I catch a thick leather string, and a piece of paper tumbles from the opening. My hand feels around in search of anything else. Empty.
A shuddering creak comes from outside the door. I shove the piece of paper and string into the pocket of my dress. My eyes dart around, searching for the cause of the sound and my heart jumps into my throat, flutters there for a moment, like a butterfly trapped in a net. A lanky, dirty man lurks in the doorway, staring at me. He is built like a naked tree in winter, with knobby joints and weather-worn skin. He smooths the sides of his wizened sandy hair as his chest moves rapidly, only breathing through his cracked lips.
“You don’t look like the average tenant here,” he says with a childish lisp. His clothes are old and torn up. Different dirty shades of white and gray. Sweat stains and an unkempt beard.
Of course, Dessin.Of course, there would be wild men here.
I back into the bookshelves. Should I be nervous? He might be friendly. As if sensing my uncertainty, he takes a step forward into the room and shuts the door.
I swallow and straighten up. My first response is to think of what Dessin would do. He’d show no fear. That much is without question.
“I was just leaving,” I say, attempting to sound uninterested and confident.
The filthy man chuckles, licking his gums, never dropping his milky gaze from mine.“Are you here all by yourself, miss?”
My spine, pin straight. “I’m exploring.”Say someone is here with you. Tell them they are only a mere two floors below.Say something!
“I like to explore.” His chapped lips stretch over his stained teeth.“Abandoned towers, abandoned homes…” Silence. He takes two steps toward me. “…Abandonedwomen.” He closes the space between us. His breath is foul and smells like he’s been chewing on a dead body.
“Someone is waiting outside for me,” I finally whisper, knowing that in no way am I nearly as intimidating as Dessin, and I won’t be able to talk myself out of this one. It’s clear he hasn’t seen a woman in quite a long time.
“Oh.” His voice reaches a higher tune as he glances over my shoulder, out through the barred window. I squeeze my eyes shut.“I suppose they went on a walk.” He half smiles, eyes wandering the length of my body.“How long do you think they’ll be gone?” The back of his hand caresses the length of my hair, spinning in waves along the sides of my breast to my waist.“Perhaps an hour?”
“Please. I have money. I have lots of money,” I beg. A moment of dread passes over me, like putting your hand over a hot stove that you didn’t know was on. I remember Scarlett sobbing as she told me the horrors of all men. Their hunger and desire, like rabid animals, taking what they want. The effect your separateness has on them. How it grows into something scary that will hurt your insides. How your body is broken down and raw with a sting that stays with you forever.
The muscles in my thighs start to tremble.
“I can never go back to that city, little doll. Money serves me no purpose.” He spits in my face.“However, your sinless body is priceless to me.” He kisses my neck, and my motor functions turn to stone. I can’t breathe. I can’t fight.
The man grabs my shoulders and slams me to the floor, rattling the glass on the desk, forcing his knees between my legs. I let out the loudest scream I can build in my chest and gut, the same cry that came from my lips when Scarlett died. The same scream that released from my bloody body as my father was about to swing the club into my face. The panic, flashing images of Scarlett shaking and screaming, her stories, the terror she felt as a child when those grown men touched her.
And like Scarlett, there is no one here that can help me, but I scream as loudly as my lungs will allow anyway. He puts his hand over my mouth and pants in laughter.“There is no one around here for miles!”
“Please don’t do this!” I scream, my words muffled under his sweaty palm, tasting of rust.
He rips my dress down the middle, exposing my white brassiere. He moans.“Keep begging.” The aggressive, disgruntled man pins my arms down and pushes his mouth against mine.
“No!” I screech against his lips. Shaking my head back and forth.
Anabrupt boom vibrates the walls, rattling the window, and the door has flown open. It slams against the adjacent wall, and something crashes to the floor from the impact.
I gasp, unable to see the cause.
The wild man shifts to the side, twisting his head and torso to see what started the disruption.
Dessin is blocking the doorway. Brooding like cold death.
His eyes are in a blood rage, piercing through my attacker’s skull. I try to squirm out from under him, but he holds on tighter, his legs forcing mine to widen for his hips.
“Out! We’re busy!” my attacker shouts at Dessin. But he doesn’t know Dessin. He doesn’t know that his mind knows no limit. He doesn’t know that Dessin is not a forgiving man.
There’s a change in the air around us, like the darkening before a storm. I whimper and scream under the man’s grip, and Dessin’s eyes flash to mine, honing a darkness I have yet to see. He charges, pulling the man’s arms behind his back and slamming him into the wall by the window adjacent to the bookshelves. I hear a loud unnatural snap, and I pull myself off the ground to watch the disaster spin out into an apocalypse.
The man’s arms hang off his body like they are made of jelly.“Get off of me!” the man pleads with his face mashed in the cement wall.
Dessin smirks and whispers in his ear,“Keep begging.” His voice is raspy and deep. Dessin bangs the man’s head into the wall several times until there is blood spilling from his nose and mouth, smearing against the wood interior. The man drops to his knees, crying hysterically. Dessin turns around and looks at me, eyes examining my frame, trying not to look too much at my dress, that is torn open.
He begins walking over to me.
