Page 7 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
The chilly night breeze raised goosebumps on Julia’s bare skin. She shivered and crossed her arms.
Light spilled out from the windows of the house, pooling on a small, cobbled courtyard. People had nodded off in patio chairs. A circle of guys stood off to the left, their faces illuminated grotesquely by the flicker of a lighter as it was passed around.
She felt like her head was floating about two feet above her body. She stumbled on an empty beer bottle, sending it skittering across the courtyard. The drink in her cup splashed over her hand, so she dropped it.
“You good?” Floyd said.
“I want to go back inside,” she said. At least, that was what she wanted to say. But the words that came out of her mouth sounded like they were in a foreign language. Floyd seemed to understand what she meant though, because he nodded and took her hand and led her back towards the house. Relieved, she gripped his fingers and stumbled after him.
The sounds of the party grew distant. She realized they weren’t going back to the house at all. They were moving around the side of it. She looked behind her, but the shadowy figures in the yard were no longer in sight.
To her left, a dog gave two sharp barks, then a low, menacing growl.
Her feet hit metal. He was leading her up steps.
She forced herself to wake up and assess where she was—standing in the doorway of an old RV. It was dark inside; she had to strain her eyes to make out the room. The air felt thick.
She stood still for a moment, confused. Had she wanted to come in here? She focused hard, but trying to think seemed to require an enormous effort.
The door closed behind her. She whirled around and found Floyd right there, his hands on her shoulders, walking her backwards.
Her back hit something solid. A wall, or a cupboard. He was crowding in against her, his hands gripping her upper arms, his breath on her face, hot and alcoholic.
She tried to push him off her, but he was pinning her arms, pressing all his weight against her. He leaned in close, his face near hers, clearly intending to kiss her. She turned her face away and his teeth grazed her jaw. Both hands were tugging at her dress; she heard a rip as the fabric tore.
She shoved him again, harder this time, but all it did was make his smirk grow.
I should be stopping this, she thought.I shouldn’t just be letting this happen. Angling her face away, she hissed, “Getoffme.”
Outside, the dog was whining by the door. Its claws made a grating sound as they scratched against the metal. She inhaled, intending on screaming as loud as she could to set the dog off barking again.
Floyd raised his hand to her neck and squeezed it between his fingers and thumb. He shoved her head back until it hit the wall behind her with a thud. Screaming became impossible.
She sobbed against his hand, hot tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. Again, she tried to mobilize her arms, but they felt numb and useless.
She couldn’t breathe. She tossed her head from side to side, trying to shake his grip off, trying to make a space so she could suck in some air. But he was too strong. Bright white spots danced in front of her vision.
This is it, she realized.This is how I’m going to die.
Bright yellow light filled the room. Instinctively, she clamped her eyes shut.
Behind Floyd, she heard a faint metallicsnick.
Floyd’s body tensed against hers. His grip on her neck eased.
Julia gulped a lungful of air. The bright spots receded. She opened her eyes, squinting against the harsh light.
Floyd was still pressing his hips against hers. But he’d let go of her. She watched as he lifted both hands toward the ceiling like he was being compelled by a higher power. His sour breath washed over her face. “What the actual fuck?”
She raised her chin to see over his shoulder. There was a man standing behind him. He was taller than Floyd and was calmly holding a pistol to the back of his head. Tattoos crawled up his neck. When he spoke, his voice was soft but laced with menace. “This is private property,pendejo.”
Floyd, hands still in the air, gave a nervous laugh. “Bruh, chill out, alright? We didn’t think anyone was in here.”
The other man said nothing, just continued to press the pistol to Floyd’s head like he was trying to bore a hole in his skull.
Floyd’s colorless face went even paler. He flicked his tongue over his lips, then said, “We’re sorry, man. We just wanted a little privacy. My girl couldn’t keep her hands off me.”
The man with the gun shifted his gaze from the back of Floyd’s head to Julia’s face. She dropped her head, so she didn’t have to make eye contact, but still felt his stare travel over her. She realized how she must look, pressed against the wall, her face streaked with mascara-laced tears.
