“You want to get back to the party, you’re welcome to go,” I tell him and thank fuck my voice stays steady rather than joining in the full body wobble that’s happening elsewhere.
The boy with black hair, who apparently thought I was put on this earth to suck him off, lunges for me, retreating when I twist my arm his way.
Everything is happening too quickly. I need a plan. Beyond pointing the stabby end of a miniature knife at them.
My breath slams in and out of my chest. Sights, smells, sounds hit me in such a constant stream that I’m overwhelmed, unable to put it to use, unable to even categorise the information.
I turn towards black-haired boy, thinking he’s moved a step closer. Then spin on my heel as the boy who’d grabbed my hair moves.
They’re both advancing and I don’t have a plan.
They’re both advancing and it will be a simple thing to overpower me and steal the knife.
I scream, running straight for the boy blocking the door.
His eyes widen, hands immediately up in a defensive position.
Then he sidesteps, and the door opens, a large blond man filling the space, the whole space, and how the fuck is that possible that someone can be large enough to fill the whole fuckingdoorway, then he steps forward, grabs my wrist, pulls the knife free with his other hand, spins me, my back to his front, and clutches me against his chest, hugging hard, incapacitating me.
Three against one didn’t come close to inspiring the level of terror that envelops me now. This fourth member of their rape troupe is gargantuan.
A sob of pure terror catapults from my throat before I scream, “Let me go!”
There must be a move to get out of this hold. Something to do with elbows but I can’t get one free, let alone manoeuvre it back into his gut.
In a second, he twists me again, throwing me over his shoulder, stepping outside and dumping me in the hallway.
The door slams shut in my face.
What?
Everything happened so quickly, I’m dizzy. I don’t really understand the sequence of events but I’m safe. I don’t have my knife any longer but I’m safe.
A synapse in my brain fires wrong and I turn, pounding my fist on the study door. “Let me in.”
Even though I obviously don’t want to go inside. No. Iwantto be on this side of the door, but the acclimation period sped past too quickly and now I’m scrambled.
A girl wolf-whistles as she walks by and I see my dress is still rolled up my hips, leaving just my tights as cover. I adjust myself then recall my jacket is still inside. My jacket with my house keys and my wallet with my student ID and I do actually need those things. I can’t stand the thought of those callous fucks pawing through them, looking at my terrible licence photo and laughing.
My palm hits against the door before I form the coherent thought to enter. “Hey. Let me in.”
The door opens, giant blond man using the entire space again.
Except he’s not a man. He’s a boy my age.
His right hand is on the doorframe beside my head. The knuckles are grazed and spattered with blood. There are flecks across his face. Easily visible because of his pale complexion, matching to his fair hair.
“Yes?”
I swallow, heart beating with such force I can feel it in my throat. His eyes are a raucous blue, like the sea glass I used to collect from the beach when my mum took me as a child. Collect, then smash apart so I could see the difference in the worn opaque outside and the clean shine of the inside.
That’s his colour. That same depth as the sharp edge.
They soften the longer my gaze rests upon them, then I give a start. I’m staring. “My jacket’s on the seat.”
He moves aside, letting me enter. One boy, the ringleader, is against the far wall, bent double, holding his stomach like he’s afraid his insides will fall out if he pulls them away. Another boy rests with his back against the bar, legs splayed on the floor, between two stools. Blood pours through the hand he has clapped across his mouth.
“Don’t you fucking move,” a deep voice rumbles and I freeze, my hand outstretched, halfway towards the jacket. I’m scared to look but I have to.
