But I’m alive, as Daniel has pointed out. I should be grateful instead of anticipating problems.
As we head back into the rougher part of the city, the streets clear out a bit. There’s not as many people strolling the shopping districts, and there are a few people loitering in doorways of nearby run-down shops. We’re walking the streets of Ipanema, heading back to the hotel, when Daniel grabs my ass. “Damn, baby doll. I can’t get over how fine this is.” His voice is loud, his Texas drawl thick.
I’m startled, and I jump at his touch, scurrying away a few feet. What the hell? “What are you doing?” His touch, so callous and out of the blue, has made me jittery, and bad memories start creeping up in my mind.
“I don’t think I can wait to tap that again,” he says, and his arms go around me again. Before I can protest, he drags me over a few feet into the alley and pushes me up against the wall. His mouth presses down over mine.
A deluge of bad memories sweeps over me as his tongue presses into my mouth. This aggressiveness isn’t like Daniel. He’s always let me take the lead before, and the difference in his touch is like night and day. I’ve craved more of his touch and wanted to explore . . . until now. Now, I want him to get off of me before I suffocate under the thoughts crowding my mind. Memories of men with guns and sweaty bodies, forcing my mouth open, pushing me down on a dirty mattress . . .
I whimper and push vainly at Daniel’s chest, but he’s got me pressed against the wall of the building. I’m trapped against his body as he grabs my leg and pulls it to his hip, practically wrapping me around him even as I struggle.
“We’re being watched,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Quit fighting.” And then he goes back to kissing me.
My fists stop beating him on the chest as I realize this is all an act. My eyes open, and I look at Daniel’s hard face. His eyes are slits, and he’s watching a nearby doorway even as his mouth crushes against mine again.
I’m not responding. I can’t. This is too much like the times in the brothel. There’s no delicate lead for me to take. I need to sit quietly and accept. I need to trust Daniel.
But I can’t stop the tears from welling up in my eyes and spilling down my cheeks—or the saliva from pooling in my mouth. I’m going to throw up if this continues for too much longer. Wait it out, I tell myself. It’s not like before. It’s not. But even as I tell myself this, I remember the gun pressed to my head and the awful feeling of futility as I dropped to my knees in front of the man who’d bought me.
“Shit,” Daniel says against my mouth. “So fucking sorry, fighter. Just hang on for me.” He hitches my leg against his hip again and grinds his pelvis against mine. Even as he does, I feel something jostle, and I realize he’s pulled a gun free of its holster and holds it against my leg.
When I think I can’t bear this any longer, he lifts his mouth from mine and scans the street, tilting his head. I swallow hard and wipe the back of my hand against my mouth surreptitiously, trying to scrub away the feelings.
“I don’t see the gunman anymore, but I don’t want to take chances,” Daniel says. He gives me a quick, apologetic kiss on the forehead. “Come on. We’re going this way.” He drops my leg and gestures that I should head down the alley.
Shivering, I do so, trotting a few steps ahead of him as he watches carefully behind us. My earlier buoyancy has been entirely deflated. I was feeling so good this morning, so normal. And now, poof, it’s gone again.
I want to curl up and cry, my go-to after I’ve been violated, but we don’t have time for that. We’re in danger—I can tell from the tense set of Daniel’s shoulders and the way his mouth is in a firm, angry line—so I choke back the feelings and let Daniel lead me on.
Eventually, he points ahead and leads me through an alley door. We’re back at the hotel, but the back entrance, where fresh laundry is delivered and food trucks bring in packages.
We head through the back halls of the hotel, up the fire escape stairs, and eventually make it back to our room. The hallways are empty, but Daniel presses himself against the wall next to the door, carefully pushing me behind him. It’s clear from his raised-gun stance that he expects trouble in our room, so I wait for his signal, pulling out the gun I now carry with me at all times. It makes me feel a little better to hold it, knowing there’s an option if a man other than Daniel tries to shove me down against another dirty mattress in the future.