Page 9 of Shamed
When I turn back to Jacob, he’s even closer than before.
No, no, no.
“Here, take this. You’re cold.”
It’s a trap to get closer to me. The second I’m within reach, he’ll attack.
But surely, he wouldn’t try anything with the sirens approaching, would he?
I watch Jacob step even closer, holding out a sweater, and the fact he’s not stopping tells me otherwise.
The need to protect myself pulses through me, and I clench my fist, testing the strength and finding it a little easier to move. I have to do something. Move. Fight. Anything.
When he’s within reaching distance, I make a move, lunging for him. If I can throw him off balance for a few seconds, it might give me the time I need to get away.
Unfortunately, I’m not as stable as I thought, and my already wobbly legs catch on a tuft of grass. I fall forward, taking a fistful of Jacob’s shirt as I tumble, hearing the fabric tear before landing with a thud.
He reaches for me, and the absolute panic at feeling so vulnerable on the ground has me flailing my arms, trying to keep him away.
“Hey,” Jacob grunts while trying to grab me. “Hey, calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I don’t stop swinging, summoning all my strength, forcing him to jump back out of reach.
Jacob looks down at me with what looks like pity in his eyes, probably thinking I’m a pathetic mess who should be able to handle what he just did to me.
Reality makes its way through the muddy mess of my mind and emotions flood me, the trauma of what’s happened making my grow breaths faster and tears flow. Even if I stop him now, it’s already too late, and I cry harder at the thought.
Suddenly, somebody else is speaking and Jacob’s attention is no longer on me. I flinch as another person puts a hand on my shoulder, but they quickly remove it when I swing my wild gaze to them.
“It’s okay,” a feminine voice says, softly, sweetly. “It’s okay, we’re here.”
I break down again at registering they’re here to help me while a blanket is tucked around my shoulders, immediately surrounding me with warmth.
Too much talking is happening, and questions are being thrown around by different people. My head still doesn’t feel right, and though the blanket warms me, my body still shakes violently.
But at least I know I’m safe now.
I finally lift my eyes to Jacob again while answering something about alcohol to one of the ladies sitting with me. I can’t see the expression on his face, but those eyes . . . they stare directly at me.
“I think he drugged me as well,” I tell no one in particular, tugging the blanket tighter like it can protect me.
But that horrible thought from earlier crosses my mind and the tears fall once more.
It’s already too late.
*~*~*~*
Hour after exhausting hour of prodding, poking, swabbing—as well as a hundred questions—pass at the clinic in Plainfield where I was brought.
“What do you remember?”has been the most commonly asked question. And the truth is, I remember more than I told them. But I couldn’t repeat all the horrible things that kept flashing through my mind on a carousel: being held down, my body being used, the thrusting and pain, the sounds, and not being able to do a thing about it.
There are parts I don’t remember, though, and I’m grateful that I was unconscious for at least a portion of it.
They told me I must have gotten a hold of Jacob’s phone at one point and dialed nine-one-one before dropping it into the grass, or maybe he snatched it away.
I hadn’t even questioned their arrival at first, but it makes sense if I was able to get my hands on a phone. Between other muffled words, the dispatcher heard me accuse Jacob ofrapingme and telling him to stay away.
God, all I want to do is slip into a scalding hot shower and wash his disgusting residue off me. My skin iscrawling.
