Page 122 of Creed

I’m disoriented when I see the window above my head until I slowly remember that I’m sleeping in Sophie’s bed. My head is still pounding, but I feel a bit better and decide to get up for water because my mouth feels like the Sahara desert has blown in while I slept.

I roll over, then freeze. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my breathing quickens.

Before I can move or scream, a weight lands on me, pinning me to the bed, and a hand clamps over my mouth. I buck and fight, but I’m drained and weak from my stomach flu, and the weight doesn’t budge.

A man chuckles in my ear and says something I don’t understand because he’s speaking Spanish. He pulls the blanket off me, and I renew my struggles and muffled screams.

I try to bite his hand, but it’s pressed so hard over my face that I can’t clamp down on any flesh. His other hand gropes under my shirt, and my terror-filled brain registers he’s wearing tight leather gloves.

So, he doesn’t leave any fingerprints.

I buck, struggle, and scream into his palm, and tears leak out from my eyes.

He continues to talk in Spanish, and he squeezes my breast hard and twists it, making pain rupture in my tender flesh, and I cry harder. I brace my heels into the mattress to try and push him off, but that only grinds his hips into mine and his erection presses between my legs. I cry harder and fight him, but I’m losing strength.

Some of his Spanish words are getting through, and although I can’t understand it all, I catch a few things.

Padre… Pago…

Father… Payment…

“Eres mi juguete, Sophie.” He licks my neck and up my face.

My heart stammers.He thinks I’m Sophie.

I shake my head, renewing my struggles. His hand squeezes my other breast just as painfully, and when he dives his hand between my legs and starts to unzip his pants, I sob and twist my head. I dislodge his hand from my mouth, but he slams it back before I can get my scream loose.

A cold, sharp blade presses against my throat, and he hisses in Spanish, “Cállate, perra.”

I’m not sure what he’s saying, but I get the jist when he presses the knife firmer into my throat, and a hiss of pain tells me he broke the skin. He takes his hand away from my mouth, keeping the knife pressing into my throat, and starts undoing his pants again.

“Please, I’m not Sophie,” I choke out. I have no idea if this will save me from being raped.

“¿Qué?” he seethes, heaving on top of me.

“Please, I’m her roommate. Just go, I won’t tell anyone.”

His free hand grips my hair, feeling my curls rather than Sophie’s silky locks.

“Where is she?” he hisses in English. His breath is rank and rancid, making my stomach turn again. I can feel blood trickle down my neck.

“I don’t know,” I cry. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Whereis she?”

“I don’t know." Fear makes it hard to get the words out. "I haven’t seen or heard from her since Friday.”

He lets loose a string of rapid curses in Spanish, and his weight on top of me eases. When the knife pulls away from my neck, I choke out a sob.

But then his hand falls over my mouth again, and he looms over me, illuminated by the moonlight. His face is pocked and scarred, his eyes cruel.

His hand raises with the knife, and I scream and twist, but he holds me as he stabs me in the chest. Andsmiles.

Then he rips the knife out.

White, hot, blinding pain fills my chest and radiates down my arm. I know I’m not having a heart attack, though; it’s much, much worse. Coughing up blood, I fall out of the bed and onto the floor.

Somehow, I know my attacker is gone now. I don’t have much time as I feel my body turn cold and numb, and it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open. I need to get to my phone.

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