Free Desperate Choices by Kathy Ivan Page A

she had outgrown many years ago.
    “One of them circled around behind me and grabbed my arms before I knew what he was doing. They dragged me into the bed of their truck. Marshall Road was hardly ever used back then. You rarely saw a car go down there once every couple hours.”
    Theresa forced herself to remain calm, ignoring the gut-wrenching, acid-filled pain dredging up these memories brought. It hurt more than she’d believed possible. But she continued anyway.
    “I fought. God, believe me I fought, but it was two against one. Fighting was useless. They raped me. They tore my clothes, not caring about the damage. Their fingernails dug into my skin, leaving red marks and scratches that didn’t go away for ages. One of them slapped me. He seemed to enjoy the pain he inflicted.” She shuddered at the memory, the pain as real today as it had been ten years before. “He laughed.”
    Reaching for her glass, she took another sip, relieved her hand was steady. She couldn’t look at Max. Not yet.
    “They laughed the entire time. It seemed to go on forever. I didn’t make it easy for them, though. They hit me several times, slaps, a few punches. I think at one point I even passed out.”
    She continued, letting her words sink in. “When they were finally finished, they carried me and my shredded clothes back to the side of the road, a few feet back into the overgrowth and dumped me in the bushes like garbage.”
    She watched Max pinch the bridge of his nose between shaking fingers, and knew she had to finish.
    “I’m not sure how much time passed after they left. It seemed like hours. I know it started to get dark, and I think I was more afraid of being there in the dark than of anything else. All I could think was my dad was going to get home from work soon and I wouldn’t have his supper on the table. But I couldn’t move.”
    As the words tumbled forth, she closed her eyes, partially to recall things with better clarity, but mostly not to see Max’s face as he listened to this shame-filled portion of her past.
    “What I didn’t know was that, in the initial struggle, I dropped my book bag on the ground beside the street. For God knows what reason, Remy had decided to ride home down Marshall Road that day. Divine intervention, maybe. He saw my bag and stopped to see who it belonged to. He told me later he heard a sound, an indistinct whimpering. Being the Boy Scout that he is, he had to investigate.” Now she looked directly at Max as she spoke. “Thank God hedid. I was lying there in the weeds, bruised, battered and bleeding from everything they had done.”
    “Stop. Don’t say any more,” Max interrupted, but Theresa placed her hand on top of his, silencing him.
    “No, let me finish. This all needs to come out. Remy was amazing. Truly amazing. Even back then, being only seventeen, he was astonishingly mature for his age. He was riding his bike and there was no way he could hold me and pedal. So he took off his jacket, wrapped it around me and told me to stay hidden. About ten minutes later he was back with a car.
    “He wanted to take me to the hospital, to the emergency room, and have them call the police. But I was so scared, Max. I wouldn’t let him. I fought him even though he was only trying to help. I scratched and hit him, not letting him touch me. Finally, he just sat down with me in the grass, there at the side of the road and held me while I cried and raged and cursed God for what had happened.”
    She reached up and wiped at her eyes and the tears slowly trickling down her cheeks.
    “He finally convinced me to get in the car and brought me back to my dad’s house. By the time we got there, I was practically catatonic. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. Everything seemed to just shut down. He helped get me into the house. My father wasn’t due home for another hour. I was a total mess. My clothes were in shreds. I was covered from head to toe with scrapes, scratches and bruises, to say