Free July (Calendar Girl #7) by Audrey Carlan

my lips and slamming my head against the concrete. I see stars and rainbows across my vision, and things are now hazy. He yanks on the hem of my dress, pulling it tight as he slides it up to my waist. The cool air slithers across my bare flesh. More swirls of distorted light still splinter across my vision. I blink several times, trying to stay conscious. Aaron’s fingers slide down my stomach reaching his target and he cups my sex roughly, pressing into the soft tissue. I hear myself whimper as bile rises up into my throat, the intense burn gagging me so bad I want to vomit.
    “I’m going to fuck you so hard, take you like the whore you are. Fucking white trash,” he roars, spittle splattering against my face. This is the man who’d touched me while I slept, and when confronted, showed no remorse. Aaron Shipley, Senator for California, is about to rape me. Right here, out in public with a giant party going on not more than two hundred feet away.
    I feel the head of his cock where he presses it against my legs as he grinds it along my thigh. I whisper, “No,” and shake my head only to receive a gut-twisting grin in reply. He puts a hand over my mouth muffling the sound of my scream. I bite down on the flesh of his hand, salt and the coppery taste of blood fill my mouth. He curses and smashes my head into the wall again. I can’t hold myself up and slump against the surface. my body feeling almost weightless, and as the darkness takes me, I am sure he is going to rape me.
     
    “Get your fucking hands off me!” I screamed loud enough to tear the house down.
    “Mia, no, no! Lo siento. Lo siento . I’m sorry. Lucita , come back. Shit!” Anton cradled my head as I came around. My stomach rolled and churned. Staggering to my feet, I ran over to the nearest trash can and hurled my lunch. Maria stood over me, holding my hair back, whispering calming soothing things into my ear.
    When I’d finished, a towel and a bottle of water were thrust into my hand. I gulped the refreshing liquid, but it went down as if I was swallowing razor blades, until all the bile washed back down.
    Maria’s eyes were hard, now dark, and cold. She took my hand and brought me to a small room off the side of dance studio.
    “Who’s hurting you? I know people. Very very rich people who will not stand for a good woman being hurt by a scumbag.”
    I shook my head. “Maria, no, it’s not what it looks like.”
    Her hands flew to her hips and she cocked her head to the side, black tendrils escaping her ponytail. “Really? Because it seems to me that someone hurt you, bad enough that you are having flashbacks. Not to mention the fact that you freeze every time one of the male dancers or Anton touch you. So tell me, is that not true? Am I imagining this shit? I know exactly what a battered woman looks like, hermosa because I was one. For many years. Not okay with allowing that shit to happen to good women and neither are my friends. Hell, Anton wouldn’t stand for it.”
    Pushing my hair back, I took a deep breath and looked at her. “Anton knows. There’s nothing any of you can do about it. It’s been handled.” I lied. Technically it had been handled so that wasn’t a lie. The way I was dealing with the end result, on the other hand, had not been handled.
    “I need more, Mia, because right now, I’m flaming mad. As in muy caliente and not in a good way. I want blood. So speak. Even if it hurts, even if you cry, want to hit something. You have to get it out. You cannot let this stay bottled in. Believe me, I’ve been through it and come out on the other side stronger and smarter.” Her statement was almost a speech—no, a benediction. Something she believed one hundred percent. Something that was private, part of her very soul, and she was strong enough to share it with me.
    “My last client had a son that attacked me, sexually and physically. I was in the hospital for a few days.” Her eyes widened and blazed like a thousand fires