Lance’s friends step into our path, blocking us from getting around him.
“Don’t be like that,” he says. “We’ll show you both a good time. You’re young and hot, you should be living it up with guys who know what they’re doing.”
“That’s nice, but no thanks,” I say. “We were just leaving anyway so-”
“Listen,” Lance cuts in, looming closer. “You want to finish college in style? I’ve got the connections. You want to smoke some dank herb? I’ve got it. Snort some coke? I’m the guy. You down to try something more exotic? Shrooms, acid — whatever you like, we’ll be tripping balls inside an hour. Stick with me and you’ll have the night of your fucking life.”
“Not interested,” Lydia and I say almost in unison.
“Wow,” he laughs. “What, did you practice that?” He reaches out to take my hand, but he’s slow enough that I see it coming and pull back.
This is getting out of hand. With his friends flanking us, I can think of only one way out.
I reach behind me and grab my beer, then slosh it in his face. “Leave us alone, you fucking creep!” I scream, loud enough to draw a lot of attention.
“Fucking shit,” he says, staring down at his drenched shirt. “You cunts better-”
I don’t hear the rest; Lydia grabs my arm and drags us both away. With the party watching, Lance and his friends let us pass.
“This way,” Lydia says. She leads us upstairs, to the building’s third floor, and into an open bedroom. It’s dark, the only illumination coming from a pair of dim bands of streetlight eking through the curtains. We nearly trip over spare cases of beer, bags of chips and packages of party cups. “Fucking unbelievable,” she mutters, dialing a cab company. “What a douchebag.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, my body starting to shiver. My heart still pounds, soaked with adrenaline from the encounter.
“Hey!” comes a shout, followed by a knocking at the door. “Quinn? Quinn’s bitchy friend? Are you in here?”
Fuck!
The door opens, and we turn to see Lance, now on his own. “What happened, ladies? We were just talking.”
“Dude, get the hell out of here,” Lydia growls, holding up her phone. “I swear, I’ll call the cops.”
“Yeah?” Lance snickers. “Ask for Chief Kolb, he’s a friend of the family. Seriously, come back to my place. I got a pool, a minibar. We can ditch my friends, it’s cool.”
“Hey,” I say, taking a step toward him, trying to seem imposing. “Back the fuck off. We told you we’re not interested.”
“Bullshit,” he says, moving to snatch my wrist. This time he surprises me, and grabs hold. “Give me a chance, honey.”
I react to his touch like I’ve been stung by a wasp, swiping my nails across his face with my free hand.
“Fuck!” he shouts, but he doesn’t let go of me. Instead, he pulls hard on my arm, hurling me onto the nearby bed.
Lydia screams, reaching for a liquor bottle. She’s about to swing it at his head, but he unloads a punch into her midsection. I see it as if in slow motion as I rise from the bed — there’s nothing I can do to stop him, though. I close the distance, ready to punch him back, when he turns, bringing his open palm around in an arc too fast to track. It catches me hard on the cheek, and the room spins and spins.
When my senses come back, I’m lying on the bed. Lance yanks at my top, pulling it off over my head. He takes a second to stare at my chest, enjoying the sight. I don’t waste the opportunity: throwing my arm as hard as I can, I nail his nose with my fist. However, from my angle I can’t get much strength behind the punch, and Lance laughs it off.
“Come on, bitch. You can do better than that,” he says, unfastening his belt and letting his pants fall around his ankles.
Down on the floor, against the wall, Lydia groans, clutching her stomach. Lance glances at her, shaking his head. “Hey, wait your turn. I’ll get to you in a minute.”
The fuck you will.
The threat of him assaulting my friend is too much. Rising from the mattress, I practically leap at Lance. When I push him, he stumbles backward. I don’t mean for him to lose his balance — I just wanted to give me and Lydia a chance to run — but Lance trips over his pants. He falls into the window, busting the frame and glass with his weight.
For a second he hangs there, his waist and feet still inside the house while everything else hangs outside.
“Help!” he shouts, and I catch a glimpse of his arms waving in the air. “Fuck!”
Then the weight of his upper body catches up with gravity, see-sawing his legs into the air. He slides out the window, disappearing. Time stands still as I process the surreal sight, and then I hear the crunch.