Some son of a bitch who I thought was safe, because I have been picked up by him before really fucked me up badly. He picked me up as he had every Tuesday night for the last four weeks. He was happy, and we just bullshitted because he mostly just wanted someone to talk to. This night however was very different. His happy faded rather quickly and he started to raise his voice as he was talking about an eviction notice that he found on his door after work today. His ex-wife’s father owns the building that he lives in, and I guess he wanted him out for no other reason then spitefulness. Red flags started to pop up left and right in my brain. I reached into my bag for my weapon and it wasn’t there! Someone must of snatched it at the diner earlier.
I was in a fuck load of trouble, and I knew it. My brain was racing trying to figure out what to do when he slammed on his breaks, got out of the car, came to the passenger side, whipped open my door and dragged me out by my hair. I was screaming and fighting, he tossed me to the ground, I scrambled to get up, but he put his foot in the small of my back and I couldn’t move. He out weighed me by a lot. I was clutching at the dirt, trying to gain a hold on anything I could, I broke several of my nails.
He got on the ground, grabbed my legs and flipped me over. He was ranting and calling me some other woman’s name. I knew that this was going to be so very bad. He slapped me hard across the face, I was stunned for a few seconds. He was between my legs now, cutting at my stockings with a knife. I thought, “This is it Luna, this is how it is all going to end, with you left dead in a dirty vacant lot.” He shoved his dick inside of me. I started to push at him, screaming my name, he just kept on ranting, then he put his hands on my throat.
I could feel the burn in my chest, he had cut off all air. Slowly I saw what looked like a mist take over my sight, I was losing consciousness Then all of a sudden I could breath. I coughed, and gasped for air. I sat up, but then laid back down, I was dizzy. He was sitting on the ground next to me, crying. I didn’t say anything, because I couldn’t, my throat hurt. I got up, stood behind him, he was saying he was sorry, that he didn’t mean it. I kicked that motherfucker hard, in the back of his head, he fell over to one side. I kept kicking him and kicking him. I was now out of breath. I grabbed his pants, and took the keys out of his pocket, ran to his car, and took off.
Did I go to the police? No. Did I go to the hospital? No. Why? Because it was actually partly my fault. I put myself into a situation where there is always a risk of this happening. Am I traumatized by it? Fuck no. Shit happens. Will that asshole get what’s coming to him? Absolutely! Before I took off from the scene I took all the money he had from his wallet, which was a couple thousand, so for about ten minutes of being abused, I made out pretty well.
