Think. Think! All of my brother’s self-defense lessons ran through my mind like scattered pieces, too jumbled for me to focus when I was still being shoved, Manny’s feet kicking at my ankles to try to trip me.
His hand was pressed firmly to my mouth where I couldn’t bite him, only inhale the stench of his skin and his body odor that was so much worse than just onions. I gagged again behind his hand as he hissed in my ear.
“Say anything and I’ll fucking end you. You hear me.”
How could this be happening? And so close to home?
I‘d survived prison. There was no way in freaking hell I wouldn’t survive this.
No way in freaking hell.
I fought against him but he moved too quick, getting behind me and shoving my face into the ground. Mulch pressed into my face, cutting me like paper. I flinched from the sting, cried out behind his hand from the pain burning through my knees.
“Get off me,” I grunted behind his hand. I opened my mouth to bite him as I bucked him off my back. He was shifting, straddling me while clawing at my shirt and shoving his other hand beneath me to my stomach.
“No.” Fire raged through me. I would not freeze to this asshole. I would not go down without a fight.
As Manny’s filthy hand shoved higher up my stomach, I could feel him against me. My ass. Hard.
Bile rose in my throat and I gagged, tried to puke. Perhaps that’d loosen his hold enough but my stomach was filled with sugary goodness and nothing came up.
“That’s it,” he crooned into my neck. His chest was pressed to my back and his hand was shoving beneath my bra. “Knew you’d be a sexy fuck. You’ll give this to me, won’t you?”
I shook my head, scraps of mulch scraping my face, embedding into my cheek. I flinched and bucked against him.
Remember. Find your leverage and use it.
My feet slipped on grass every time I moved but I had to do something. It just had to be done right or I’d end up worse.
Instead of fighting against him, I gave in. My mouth went slack behind his hand and my body loosened. I stopped moving against him and even while that taste of bile in my throat was thick as sludge, I moved with him. It’d been too long… years since anyone had tried to touch me, it felt foreign, but I blocked it out.
“There you are. Good girl.”
I trembled from fear, but as I nodded, faking acquiescence, Manny loosened his grip on my mouth. As he slid his hand away, I leaned in closer, feigning a kiss… and then I lunged.
He’d shifted enough, probably in an attempt to tear off my jeans, but it gave me just enough room to bolt forward to my knees, bucking him off. His hand whipped through the air and I grabbed it, biting down as hard as I could.
“Ah. Fucking cunt!” he shouted and I didn’t see his other fist coming in my direction until it slammed into my cheeks.
Stars sprung in my vision and tears swam in my eyes.
“No! Get off me!” I screamed, I clawed at the ground and threw dirt and mulch and whatever I could grab behind me, hoping it’d be enough to slow him, but he came back, this time flipping me to my back with embarrassing ease. One of his hands gathered mine, shoved them to the ground above my head.
He slapped me again on the same cheek, and my head whipped from the impact.
“This could have been easy but I don’t mind a fighter.”
He was sweaty. The smell of his disgusting onion breath filled my nose as his hand went to my jeans.
“Get off me!” I screamed again, moving and arching and flailing. I made it difficult for him and he paused only long enough to punch me in the stomach. He stole my breath and I laid there beneath him, beaten, gasping, and wheezing.
Red filled my vision.
I screamed again, loud and like an animal. If I couldn’t get him off me, maybe I could attract attention. From inside. From someone on the street. I screamed so loud I hoped like hell people a mile away could hear me.
He shoved his hand to my mouth again. “Shut the fuck up, bitch.”
Right as he finished, me glaring at him, breath finally returning to my lungs from his punch, a bright light came on.
“Who’s out there? Get out of here before I call the cops!”
Manny froze, glanced toward the door where he’d pulled me from and grinned down at me.
“I’ll see you again. Soon.” He climbed off me, his threat a sickening promise I knew he’d deliver. I spit at him and missed, as he grabbed something from the ground and ran off into the dark.
“Help. Please,” I croaked out, repeated myself and the light grew closer.
“Who’s there—oh!”
It was Samaya. Thank God.
She lowered the flashlight enough I could see her face, dark skin, white and pink floral hijab wrapped around the top of her head.
“Oh child.”
“Not a child,” I moaned, rolling to my side. Tears and mud and blood wet my cheeks. I tried to wipe it away, but my fingers were just as bad, just as dirty.
My entire body felt dirty.
She reached me and fell to her knees. “You’re bleeding. Your face.”
“I know.” Wet blood ran down my cheek into my mouth and I spit it into the grass. “I’m okay.”
“Lilly, you are absolutely not okay.”
Tell me about it.
I groaned again and pushed to my knees. Every small movement sent another flood of pain down my body.
“Let me help you up and get you inside.”
“I can do it.”
“Sure you can, but I don’t want you to fall. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
He’d kicked my ribs. Pretty sure that was the first jolt of pain into the railing because my side freaking killed.
“I’m all right,” I whispered, voice cracking. “Just need my bathroom.”
She didn’t ask to help me again, just moved behind me and pushed her hands to my armpits, lifting me to my feet.
My knees buckled and I cried out in pain. My knees stung, my side was worse. I wrapped an arm around my waist and hugged myself as if that’d help but it did little.
Once I was steadier, she slowly guided me toward the door to our building.
“Thank you,” I finally said on a ragged exhale.
“Us girls have to stick together. I’ll get you to your place and call the police.”
“No.” I shook my head. “No cops. I’ll be more careful.”
“Man like that on the loose—”
She didn’t know who it was. I should have told her. Chances are Manny might have seen her but if I did that, then she would definitely call the cops.
They’d show up, take my statement, and then that statement would get conveniently lost in a pile of mess once they saw my name and who I was, what I’d done.
And hell… if Ellen heard about this.
“Please, Samaya. I just want to clean up.”
“Okay, Lilly.” I knew Samaya more than just in passing. There were days this last summer when she was outside with her girls. We spent some time together and a couple times when her other sitter wasn’t available, I’d watched them for her. Cute, six-year-old twin girls who reminded me of everything I’d probably never have. They were energetic and crazy smart. I cooked them mac ‘n’ cheese and vegetables and they’d thanked me as if I served them a seven-course meal.