rolling his sleeves up, his eyes traveling down my legs that are left bare by the old, worn-out jeans shorts I put on to work in the stables yesterday. I dressed for the weather and to sweat, not to hide myself.
Pictures flash in my head like a slideshow from my attack fourteen years ago. The punch, his hand around my neck, the pain. My next thought takes my breath away. It’s going to happen again. Every muscle in my body starts trembling.
I think this time I’m going to die.
The air in the little room suddenly becomes thick, and no matter how much air I suck in, it’s not filling my lungs.
The sandwich and water I just put in my stomach feels like it might come back up. He hovers over me, looking at my body, the disgusting leer on his face betrays everything his is thinking, so I turn my face away from his and close my eyes and clench my teeth to stop them from chattering.
He jerks my arm and pushes me against the wall, his hand cups my jaw and squeezes, the cut on my cheek screams in pain and I feel the edges pull apart again. “Uh-uh, you have to watch. Open your eyes.”
In response, I squeeze my eyes tighter.
I make a conscious decision to turn off. If I’m going to go through this again, I don’t want to be here. Just as I’m letting myself slip into a dark place that is free from pain or heartache, I hear an explosion. It shakes the little pane of glass in the brick wall and some dust falls from the ceiling.
The man hovering over me jerks and looks over his shoulder. “The fuck?”
Pulling me with him, he drags me against the wall, his hand tight around my arm, and looks around the corner and yells. “Hey! What’s going on?”
He waits, but there’s only silence. Turning to me again, he squeezes my cheeks again as he slides his nose along my jaw. “We’re not done, blondie, this will only take a minute. I’ve been wanting to sink into your little cunt since I first saw you.”
Letting my focus drift over his head, I lock my gaze on a brick across the room. I can’t fight this guy, he’s too big. My stomach churns as I hear him unbuckling his belt, but it doesn’t stop there. Everything I just put in it comes up and spews out on his chest.
“Mother fucker!” He bellows and the back of his hand slams into my cheek that isn’t cut.
The force of it sends me sprawling across the floor and I start to scramble on my knees toward the open door. His handcloses around my calf and pulls me back to him, my other leg slides out to the side as I land on my stomach. Part of my outstretched arms is dragged through the vomit on the floor.
“Just for that, I’m gonna go fast and hard.” He sneers in my ear and straddles my back.
He tears the vomit shirt from his body, the sound of some buttons hit the wall next to me, but then his hand goes to the back of my neck to hold me still on the ground. He slides his body down to sit on the back of my thighs.
I’m not sure what is happening behind me because he becomes still and his hand on my neck loosens. Something warm and wet lands on my cheek and when I see the splatter on the cement next to my head, I know it’s blood. His weight leaves my legs, but I can’t move.
There is a tussle behind me, skin hitting skin. I hear grunts and I think I hear a bone break.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I bend my arms back and cover my head the best I can and pull my legs up to my chest, twisting my body to make myself as small as possible. I can’t take any more. I can’t do this.
“Marley!” I hear a yell next to me, but it sounds far away.
Have you ever tied cans to a string and went to one room while your sibling or friend went to another to yell into the cans? The idea is that the string works like a walkie talkie. Everybody knows it doesn’t work, but you can still hear the person yelling in a can in another room.
That’s what it sounds like. Someone is yelling my name, but it sounds like he’s yelling into a can.
Strong hands flip me over, pulling my hands away from my head and cup my jaw, but I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to pull my face away.
I don’t want to see anymore.
I don’t want to feelanymore.
