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Jessica 1
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Subject: Jessica, chapter 1
[Someone who wishes to be known as YoungOne here...]
Hello, everyone. Here's a story I wrote some time ago that I thought
I'd finally get around to posting. It's loosely based on a couple of
real incidents a friend of mine went through. It ain't pretty, but
I think it's a good story.
I'm posting it anonymously because I don't approve of a lot of things
in the story and don't want to sour any opinions of me that some of
you may have. Does that make any sense?
Anyway, a brief word of warning: There is a fair bit of non-consensual
naughtiness in this story. But, believe it or not, it's not what you
think. Read on.
This is chapter one. It's not strong on what I'd call really exciting
sexual content, and is by far the most violent chapter. I'll respond
to email, and don't mind coming out with my real address in email. I'd
just rather not post it. I welcome comments. Let me know what you
think.
ObAnnoyingBit: This story is COPYRIGHTED! You may NOT reprint it
except for your OWN use without my permission. That means no
anthologies, compilations, books, magazines, or anything else. You
may repost it however, so long as you keep it completely intact and
don't add anything of your own. And you may NOT claim that you wrote
it.
So, without further ado, may I present...
Jessica
Chapter 1: The Salvation
I'd never been to the club before, and I had my reservations
about it the second I walked in. But my friend Sally was supposed to
meet her boyfriend there, so we stayed. The only word I can think of
to describe the atmosphere was, well, hostile.
I know now that this type of club is far from uncommon, but
back home in Idaho, we had nothing like it. I'd never seen much
leather in one place in my life (well, maybe at my cousin's place in
Texas, but it was on cows there, not people). Spikes, too. Piercings
were everywhere. The crowd seemed young, really young.
I looked spectacularly out of place. Sally had left a message
on my machine after work: "Jessica, I'm supposed to meet Bruce at a
club tonight. I really need someone to come with me and you're the
only one around. Can I pick you up at nine?" Sure, Sally, you know I
don't have many friends (I'd recently moved to Los Angeles and
haven't met many people yet). So I got dressed in nice clothes
thinking we'd go to one of the big dance clubs. Not a little, seedy
punk joint in Venice. Thanks, Sally. She, at least, wore black.
But it wouldn't be bad. Bruce had to see someone, then he and
Sally would meet and go off to where ever they went and I'd head
home. Probably spend the weekend working. Working, that is, if I
didn't end up stabbed for no particular reason. When I caught Sally's
eye next time, I actually growled at her. She looked harried back at
me.
We didn't even try to get drinks. We just kind of huddled at the
back of the place and hoped no one would notice us. It was a good
plan, but why did I keep thinking of sharks circling a pair of helpless
swimmers? We waited. Bruce was late. Of course.
We got to wait almost ten minutes before a group of four men
(Men? Boys? Where is the transition point?) circled in closer. Four
identical leather jackets. Two nose studs. About fifteen earrings.
Six gallons of gel. Enough spikes for an entire track team. Oh yeah,
and two very frightened office-workers.
"Hey! You want to dance!" Er. Um. No, we'd just as soon get
straight on to the stabbing if it's OK with you.
Then Sally stepped forward to save the day. "We're waiting for
someone! Sorry!" She even smiled.
"Come on! Let's dance! This is a great song!" It was a good
song, too. Just cut the volume by about 60%. "Whoever you're
waiting for will be here when you come back!" One of them looked at
me, then reached out and grabbed my hands.
"Come on! Let's dance!" He yelled as he pulled me away from
safety.
And so I met John. His name surprised me. Given the
atmosphere and his clothing, I expected something like "Slash" or
"Knife" or even "Death". Nope. Just nice, simple John from Santa
Monica. He worked in a record store and was only 19 years old. He
used his brother's ID to get in.
We danced for one song then wandered back to where Sally
waited. Bruce was there and they looked sort of impatient. Sally
leaned close to me. "We've got to go! Do you want to leave with us?"
I should have said yes. But John was standing right there and
he seemed really nice so I yelled back "No! I'm going to stay a little
bit longer! You guys go on and take off!" Sally looked like I had told
her I was joining the Hari-Krishnas. "Yeah! I'm going to dance with
John again! Go ahead and go!" After a few pleading looks she finally
waved her hands and took off.
John and I talked for a bit, then managed to find a place to sit.
I sat down, he left to get us drinks. I was actually beginning to
enjoy myself. I hadn't gone out much since leaving my parent's house
in Idaho and was enjoying the experience.
Then John came back with another friend. "I've got to go!" He
yelled over the music. "My friends are leaving and I've got to go with
them!" He just shrugged in reply to my crestfallen look then the two
of them left. So much for nice, simple John. I decided to leave, too.
It was about 11:00.
In order to get back to my car, I had to walk across one parking
lot beside the club, past a building, and across most of another lot. I
left the club and got across the first parking lot before it hit.
You know that tight, icy ball of pure terror that can crawl into
your stomach when you know something really, really awful is going
to happen? It's the feeling you get when you see your family dog
wander onto the highway into the path of a large truck. It's the
feeling parents get when they get a phone call at 2am on a Friday
night when their 16 year old child took the car out for the first time.
It's the feeling a mother gets when her son is away in the Army and
a telegram arrives from Washington. It's the same feeling you get
when you're walking across a parking lot alone in the middle of the
night and you see two men get out of a car you just passed.
Terror. Some people say it makes time slow down. Some say
it makes it speed up. Some say they're never afraid. I experienced
sheer, unadulterated panic right there in that parking lot. I *knew* I
was in trouble even before they said anything. My thinking froze. I
heard the sound of their car doors open. Then I heard them close. I
couldn't think. All I could do was worry.
"Hey, lady! You got the time?" They walked towards me. I
didn't stop or slow down. I just kept on walking. I heard them walk
behind me. All I could think of was getting to my car. I guess what I
should have done was just start screaming, but for some reason I
didn't. I was just hoping that if I could get to my car and get in, I
could get away from these two and get home. I worried that if I ran,
they would just overtake me. So I just sped up my pace a little and
kept going.
They let me get halfway across the building before they made
their move. Once again, I should have seen it coming. There was a
doorway recessed into the wall and I guess they were waiting for
that. I heard two quick steps and before I could do anything there
was a hand on my shoulder. It spun me around. I faced them.
Obligatory leather jackets, spikes, and all that.
"We asked you if you had the time." They sneered.
"Hey, she's pretty! Isn't she pretty?" The one with his hand on
my shoulder slid it down my arm to my elbow, which he held tightly.
"Yeah." The other one advanced towards me and together they
forced me back into the doorway. I wanted to scream. I wanted to
yell. But I couldn't say anything. All I managed was a whimper. I
felt the door behind me. They pressed close in front of me. It was
dark and it stank.
Then I saw the knife. I saw what little light there was
glimmer off its edge. One of them held it up in front of me, turning
it so it caught the light. He pushed it forward, placing it against my
face. "Now you just be real quiet." He slid the blade down along my
cheek until the point rested on the bottom of my chin. "My friend and
I are going to have some fun. We won't cut you or hurt you if you
don't scream or try to get away. We've each got a blade and we'll cut
you so bad you'll wish you weren't ever born." I whimpered again.
Frozen thoughts. Knives terrify me. A gun wouldn't have frightened
me any more than that knife. "You understand me?"
"Uh...Uh..." I couldn't make any words come out.
"Bitch! Do you understand me or do I have to cut you?" He
pushed up with the knife a little, causing me to have to lift my chin.
"Uh...Please don't hurt me!" The damn broke, I could speak
again. But it was too late to scream.
He pulled the knife back a little. Then I felt his other arm
around my side. He pulled me forward, towards him. I gasped and
wanted to scream. He was ready for it. With a quick gesture, he did
something to the knife that made the blade go away. Then he
punched me. Hard. In the stomach.
I doubled over in agony. White dots danced in front of my eyes.
I gasped for breath. I felt like I was going to vomit. Then one of
them grabbed me again. He spun me around and rammed me into the
door, twisting my arm behind my back. The white hot agony from
that overpowered the pain from my stomach. A hand pushed against
my back, forcing me to turn my head to one side. There was some
noise and it took a second before I realized that he was speaking
again.
"...just do what I say. Remember, next time we'll cut you." And
again the knife flashed in front of my eyes. He brought it closer
until its tip touched my nose. "We'll cut you so bad you'll get sick
every time you look at yourself in the mirror. You understand me,
bitch?"
"Please...Please don't hurt me. I'll be quiet. Please." All I
wanted to do was make the pain stop. "Please...My arm..." And it did
stop. Or at least lessened. They released my arm, but the hand in my
back stayed in place, holding me against the door.
Then I felt a hand on my dress. It fumbled at the zipper, then
yanked it down. It tore. He yanked at it until it slid off. I held
myself still, numb. He reached inside my panties and tore them next.
The pressure against my back lessened some, allowing the remnants
of my clothing to fall to the ground.
"Oh. Damn, but aren't you built. Now you just do what we say
and you'll get out of this OK. You fuck up and you'll wish you never
even heard of a knife. You got that? No sound from you. You do what
we say. Understand, bitch?"
"Uh...Uh..." This wasn't really happening. It wasn't me. It was
all a bad dream.
The hand on my back slid down where it was joined by another.
Two hands cupping my butt. Then they slid around, he pulled me
against him. I could feel the leather of his jacket, the spikes, and
the zipper. I kept gasping for breath. Short, shallow breaths. My
knees felt shaky.
His hands explored my sex. Two fingers pushed in, rough. It
hurt. I felt his breath in my ear. "Oh yes, you want it." Oh, God, no I
didn't. "Baby." Asshole. His hands slid up, holding my sides below
the ribs. "Yeah, baby. You might even enjoy this." It wasn't
happening. It would be over soon.
He turned me around. I could see his friend behind him,
watching. I had no idea where the knife was. He pressed forward,
kissing me. He reeked of alcohol. I didn't resist.
Then it happened. Once again, I heard a few quick running
steps. I saw a shape move out in the street and heard a "CRACK".
The rapist standing in the street fell like a puppet with its strings
cut. Another man stood there with some kind of a black club. The
animal on top of me turned half around and started to speak when the
club crashed straight into his his face. This time it wasn't so much
swung as thrust. Blood spurted out as he crashed into me. I fell
back into the corner. The rapist had his knife in his hand, but
seemed dazed and confused. One hand held his nose, trying in vain to
stop the bleeding.
The club swung again into the animal's cheekbone. A foot
swung, crushing the hand with the knife. It clattered to the ground.
The club swung into the other side of my attacker's head. Another
foot kicked out into his groin. The club struck forward again into
the animal's stomach. The only thing that seemed to be hold him up
was the wall he had fallen against. His face was covered in blood.
The club lashed forward again, striking the rapists' mouth. I'm sure
he lost teeth in that blow.
The the club reversed and pressed against the animal's neck. A
voice spoke. "Miss? Are you OK?"
I had an urge to laugh hysterically. Here I was, stark naked,
about to be gang-raped in an alley and he asks me if I'm OK? "Uh...OK.
Yes."
"Good. These two aren't going to bother anyone right now. Why
don't you stand up and get dressed?" The bloody pulp next to me
groaned.
I fumbled for my clothing. My panties were a total loss, of
course. My dress, while torn, would at least cover me. I grabbed it
and sort of crawled out from under the two men. It didn't take long
to make myself as serviceable as I was going to get. I wasn't sure
what I should do next (though the thought of running away screaming
seemed to fill my thoughts).
Then the man who saved me spoke again. He had stopped
pressing on the rapist and now faced me. The rapist was lying
motionless on the ground. "Neither of these two is going anywhere.
Why don't I get you someplace safe and I can call the police?"
Safe. What was safe?
"Come on, miss. My car is right over here." He put is arm
around me and led me off down the street. Less than a hundred feet
away, he guided me into a car. I sat down in the passenger seat
while he crouched there facing me. "Are you OK, miss? Do you need
a doctor?"
Doctor? Did I need a doctor? Yes. "No." I was numb. This
hadn't happened to me. "Just, please, I want to go home. Please.
Home."
He looked unsure. "We really need to call the police."
"Please, my car is right over there. Home." All I could think
about was my little, safe apartment with my cat, Katina. And the
quilt my mother had knitted me when I was eight years old. I
started crying. It started small, just a few tears. Before long it
was loud, hysterical sobs. I couldn't speak. I couldn't think.
The man looked at me for a second, then closed the car door.
He walked around, got in, and started the engine. "Where do you live,
miss? I'll drive you home."
I pointed down the street, unable to speak. We started off. I
tried to straighten my dress, to cover myself a little more. To hide
my legs. I sobbed again and again and again.
Somehow, I guided him to my apartment. We parked in the fire
lane in front and he half walked, half carried me up. I let us in and
more or less ran straight to the bathroom.
I guess it's cliche to talk about climbing into the shower and
scrubbing my skin raw, but that's exactly what I did. Trying to get
the feeling of them off of me. Eventually, I slowed enough to start
cataloging the bruises, scrapes, and cuts. I had no idea where most
of them came from.
Sometime later, I emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a
robe an three towels. There was a plate of fruit on the table with a
note.
Miss,
I wasn't sure if you would want to find me
here when you were finished showering. So I
left. Here is a plate of fruit from your
icebox. Having something to eat will make you
feel better. When you're done, you really
should call the police (555-8436). If you
want to call someone and just talk, the
Santa Monica Rape Crisis Center answers the
phones 24 hours a day. Their number is
555-2749. I'm sorry about what happened
to you, but it wasn't your fault. Some men
are animals.
(signed)
Mike
I cried. Sometime later, I stopped. I nibbled at the fruit, then
realized how hungry I was and ate all of it. I looked at the two
phone numbers for a long time. I looked out the window for a long
time. My cat came and curled up in my lap. She purred.
I decided to go to bed. I tried to sleep. It didn't work. I sat up,
in the dark. I thought about what happened. I thought about the two
animals who had hurt me. I thought about the man who had saved me.
The animals. The last I had seen of them, the were bleeding,
half-dead, lying on the street. Should I call the police? I wasn't
sure. Well, I was sure that I should. But did I want to? What would
it serve? I was safe. I doubted I'd ever see them again. Did I want
to go through the agony of a trial? No.
The man who saved me? Who was he? Would I hear from him
again? Did I want to? What would I do if he came back?
Eventually I slept.
Dawn brought aches, pains, new worries, and a surprise. There
was a note under my front door. It read:
Miss,
I borrowed your car keys and brought your
car back. Hope you don't mind. It's parked
on the street outside.
(signed)
Mike
Who was this Mike? Why was he helping me? I'm ashamed to
say that I hardly paid attention to him last night. I'd recognize him,
but barely. How had he located my car? The keys were near the
note. I looked at them. OK, he could tell the make of car from those.
And I had motioned to the parking lot. If he took the keys from my
purse, he could probably have deduced the correct car.
[to be continued]
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