Eight #2
She pulls me into a hug and whispers straight into my ear. “Any problems, and you call either 911 or me. I’ll call you first thing in the morning, and if you don’t answer, I’ll be at your door. I’ll kick it down if I have to.”
“I’ll be fine, Mom,” I tease as I kiss her on the cheek and break the hug.
She looks at me one last time with a narrowed gaze as Kirk guides me towards the exit.
As we walk out the door, the chilly fall air engulfs me. The warm buzz, now a fuzzy inferno, makes my movements even more clumsy. Dizziness swims around in my head, and I struggle to focus on the ground below me. I stumble once. Twice. Before Kirk’s arm wraps around my waist, holding me up.
“I’m sorry, I should have known the last drink would be too much.” I laugh nervously, unsure whether the words even make sense.
“It’s okay,” he affirms, his tone softer than I expect from a stranger I found in a bar. “Let me make sure you get home.”
He hails a cab and bundles us inside. I tell the cab driver my address. My words slur into each other, but they must make sense because we start to move.
Kirk’s hand comes to rest on my thigh again, tracing small circles as his other arm pulls me close.
I move to push him off, but my arms feel too heavy, like they’re stuck under sand.
My head lolls and slumps against the window with a soft thud.
I watch the rain fall against the window, the city lights rushing past us. I fight the rising nausea.
My brain feels like driving through thick fog.
I’m only slightly aware of Kirk’s hand leaving my thigh and lifting my chin.
His lips meet mine, tongue invading my mouth.
My body is too limp to reciprocate, but he continues.
His tongue roams over mine, teeth clashing.
It’s sloppy; it’s robotic. A part of me somewhere is screaming, but it’s too far away to hear.
His hand holds the back of my neck, keeping my head upright.
This is wrong. Everything is wrong. But we’ll be turning onto my block soon, and I can kick him to the street.
As we arrive at my apartment, my legs wobble, barely able to hold my weight up, and Kirk helps me out of the cab.
I fish around my purse for my keys, my hands roaming around my bag searching for the fluffy purple keychain.
My arms feel like Jell-O, I can barely grip the keys in my hand, and they go clattering to the floor.
Kirk is immediately beneath me, picking them up, his other hand never leaving my waist. He turns the key in the lock and guides me through the threshold.
The apartment is dark, which only makes the unsteadiness rise, and I’m suddenly unsure which way is up right now. I drop my purse on the entryway table like I always do.
“T-thanks for bringing m-me home,” I slur as I walk towards the couch, but he’s probably already gone.
I’m vaguely aware of the sound of the front door closing. The soft click rings out through the dark, silent apartment. I swing my head back to the door, the movement making the wooziness return. Kirk stands with his back against the closed door, his eyes dark.
“W-what are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer me. He closes the gap between us impossibly fast. My pulse should be hammering in my ears but all that’s there is painful silence as he grips me under my arms and pulls me close.
I don’t have time to say anything before his mouth is against mine again without warning.
My brain struggles to catch up. I’m screaming, but there’s no sound in the room, save for Kirk’s heavy breathing.
I try desperately to lift my arms to push him away, claw at him, hit him—anything to get him off me. But my limbs don’t cooperate, they just hang uselessly and heavily at my sides like they’ve turned to iron.
What the fuck did he do to me?
He slides his hands up from my waist, knuckles grazing the side of my breasts. I barely register the touch. Everything feels muted. I cry out as he pinches my nipple. A jolt of unwanted electricity shoots through me, invading the deepest parts of me.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Do you like that, princess?”
My body locks. Every muscle becomes stone. The fog inexplicably clears from my brain as I’m transported back.
I’ll find you anywhere, princess.
No, no, no. I shake my head. Bringing my hands up to my ears, trying to block the sound. My senses go blank, shielding me from what’s coming… Pain.
Kirk’s hand palming my breast brings me back to reality. With my mind suddenly clear, I push him back, his lithe frame stumbling as a look of pure shock passes over his features.
“Please leave,” I say quietly, tears slowly falling down my face.
He chuckles, advancing towards me again, his hands fumbling with the zipper on his cargo pants.
I close the distance, pushing him harder and scream until my throat becomes hoarse. “Get out!”
He seems startled by the sudden outburst as he backs towards the door, and he turns the handle. “I knew you were a fucking cock tease whore,” he spits before walking into the street.
I run to the door behind him, checking and double-checking the locks.
I rest my back against the door and slide to the floor.
My breathing becomes erratic as I cradle my head in my hands.
Numbness and dizziness threaten to return, but there’s too much adrenaline and fear coursing through my body right now.
My hair drops over either side of my head, blocking my view and becoming my shield. My chest constricts, and my heart starts hammering. I can’t catch my breath. I can’t fucking breathe.
I. Can’t. Fucking. Breathe.
I can’t tell if it’s from whatever drugs I now realize he put into my drink or a panic attack.
I’ve had enough panic attacks to know what one feels like, and this is definitely one of them.
Muscle memory kicks in, and I drop my head between my knees and breathe as deeply as I can.
My lungs burn but I force the oxygen into them anyway.
It’s not him. I’m safe. I’m far, far away.