Haze (42 page)

The first thing that hit my mind was
Timothy
. Had he plotted out his revenge, waiting until this big night to take action? My mind was running at a thousand miles per hour. Was he about to kill me for not returning to his side? I thought of every crazy killer in every horror movie, all of them blurring together and somehow inhabiting the body of my attacker.

Why the fuck had I posted the
Facebook event on my own wall?
Yeah, that was how Timothy found me. What was he about to do with me? Fucking social media! It was so stupid. I vowed to never use it again, vowed to never—

"You fucking cunt," the voice said, unnaturally low. "You fucked up my life and now I'm going to fuck up yours."

Whomever the voice belonged to wasn't speaking in their normal range, and that was clear to me. The voice kept caroming in my head as my heart beat out of control. Why would Timothy think that attacking me would solve any problems? What would
he
gain from hurting me?

But was that voice really Timothy's?
If it wasn't him, then who the fuck was it? My mind was fragmented, disjointed as it tried to put anything together at light speed. There was no time for hesitation.

Who the fuck was attacking me? My dress tore and uncomfortably cool air tickled my thighs.
Oh God, I know where this is going.

It didn't matter who was attacking me. Being attacked was being attacked. I had to survive this, to keep myself together until it was over. Jack would be on his way soon, he had to be.

There was a pulsing hardness against my thigh, a disgusting, vile, repulsive thing. The assailant's cock was already out, pressed against my bare skin as he forced me against the wall even harder. He ripped my panties off my body, literally tearing that seemingly flimsy material to provide him full access.

I couldn't figure it out. It had to be someone I knew based on what he said, and it seemed so fucking simple. It was probably Timothy; that was all I had.

Time was moving at warp speed while my mind crawled along. I instantly thought about how incredible life had been only a few minutes prior. I was about to move in with Jack, the man I wanted more than any other man on the planet. The man as perfect for me as I was for him.

Who the fuck was
this man
? He was a fucking thief, someone trying to take something from me that wasn't related to money at all. Why had I made this mistake? Why had I put myself in jeopardy like this?

His hardness kept crawling up my leg, my accompanying fear no different than if it were a snake about to deliver a fatal bite. I was out of breath as outward choked sobs dominated my compressed windpipe. I couldn't see anything and that made my mind invent horrible images all around me.

Jack, please...

I couldn't let it go all the way. I had to stop him. I fought, writhing against the wall, doing my best to ensure that I couldn't be penetrated. The rumble of a car passing by in the alley was all the more prominent due to my deprived sense of sight. At least that was going well for me.

Was it the limo? Jack had to be nearby. But even if he was, he had no reason to check here. The likely places I would have wandered were in the opposite direction since the venue was near an adjacent street with bars and restaurants.
Too late
was approaching really fast.

Oh yeah, I was fucked.

The smell of liquor—whiskey, more specifically—spilled into my nostrils as I continued to fight.
Alcoholic piece of shit!
I knew my efforts were futile because there was no way in hell I could overpower this bastard. He was strong—and overly motivated. I didn't give up though, and he had to release his hand over my mouth to forcibly shift my pelvis toward his.

"
Mmm, it only makes me harder when you fight." The whiskey scent made me feel ill.

"Effie!" The scream was distant and somewhat muffled from my compromised position. "Where are you?" Even though I could hear it—which meant it had to be nearby—the scream sounded miles away.

It was definitely Jack—and he was definitely looking for me. I shrieked in response, a desperate cry that abruptly ended—a balled up fist struck my head, jarring the world just as it had before, punishment for my indiscretion. The world shook while Jack's tiny voice continued to echo in my head.

"You fucking bitch! I told you to keep your fucking mouth shut!" The knife slashed into my forearm, the flesh cut like it was butter. Blood started oozing down the front of my body as I realized how bad this had become. From bad to worse in mere seconds.

Oh God, his erection was pumping with the raised tempo of his heartbeat...

I was bleeding and helpless, dragged away in an alley, hidden from the man I loved while he was probably suffering through his own horrid panic attack. I obviously didn't want to be raped, but then again, being raped was better than being
dead
.

Rationalizing the situation made me realize that I was indeed giving up. Even if Jack found me, I could have fatal wounds before he even got to us. Maybe if I just gave in and stopped fighting, I'd wind up okay. This asshole would do his business and leave me alone. I couldn't see him anyway, so what risk was there for him?

Well, other than being identified by his semen...

The thought of my attacker's release brought about a plague of nausea, and I tried my hardest to suppress it. Filling this nylon bag with vomit wasn't going to help me get through this at all, even if everything about it was horrifying and disgusting.

I started to relax, the attacker's body language instantly responding. "I knew you wanted it the whole time, you fucking whore."

I wanted to say something and defend my honor, but instead my teeth clenched together nervously on my tongue. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, reminding me that my arm was bleeding as well.

It would all be over soon. It would all be over soon...

I kept silently repeating the phrase to myself as I fought to get air into my lungs. He was inches away now, ready to slip that wretched, throbbing thing inside of me...

Then I heard it—the high-pitched trilling sound of my stupid stock techno ringtone that I hadn't bothered to switch. Jack always laughed about it when he heard it, saying that I should never change it due to how cheesy it was.

Thank you, Jack...

I couldn't tell if it was actually that clear in the night or if it was due to my hearing being more keen in this survival situation. At the very least, it was far enough away that the whole operation here would have to be seriously disrupted to silence it. I could run if he went to stop it.

The ringing would have to get someone's attention.

"Fucking fuck," the attacker snarled, the tone both familiar and unfamiliar. I could tell he was debating further smashing the phone. But before he moved, the sound stopped—and my hope died again.

"Fucking phone." He repositioned his body and forced himself toward me again—and the ringing resumed. Oh yeah, Jack was
definitely
searching for me.

"Effie? Effie!" I heard, the sound actually growing louder.

With my last burst of strength, I pulled away and screamed again. "Jack!"

That not-so-friendly fist struck my face again, the response purely instinctive by the man I hated more than any other. The world started to fade as I felt the ground with the side of my head.

Would my misbehavior warrant a fatal stabbing?

"What the fuck?" It was Jack, and it was also the failed rapist, their voices rising simultaneously. There was the sound of metal on metal and then a garbage can crashed against the wall. A struggle was in progress. I heard Jack cry out in pain, the sound causing me to wither. I should have screamed out and told him there was knife, should have spoken...

But then, I heard the
clink
of the knife hitting the ground and I realized I might need to get involved.

My consciousness returning, I ripped the bag off my head in time to catch Jack shove the other man into the ground, viciously pounding his ski-masked face with his fists.

The knife was near my feet and I grabbed it, clenching the handle so tight I thought I might bend the metal between my fingers. I wanted to stab that scumbag, wanted to cut him into pieces—but killing him didn't feel like it would fix anything.

Jack kept pounding and pounding, the man literally crushed by his intensity, moving less and less with every subsequent blow. I could see an animalistic fury inside of Jack, his eyes illuminated with pure terror. I saw flashing lights in the alleyway as police cars arrived on the scene.

"Jack, stop!" I grabbed at him, trying to prevent him from committing
murder
just as the police arrived. He wasn't going to stop, no, not until this guy's heart quit. The police were shouting, trying to figure out where we were. I couldn't have Jack take this too far.

He responded to my touch, controlling himself, tears forming in his eyes. His chest heaved as he fought for air in sync with me. "Oh God, Effie," he cried out, hugging me, his eyes noticing my torn dress and mangled panties on the ground along with my bleeding arm and the pool of blood beneath where I had been against the wall. "How could I let this happen to you? I could have called the police. I could have told them that Timothy might try to hurt you. What he did was more than enough for a restraining order."

"It's not your fault," I said, starting to sob myself. Still, despite my weakness, something didn't add up.

"God, you're bleeding. We need a fucking ambulance!"

After he said it, I noticed his side was bleeding, his shirt torn and stained at the site of the cut. "Oh my God, you're cut too." I held him close, trying not to touch the wounded part of him.

"I went back in to say goodbye to those people I don't even fucking care about. Just those stupid, hipster assholes that only exist to make my life a living hell." He was so shattered, so devastated by what he had uncovered here. "And fuck you!" Jack kicked the fallen assailant in the gut, the body barely responding to the strike. I hoped he hadn't actually killed him.

"I almost lost you again, and I'm so sorry. It'll never happen again. I fucking swear on my life."

There was nothing I could say in that moment to make him feel any less like it was his fault. Only time would heal his emotional wounds. I knew that clearly, but it wouldn't be so easy for him to accept.

Jack leaned forward with shared morbid curiosity and pulled off the ski mask—and we both almost fainted.

The man
was
still breathing and he
wasn't
Timothy. It was
Sam
.

***

The trip to the hospital was quick. Besides my nearly fainting when we uncovered Sam, I had lost a fair amount blood and, paired the with the sudden drop in adrenaline after I was safe, was actually starting to get woozy by the time the ambulance arrived. Lexy and some of the band members followed us to the hospital, agreeing to stick around until the doctors told us that Jack and I were okay. It had shaken them up almost as much as it had us.

Sam was handcuffed, and left in the back of the police cruiser, his eyes puffy and squinted. Jack had beaten him unconscious and he hadn't come to until he was inside the car, away from us. His face had been battered and bruised, bloody and obliterated. I was glad Jack hadn't killed him, even if I hated his guts with every cell of my body.

Why had he blamed me for his misfortune?

I knew that voice had sounded familiar, that faked, bullshit,
scumbaggy threatening tone he had used. Fear had made me unable to think straight, unable to make the proper connections. I had been so afraid, and when I thought about a man attacking me, I could only think of Timothy—especially since Timothy had been the only man that had ever attacked me before tonight.

The alcohol should have been a dead giveaway since Timothy didn't drink hard stuff like that. He might have changed now but given his previous aversion to the stuff, it seemed highly unlikely.

Suddenly, I was confronting memories of Sam head on, that fateful night when I had run into him outside my apartment. He had been stalking me, I was sure of it now. How could I be so foolish and believe that he just randomly wound up in my part of town? I wondered just how extensive his surveillance had been.

It filled me with further disgust.

Thankfully, Jack's stab wound hadn't been deep, because it had been very close to his organs and could have easily wound up being fatal. My arm required stitches from the second cut and I had a black eye and serious headache from the punching. God, Sam was such a weak little man. At least Jack had returned the favor.

After we were x-rayed and cleaned up, the police got our statements, and I—between bouts of relentless sobbing—told them what had happened. Told them about losing my job and Sam overreacting. Told them about the false cry for help in the alley.

"What a coward," the cop had said after hearing about his shouting.

Jack and I both nodded in agreement, and then Jack told them his side of the story. He was so sullen, so depleted of his usual demeanor, like a car that had simply run out of fuel. I felt the same way. We were just hollow shells, free of any real personality as we retold the events in the numbest way possible, just exchanging information when we felt beyond emotional.