I didn’t hesitate to open the door, ready to drag Freddie out if I had to. Instead I came face to face with Dickhead’s naked ass. It wasn’t very impressive as far as asses go so I didn’t linger but searched the room for my sister instead.
“What the fuck,” he said when he saw me standing in the doorway. “Get the hell out of my room bitch.” His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like he had been sampling his own wares. His skinny body looked sickly grey in the low light of a single bedside lamp and I shuddered when he turned and I got a glimpse of his front. What the hell was my sister thinking?
All thoughts left my brain when I spotted my sister lying in a heap on the floor, her top torn, her cheeks tear-streaked. “You piece of shit. What is wrong with you?” I yelled.
Not waiting for a reply, I went to Freddie and picked her up. She was shaking and crying, unable to form words. As soon as she realized it was me, she buried deep into my side, holding on so tightly it was hard to breathe. But I held her just as tightly, thankful I’d found her in time. Dickhead chose that moment to snap out of his surprise and blocked our way. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I had had it with this day and was fuming. How dare he lay a hand on Freddie. “None of your business. Now get out of my way before I call the cops.”
Turns out that was the wrong thing to say. Before I had a chance to react, he backhanded me so hard that I lost my hold on Freddie and fell to the floor. I had never been hit that hard. I was no stranger to a beating, having been on the receiving end of my mother’s fury many times, but never had she hit me so hard. My ears were ringing and my vision was blurry. I blinked my eyes, trying to clear my head.
He wasn’t done yet though, and before I had a chance to get back up, he swung back and kicked me in the gut. Not sure which part of my body hurt worse, I was in a world of pain. “Emmi,” Freddie screeched. I pulled myself up to my knees, hands still on the floor, holding on for stability while trying to catch my breath. My lungs were on fire and I was shaking.
“Two for the price of one. Didn’t know it was my lucky day today.” He licked his dry lips, and I vomited on the floor. The thought of Dickhead touching me combined with the agony I was currently in and my stomach revolted.
“Disgusting, bitch. You,” he pointed to my sister, “clean that up. And then get back on the bed. Don’t make me tell you again.”
His eyes darted around the room, his body shuffling from side to side. Freddie was frozen to the spot, staring at me.
“Bitch, are you deaf?”
This was going even worse than the worst case scenario I had pictured in my head. He was unhinged, crazy. Didn’t have all the mugs in his cupboard anymore, as Oma would say. We needed to get out of there, and we needed to do it now.
Freddie was crying so hard, her whole body shook from it. She stumbled over to me and took my arm, tugging it up. I let her pull me back to my feet, hissing at the stabbing pain in my ribs, and leaned in to talk quietly into her ear. “If I tell you to run, do it as fast as you can. I’ll be right behind you.”
She frantically shook her head, unable to talk. I straightened as much as I could and took a step forward. My ribs protested at the movement, making me doubt my ability to run fast. Or run at all.
I let go of Freddie and stumbled my way forward. Dickhead wasn’t expecting us to move towards him. This gave us the moment of surprise that we needed. I ran at him like I was playing for the offense. I’ve never watched a full football game in my life but what I did remember was how much damage a good tackle could do. We were out of options, desperate, so a good tackle seemed like the way to go. Dickhead didn’t look like he weighed much. I got this.
I didn’t give him a chance to recover from his surprise and with my head down I smashed right into him. My shoulder hit his soft belly, my arms pushed into him and he went flying out the door. Worked better than anticipated and it also meant our path was clear. “Run,” I screamed as loud as I could to be heard over the thumping of the music. Freddie, for once, did as she was told, well sort of, since she stopped to take my hand but I could live with that, and then sprinted out the door.
Dickhead was about to get up from the floor, cursing and looking royally pissed. Freddie stopped and kicked him hard in the nuts, and he went down again.
“Let’s go,” I said and tugged on her hand. We were holding on to each other so hard, the circulation in my hand was being cut off. But neither one of us let up.
We dodged people sitting on the stairs and pushed through the throng of dancers until we finally stumbled outside. The fresh air hit my lungs like a snowstorm. I stumbled but Freddie stopped me from tumbling to the ground again.
“I’m driving. Give me your keys,” she said when she realized how useless I was.
I didn’t argue. She was a terrible driver, but she would do a lot better than me in my current state. I fumbled for my keys, my hand shaking so badly I hardly managed to get them out of my pocket.
Freddie didn’t waste any time ripping open the passenger door and pushing me into the car. I yelped at the pain shooting up my body from being handled so roughly. She raced around the hood and dropped into the driver’s seat, starting the car. I barely had time to close my door before she slammed down on the gas and we hightailed it out of there in a cloud of dust.
The car was silent on the way home. I was in pain and talking seemed to be too much effort. Freddie was staring out the windshield, eyes wide, mouth tight, tears streaming down her face.
It only took us ten minutes to get back. I didn’t say a word at the corners Freddie clipped or the liberal way she approached the speed limit. I couldn’t believe what had happened. My little sister, who I had always looked after, was nearly raped. If I’d gotten there any later, I would have been too late. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. I made up crazy scenarios in my head, cursing the asshole with everything I had. Thanks to Oma, my swearing vocabulary was vast, both in German and English.
Freddie parked in the driveway and turned the car off. Neither one of us made a move to get out.
“Emmi, I’m –” Freddie said.
But I cut her off, and said, “Don’t.” I was in pain and fuming. Not a good combination.
She nodded and got out. I barely managed to open my door, the movement too much. Freddie came around and helped me out, careful to avoid my ribs. She placed a light hand on my back and held onto my arm.
I bit my lip so hard I drew blood. The three steps leading up to the front door never seemed more challenging, and I got slower with each step I took. We finally made it inside and came face to face with Oma. Of course, she was still awake.
“Meine Spätzchen,” she exclaimed, her eyes taking in my bent over form, Freddie’s torn shirt and tear-streaked face. She was wearing her oversized lime green housecoat that was about a hundred years old and frayed at the edges. It had been hideous when she bought it—and still was—but Oma couldn’t pass up a good bargain.
