Free Thirty Happens by Elizabeth Butts

my left cheek throbbed in protest. His hand squeezed my neck sharply, cutting off my air.
    “You make a sound, you die. Got it, bitch?”
    His raspy whisper was the thing of nightmares. Nightmares that I was certain I would have for years to come. That was, if I survived this.
    I started to close my eyes. To just let go and disappear in the pain. His grip on my throat tightened so it was easy to just disappear.
    That’s what I would do. I would just disappear. Close my eyes and go away.
    “Oh, no, bitch . You don’t get off that easily. I want you to be awake when I ram this dick in you so hard that you’re going to end up split in two.”
    The grip on my throat released and I was gasping for air, a small treacherous tear made its way out of the corner of my eye and dropped down to the ground.
    “Please.” The voice that came out of me was quiet, devastated, wounded and pitiful.
    His laughter ripped through the chilly air.
    “No need to beg, whore. I’m a sure thing. Obviously, so are you.”
    I heard a loud ripping sound and the feeling of cold air.
    That was when I realized that his hand was no longer squeezing either my throat or my arm. Rather, he had apparently ripped my old hoodie and the shirt beneath it down the middle and I was standing out in the chilled air, in front of my dorm and out in public with my shirt in tatters and a bruise forming on my cheek.
    No.
    This was not going to happen to me tonight.
    I let out the start of a scream and managed to get some sound out before I felt the sting on his hand again and my head hitting the car. The darkness at the edges of my vision started to cloud my head again, and it took a few seconds to keep it at bay
    Okay, now I was past scared and heading straight into pissed.
    With my left arm free, I fished for my pepper spray, only to find it had fallen onto the pavement when he ripped my hoodie in half. I hung my head for a second.
    What the hell was I going to do?
    Suddenly, Sandra Bullock came to mind. I must be losing it. Why was I thinking about Sandra Bullock dressed as a pageant queen right now?
    James was leering at me and grabbed forward to rip my bra in half. The released cups sprang back like elastic bands, stinging my skin.
    He reached both hands and crudely grabbed my chest, roughly kneading my flesh.
    “Yeah, bitch. I can tell that you’re liking this shit. Your tits are so tight. You’re such a whore that you want it right now. I can tell you can’t wait for me to rip those jeans off of you and fuck you right. I’ll show you what a real man feels like. You slut.”
    James was so focused on my boobs that he didn’t realize I wasn’t pinned down anymore.
    Think, Karyn. My brain was racing trying to figure itself out. What was in that movie? Oh yeah, Sandra Bullock was an FBI or CIA agent or something. Wasn’t there a bit on self-defense it the movie? Yes, that’s right, there was… it was her talent portion. How did she teach all those pageant queens how to fend off attackers?
    The images from the movie flashed through my brain.
    I shot my fist forward hard into his side. Solar plexus. His quick gasp of air let me know that I’d hit my mark.
    I slammed my boot down on top of his foot. That was as close to his instep that I could get.
    He recovered too quickly for me to cock my arm back to jam his nose back toward to his brain. He had me pinned back down with one hand on my throat and I saw his fist coming towards my face.
    This time, it was a closed fist that made contact with my upper cheek, sending my head sideways into the car. My head exploded with pain both from him and from the vehicle behind me. I tasted fresh blood in my mouth where my teeth sliced the inside of my cheek. Almost immediately I could feel my flesh swelling on both sides of my face and my legs went weak from the dizziness that was overtaking me.
    I’d lost my chance. I wasn’t going to be able to stop this.
    Why was no one around to help me?
    It was then I realized that