For A Good Time, Call... Read Online Free PDF

walk home, my keys poking out from
between my fingers.
    It
was a quick walk. And I always enjoyed the quiet. In the city that
never sleeps, the only time you can be even the slightest bit alone
on the streets was between four and five am. You could see the
occasional cab or homeless person. Maybe even a stupid teenager or
two. But, all in all, it was a nice kind of solitude.
    That
is until you feel someone grab you from behind just as you are about
to go into your building. That is until you need help and there is
none to be had.
    I
screeched, swinging out with my keyed fist, but a hand grabbed my
wrist and pinned it above my head, crushing until my keys fell with a
quiet clatter to the ground. And then there he was. The guy from the
bar. The one who wanted to take me home. I had shrugged him off as
harmless. Stupid, stupid girl. I would never learn.
    “You
think you can get me all hot and bothered and then just up and leave
me, you stupid little slut?” His breath smelled like vodka and
cigarettes, up close it was overpowering and nauseating. “Do
you have any idea who the fuck I am?” he demanded, his face
close enough that I could feel his spit on my cheeks.
    My
free hand cocked as far back as the building behind my back would
allow, swinging and slamming into his ribs. But it came out weak and
only made him grunt and grab that arm and slam it against the brick
behind me. He shifted his hands, taking both my wrists in one of his.
His other hand moved for a moment to my throat.
    Panic
for me was a strange thing. As someone who had struggled with severe
anxiety issues pretty much since I was eight years old, it had its
own strange pattern. It's own triggers. Not having my place clean.
Having people in my space. Nighttime in general. Specific things I
knew I couldn't let happen.
    But
in this moment, with genuine need to elicit a fight-or-flight
reaction, my body felt oddly calm. Almost numb. I could blame the
booze, but in reality, I felt almost sober. My body just didn't want
to send me a surge of adrenaline this time. Stupid, confused body.
    “I
don't give a fuck who you are,” I yelled, loud enough for the
dog in the apartment behind me to start barking manically. I could
smell fresh smoke and I wondered if anyone was close enough to hear
me if I screamed.
    But
then his hand tightened around my throat and I couldn't get a scream
out if I tried. “You're such a bitch. You're lucky you're so
damn pretty,” he said, leaning closer and crushing his lips to
mine.
    If
I thought the smell of vodka and cigarettes was bad, the taste of it
was worse. I slammed my lips together, holding them firm and
practically un-kissable, but he seemed undeterred as he pressed his
mouth against mine hard enough to bruise. His fingers dug into my
throat, making the breath get stuck there and my face feel foreign
and tingly.
    Just
when I thought I might pass blissfully out, his hand slid lower,
touching the bare skin above the top of my shirt. His fingers grabbed
one of my breasts, squeezing painfully. “Stop!” I managed
through my sore throat, my voice coming out hoarse.
    “Shut
up. You like it,” he growled, his hand finding the zipper and
pulling it down.
    The
cool air hit my bare skin as the zipper slid down, making my nipples
harden as if agreeing with his argument. His hand was just starting
to graze the bare swell of my breast and I felt the panic building.
The panic which, completely unreasonably was more about the ugly
scars underneath my breasts than it was that I was going to get raped
five feet from my front door. His finger was about to graze my nipple
when he was pulled violently away from me, sent five feet backward,
sprawling into the street.
    And
then there was my neighbor. Fourteen. Hunter. Straddling the man
across the middle, slamming his fists into the guy's face with a sort
of savage ruthlessness that I didn't want to see, but also couldn't
look away from. Blood was everywhere... covering the guys face, on
the