Esme
There’s a moment when everything feels like it’s going in slow motion.
As though my only coping mechanism is to compound everything down into milliseconds so that I don’t have to deal with the inevitable threat walking towards me.
I’m going to drag you to Artem and he can watch as my seed slips out of you.
The man’s words hang in the crisp mountain air.
They’re too ugly for my little paradise. Too filthy. Too cruel.
His face is contorted with lust and anger and a desire to inflict pain. He licks his lips slowly and for the first time, I truly understand what it means to have your skin crawl.
Nausea bubbles up inside me like a volcano, but I tamp it down and try to focus.
I bring my hand up. He sees the gun in my violently shaking hand.
His eyes go wide.
Before I either give into the urge to puke or lose my only opportunity at this, I pull the trigger.
It’s harder than I think it will be. Or maybe I’m just weak and afraid.
The force of the recoil sends me stumbling backwards, but I manage to keep my feet.
He bellows and jumps to the side. A piece of tree bark behind him splinters on impact.
I missed.
A foot or more wide.
“You fucking bitch!” he growls, his jaw clenched with anger.
Then he makes a run in my direction.
I raise the gun again, but I’m too slow. He’s on me.
His body crashes into mine. Drives the wind from my lungs as we land in a tangled heap in the dirt. When my hand comes swinging down, it hits a rock embedded in the forest floor.
The gun goes clattering from my grasp.
I don’t have time even to scream, because he’s swatting my thrashing limbs aside as he struggles for control. I put up a fight—as best as I can.
But I never had a chance.
He tucks each of my wrists beneath his knees as he straddles me. Two quick slaps across the face knock me silly. I taste blood.
“You’re going to pay for that, you cunt,” he snarls.
“No… no, please…”
“Yeah, that’s right. Beg me to let you go. It won’t help, but I’ll let you beg me anyway.”
My head is pounding with the weight of my fear as he spreads my legs with one of his knees. He releases one of my hands so that he can fumble with my clothes.
I bring it up hard, slapping him clean across the face. My nails tear skin, leaving streaks of glistening blood on his cheek.
He recovers almost instantly and slaps me back just as hard.