Breene, K F - Jessica Brodie Diaries 01 (12 page)

I summoned strength and confidence.
He couldn’t hurt me here in the middle of the dance hall with people
everywhere. I needed to embody Lump. Missing her wouldn’t help me now. I needed
to be her. Hell, or Claire or Flem. Anyone stronger than myself.

I shrugged off his hand and turned
to him with my guard up. He met that with an animalistic glare.

I barely stopped myself from
gulping before I asked, “What’s up, Dusty?”

“Howdy, darlin’. I just thought we
might chat right quick.”

“Probably not a great idea, Dusty.”
Visibly unaffected, I smoothed my skirt and went to stand, a firm look of
disapproval on my face. I got halfway up before his hand found my shoulder
again, only this time, he dug his fingers into muscle and bone. He roughly
forced me back down.

Breath coming fast in fear crusted
panting, my mind went blank of everything Lump had ever taught me. Every
cutting quip smart Jane might come up with to disable an adversary. Panic
consumed me, blocking out logic.

“Now,” he said quiet and slow, “I
think we should take a little stroll outside, don’t you?”

I shook my head. I had to stay
inside.

“Now darlin’, I really am a very
nice guy.” His grip tightened painfully, his eyes taking on a savage look. He
leaned so close I could smell the beer his breath. “And I’m gonna show you just
how nice. C’mon now…”

He shook me, my head rattling on my
shoulders. I opened my mouth to scream, or yell at him, or something, but no
breath came. I couldn't get words past my constricted throat.

Suddenly his hand was ripped away.
His body yanked up, out of his seat, the vacated chair toppling over backward
with a loud clang.

His clutching hand gone, my body
continued forward, spilling me onto the ground. Candace was there in an
instant, holding my hand and trying to lift me back up.

Moose had dusty in some sort of
body lock, carrying him out of the dance hall, Dusty's legs barely finding
purchase, swinging and kicking the whole way. Adam waited by the door, the firm
hand of judgement showing on his face. William and his dad trailed behind,
ensuring the removal went smoothly.

I was lifted from the floor,
Candace and Georgie helping me into my seat.

“They are taking care of that rat,”
Georgie said softly, his body facing me, one hand on the table, one sweeping
the hair out of my face. He wasn’t picking up on me this time. He was acting
like a nursemaid. “Are you okay?”

I let out a ragged breath I didn’t
know I was holding. Tears, unbidden, filled my eyes. Shaking my head, I stood
up. I was not going to go to pieces.

At least not until I was in my room
without anyone watching.

Georgie and Candace stood up with
me.

I wiped my face with the flat of my
palm, looking at Georgie with blurry eyes.

“Dance.” I croaked.

“What?” he and Candace said
together.

“Dance!” I said louder.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“Let’s dance. C’mon.” I grabbed his
hand, half-dragging him to the dancefloor.

It was obvious Georgie was out of
his element with my emotional response, but he followed me to the dance floor,
taking my lead. We launched into the two-step, him allowing me to wipe my eyes
every so often. After that song was over, we danced to another one; I was
desperately trying to hold myself together. Him peering at me worriedly was not
helping.

That song done, I decided it was
now time to get drunk. Mind numbingly drunk with nothing but hangover misery
for two days following. Between making an ass of myself with the hottest man
alive, not to mention his friends and family, and then needing saving, I wanted
to put all this behind me. There was one too many embarrassing things going on
at this rodeo, and it was just par for the course for what William had
experienced with me thus far.

Plus, I had definitely overstayed
my welcome. I should have gone home with JP.

I walked back to the table with a
straight back, struggling to keep tears from leaking down my face. The good
news was, Georgie wasn’t trying to bed me anymore. The bad news was, for him to
give up, I must have become damaged goods.

Need beer.

The table was full, housing our
whole party, all with somber expressions. They were waiting for the victim.
Staring. Preventing me from moving on.

"Thanks, guys. Moose." I
cleared my throat, face red and not from dancing.

“Did he do this?” William stepped
to my side, so close his breath tickled my face, mingling with mine.

I followed his eyes to my shoulder,
where angry red finger marks etched my skin.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

I didn't speak. Couldn't. We both
knew the answer.

Another step had him directly in
front of me, thunderclouds hovering over his eyes. He looked down at me, into
me. I distinctly remembered how good his embrace felt. My face against his hard
chest. His strong arms wrapped around me supportively, protectively.

My head bent, trying to hide the
tears drowning my eyes.

"Did you hurt you
Jessica?" William asked quietly, the tips of his fingertips running along
my jaw to my chin, then lifting slightly.

The waterworks were coming. I did
not want to give Dusty’s friends the satisfaction! I needed to stay strong. I
needed to keep my head up and shake it off. I was fine. Dusty scared me. No
biggie. I was surrounded by a safety net and Dusty was thrown out.

I shook my head, breathing deep.
Struggling for calm. I stepped around him, grabbed my beer, and downed it with
thirsty, desperate gulps. Adam gave a hoot, called me a good girl, and went to
get me another.

William pulled the chair out for
me, but I shook my head again. I needed to stay busy.

“Dance.”

Without question or hesitation,
William offered his hand, completely at my disposal. Thank God. I was going to
have a good time if it killed me, damn it!

As we assumed the position on the
dance floor, I waited for the Two-Step, not meeting his eyes. Afraid I'd
unravel if I did.

“I hear you can ballroom dance,” he
said in his rich baritone. A grin tweaked his lips.

I nodded. I still didn’t trust
myself to speak.

“Does that include swing dancing?”

I nodded again. “Not country swing
dancing, though,” I amended quietly.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s close enough.
Just follow my lead.”

I nodded once and chanced a smile I
still didn’t feel.

The next three minutes were a
thrill. I was whipped around the dance floor; pulled up close, pushed away,
dipped, turned, and spun. It was just the thing I needed, and William was an
excellent leader. I could’ve closed my eyes and followed his lead without ever
bumping into a soul, or hitting him mid-swing.

I let my mind seep into the music
and rhythm, encouraging the beat to fuse to my bones, making my skeleton dance
of its own accord. I could feel myself unstitch at the seams; the events of the
day fraying my nerves. I was getting tired. I felt beat up. I really just
wanted a hot bath and my girlfriends to tell me to buck up and keep truckin’.

The song ended and “The River” by
Garth Brooks came on. I actually knew this song!

William stepped closer, his body
now inches from mine, and wrapped his arm securely around my back. He still
held my hand like we were ballroom dancing, but he brought it in to his heart,
leaning against his peck. His neck was smooth against my cheek, his shoulder
hard under my hand. He was leaner than Moose, but his muscles were just as
hard. I felt my groin tighten with the contact.

“Are you okay? It has been a trying
day for you." His voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Please. I don’t want to start
crying.”

“It’s okay to cry. You’ve earned
the privilege. I have a shirt under this one.”

I laughed a little as my eyes
blurred once again. I shook my head and backed away to allow air to hit my face
and dry my eyes.

He held my hand flat against his
heart and pulled me in harder. “Sorry, I just want to make sure you’re okay. I
don’t mean to pry.”

We were slowly two-stepping around
the dance floor with everyone else. Though I wasn’t focusing on anything but
the feel of his body and smell of his skin, I noticed more than a few pretty
eyes scowl in jealousy at my proximity to William. With all his opportunity of
female choices I knew this couldn’t last, but I would be a fool to not take
advantage of it while it did.

I leaned in to him and rested my
head between his neck and shoulder. Eat your heart out, girls!

Our bodies moved as one to the
music, our pace slow, barely keeping up with the music. His arm around my back
steadily pressing me into him. We could barely two-step with how close our legs
were, but he didn’t relent. He bowed his head to get his face closer to mine,
the hand holding mine tightening, his breathing becoming somewhat husky and
labored.

The song ended abruptly, much too
soon. I came out of my trance slowly, he not as slow.

With a red face, he pushed me away
firmly, cold air replacing his warmth. A soft crinkle etched the middle of this
eyebrows as he looked at those around us, clapping for the band. Frustrated
embarrassment marred his gaze when he looked back in my direction.

Well, hell, at least I’d turned him
on. He may not have wanted to let it get that far—even though I was absolutely
willing—but at least I’d affected him. It wasn’t much, but in the low mood I
was in, I would take it.

William cleared his throat and
mumbled something about getting back. He stuck his hands in his pockets and
glanced around us again.

Yeah, I’d been here before. I knew
better than to hang around and try to force intimacy. So when he held out his
arm for me to take back to the table, I did so graciously, distancing myself
from the intimacy a few minutes before.

It didn’t stop me from wanting to
punch him in the mouth, though. If he hadn’t wanted to be so close, why the
hell was he? And if he did, why didn’t he just act on it? Guys could be so
irritating!

The next couple hours passed in a
haze of dancing and drinking. Shots were brought...by me, and beers were
brought by others. One thing about these boys--they could drink! I had a pretty
tolerance coming out of my college years, but they easily drank two to my one.
It helped that they were all giants, but still.

Towards the end of the night I had
a heat on, alcohol wise, and was a sweaty mess, facially. Ty had just swung me
halfway around the world on the dance floor, bowed, then took Candace for a
ride. The guy had the stamina of a race horse.

Which I pointed out to Candace.
Then giggled with her.

Feeling like I was about to pass
out from fatigue, I looked for one of the boys to escort me outside. I needed
cool air to replace the moist humidity of the tent. I needed a way to stopper
some of my sweat rivers.

A glance told me William, Adam and
Moose were nowhere in sight. Tom was chatting to another older fellow by the
bar, with hard lines in his face that was probably business related, so I
didn’t dare interrupt that. And the batter up, Georgie, was courting some
little thing with heart shaped lips. So, that sucks.

I shrugged my shoulders and headed
out. A few steps beyond the door wouldn’t be a big deal. A scream would bring
someone in case Dusty found his way back, and a quick walk inside would keep
anyone else from hitting on me very long.

As the murky dark enveloped me, I
lifted my hair to catch a stray breeze. It felt good out here. Quiet and
serene. Not cold, but there was a distinct chill that made me twirl to catch
every last waft on my overheated skin.

When I was nearly cooled, not ten
feet from the door, I turned back to the beckoning light and pounding music. A
few more dances and I’d hint about heading home. William had been avoiding me,
and the other guys were treating me like some sort of fragile vase, so there
wasn’t much to hang on for.

A fist clutched my hair and ripped
my head back.

Confused fear shot through me as I
bounced off the wall. My body hit one of the large metal beams so hard my teeth
chattered. I slid against rough canvas, dragged away from the door, and safety,
by my hair.

Dusty was right in front of me with
the reek of alcohol on his breath. He still had my hair, and was now grabbing
my throat, squeezing. Panic welled up as my air supply dwindled.

I tried for a big gulp of breath to
scream. Sticky hands covered my mouth.

“You thought you was safe with all
them big bastard’s, huh?” he whispered in a harsh voice filled with rage.
“Well, you didn’t know I’d be waitin’ for ya, did ya, darlin’? Huh, did ya?” He
shook me.

Black specs appeared in my vision.
I couldn’t get enough air. We were far now, way down the wall, almost around
the corner. There was no one out here. No one to help. With his hand on my
throat, I couldn’t get enough air to scream loud enough to be heard.

Panic was still in control. I dug in
my feet and wiggled, trying to get free from his grasp. His hands slipped off
my sweaty arm and I was free for one brief, adrenaline filled moment! I turned
to run, a scream welling up immediately. I didn’t make it far.

It felt like the side of my face exploded,
then I was landing against canvas, my mind fuzzy from the blow. He pulled me up
by my hair, other hand over my mouth. His alcohol filled panting making me
nauseous.

“Not so fast, darlin’.” His hand
released my face long enough to reach back, then slam his palm against my cheek
so hard it felt like my left eye would pop out of the socket.

My head lolled back, consciousness
fleeting.

“That’s right. You’ll like this.” I
heard.

A knee roughly wormed its way
between my thighs. A hand forcefully squeezed a breast.

“No,” I breathed, groggy. Confused.

Fingers. Thick, male fingers,
probed me. Grabbed the small piece of fabric covering my sex and yanked.
Material squealed, tearing, but thankfully still somewhat intact. A tiny
hindrance. A few seconds of time.

“Remember that night I taught you
to fend me off, Jessica?” It was Lump’s voice in the back of my head. “Remember
how I taught you? You gotta be strong. You have to be present, Jess. Fight!”

Fight.

Up until this point all I could
think of was getting away. Getting help, or getting free. Thoughts couldn’t get
through my fear chocked brain. Logic was lost to the raging panic that froze me
like ice. I couldn’t scream, I could barely breath. Hysteria had me shutting my
eyes in mute horror.

Fight.

If I did nothing I would be raped
in two minutes.

Survive!

My mind cranked into overdrive. The
scared animal in me was pushed into a corner and chained tight. What emerged
was a calm woman devoid of the ability to feel. Unable to succumb to fear. A
woman enclosed in a bubble of her own devising, ready to fight her way out of
this by any means possible.

The horror of his fingers feeling
around my vagina, readying the way, and my desire to fall into helpless sobs,
were pushed away. In this bubble I found an animal. I found my primal being. I
knew in a heartbeat that I was capable of killing this maggot if it came to it.
I would kill him, to save me.

I held still and did nothing for a
second. I needed to take measurement of what was going on. I needed to think. I
needed to find the path out. There was one. I just needed to find it.

He was working at his belt, metal
jingles and the whine of leather. I had a fraction of time to do something to
save myself. Time slowed down. Lump’s moves and advice flickered through my
head like a slide show, faster than the speed of light.

I latched onto a couple things,
settled on them, and got ready for action. No one was coming. No savior this
time. Just me.

Step one: do what’s expected.

I began to cry.

Large, wracking sobs, begging to be
let free. Pleading for him to stop. Willing him to believe I had given up.

His hand holding me relaxed a
fraction, his other hand yanking his belt away. Now working at the buttons on
his jeans. His head looking down, monitoring his efforts, looking between my
gaping legs, at my half-visible vagina. He was not bothering about my face. He
had no belief I would retaliate.

Good.

Step two: set the stage.

I leant my head back as far as it
would go, pushing in the canvas. Making as much room as I could. Relaxing the
muscles in my arms, but not forgetting how vital a tool they would be. Crying,
all the while. Making him believe. Making him confident.

Fly open now. Zipper torn down. He
worked at his erection. I didn’t have long.

My skin started to crawl. My bubble
wobbled. Everything in me was screaming to run, to yell and scream in blind
fear, to shatter my calm bubble completely.

I was a breath away from losing
control. It had to be now.

Adrenaline fired within my brain
like pistons. I felt him lowering his pants. His penis bobbed out, touching my
inner thigh.

My vision crystallized, every
detail registering. Rage welled up. My body now floating on the adrenaline,
pushing past that beast of fear.

Action!

I head-butted him, hard, to his
nose. I’d been a soccer player, I knew how to execute a nose shattering
head-butt properly. The crack of cartilage rewarded me. Blood fountained from
the center of his face.

His head jolted back, pain
blooming, staggering him off balance. I freed my hands with a quick rip
outward, like Lump taught me. He regained his footing quickly, bringing his
fist up to strike. But I was ready. I swiped my fingers across his eyes, the
softest, most vulnerable place in his body.

He howled, a bestial sound from the
root of his person. One hand reached for his face, the other groping wilding
for me.

I didn’t lose any time. I punched
him in his throat, another sensitive spot, as I was leaning back to bring my
knee up into his crotch as hard as I could. I heard a gross crunching as my
solid knee met soft, exposed testicles.

His howl became a blood-curdling,
high-pitched wail. I ran.

I was lame in heels, but I pushed
on, as fast as I could, my panting fighting the pressure in my ears.

“FIRE!” I screamed, knowing that
word statistically brought help faster than saying help. I repeated it two more
times, loudly, wildly.

A man stepped out of the door in a
hurry, surveyed the scene for two beats of my pounding heart, and then started
running at me. Our bodies collided, both now heading toward the light. Toward
safety.

More people popped out, heads slow
and curious.

Then we were there. Glorious light.
People. Hands grabbing and shuffling me along the wall. I think my shirt was
ripped, and my skirt didn’t seem pulled down as far as it should have been, but
none of this mattered to anyone, least of all me. I wanted safety.

I was passed with gentle hands to
the side of the hall door and into a corner. Two people, men both, stood guard,
shielding me from the crowd.

With trembling hands I tried to
straighten myself as best I could. My shirt was ripped, showing too much skin.
My skirt was durable material, but stained by his dirty hands. My hair was too
big. Too teased. Painful at the top of my scalp. And I was cold. So cold my
teeth were chattering.

But I was safe. It was all that
mattered—safety.

The wall of man parted down the
middle, revealing a long sleeved shirt with a familiar smell. My gaze flickered
upward as the material draped over my shoulders. They met a familiar deep blue
of my Golden God. With the light behind him, like it was, he seemed to radiate
an ethereal glow. And like an angry God, the fury in his eyes as he looked over
the damage done was terrible to behold.

Up until that point I hadn’t cried
for real. Fake crying to throw Dusty off the scent wasn’t the same. I hadn’t
let go a single real tear. I was in shock, I knew it, and I couldn’t feel. My
brain wouldn’t completely comprehend. Wouldn’t let me.

When William leaned in close, a
warm, comforting hand on my shoulder, his body shielding me from the crowd,
from the curious eyes, and asked in a hoarse, though gentle whisper, “How bad
did he hurt you? Did he..." When he was unable to finish that question,
that horrible question, which had been so close to being a reality, it was like
a light switch flipped. Everything that happened, that might have happened,
that almost happened, was visible in lucid color when a second before it was
hidden by darkness.

Saying I started crying was like
saying the
Grand Canyon
was a ditch. I gasped out a
“No!”, shook my head vehemently, and started balling.

He took hold of me savagely,
smashing me protectively to his chest. I let it all go. My invaluable bubble
shattered. I gasped for breath between body wracking sobs. He was safety. He
was my rock in the vast ocean of emotion and fear I found myself.

When he moved, I clutched on to him
with fearful claws. I wouldn’t let him leave me. I was shaking so badly I could
barely stand.

“We’re going,” he said in my ear.

With my face buried deeply in his
chest, I only registered sound. Yelling and shouting. William’s name.

We stopped for a second, teetering
in the doorway. He exchanged angry words with someone, and we were moving
again.

When the darkness greeted us, I
bucked like I’d seen those animals do all afternoon. My eyes scanned the area
wildly; worried Dusty was still out there. Terrified he’d try again. Sickened
that he’d succeed. The bogyman was very real on this night. With a name.

“It’s okay,” William coo’d,
bringing me in close. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Nestled into his body, I allowed
him to lead, not caring where we were going. The sounds, the yelling, muted as
we walked. The crunch of the dirt beneath our feet loud, my whimpering quiet.
In the distance, getting closer, was Adam, Ty and Moose, arguing. Sounds only.
I couldn’t decipher the wording. I was scared to try. As we approached, two
people walking as one, the guys fell silent.

“We’re going back,” William said in
a no-nonsense tone.

“I want a second with him." It
was a strangled voice that sounded like a distant cousin of Adam.

I peered out from William’s
protective frame. Adam was standing stock straight with every muscle in his
body tense. He looked like the force of God about to be unleashed. His body was
shaking in rage, fists balled, eyes a furnace. He looked formidable; danger
flashing in his dark eyes.

Moose wasn’t much better. His jaw
was firmly set and his eyes were wild. Tornados would be a welcome sign next to
these two.

Adam looked down at me and jolted.
Such a shock of pain washed over his face. I couldn’t help but stare. I’d even
want to console him if I wasn’t busy clutching to William.

“What did he do to you, Jessica?”
Adam said in a shaky growl, almost a whine.

Moose followed his gaze. His eyes
widened.

“The hurt is not my face or hair.
It is more my pride...” I said quietly.

They looked William.

“He didn’t...” Adam started and
then faltered. William just shook his head.

They both relaxed a fraction, if a
couple of boulders could relax.

Adam was looking at me like a
thunderclap right before lightening rained down on the village. He straightened
up and started walking toward the right, determination and war on his face.

If William was Apollo, then Adam
was Mars, the God of War.

Moose lurched after him, grabbing
his shoulders, trying to stop the other man. William yelled for his dad to grab
Adam as we were washed in blue and red. The police had arrived.

Hopefully someone had managed to
grab Dusty.

That thought had the last of my
fight draining away. My adrenaline had finished seeping out of my now weary
body. I clutched harder, my knees not wanting to hold me up. In one quick
movement, William scooped me up into his arms and carried me the rest of the
way to the trailer.

William set me down gently on the
bed in the back of the trailer. He sat next to me with a wet cloth and slowly
reached up to dab my face. Even though he was gentle, and careful, each time he
touched me a bolt of pain pierced the center of my brain.

When he was done he stood me up,
scanning my injuries with his eyes, lingering on those he suspected but weren't
visible.

“You need to check yourself over,”
he said softly, making ripples in the hush. “Make sure everything is okay, and
then we’ll take you to the hospital.”

I nodded, thinking the last thing I
was going to do was go to the hospital. No sense in having the argument now,
however.

I bent to survey the damage. My
shirt was ripped at the bottom, and therefore ruined. There were scratches
between my legs where he forced them open, but the skin was intact. There was
no cause to worry about H.I.V.. My arms were bruised, as was my throat, but
nothing that wouldn’t mend with time. The ability to feel safe outside again,
however, wouldn’t be so easy to get over.

“Here.” William held out a stack of
folded clothes. “Sweats, shirt, socks—let me know if you need anything else.”

“Will--ie? Is that what you like to
be called? Or William? Or Davies?” I asked timidly.

“Any of those are fine. Just
preferably not Will.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“William, actually. But everyone
calls me Willie, so it doesn’t matter.”

“William?” I asked, deciding I
liked his full name best—especially because he liked it best as well.

“Yes Jessica?” he said in a gentle
whisper.

“This is going to sound like a
weird request, but...”

His expression was guarded.