Rape Scene Attempt #2

“Just keep walking. Ignore them.” Sophie said, eyeing up the six figures walking towards us. They had begun shouting catcalls at us. Fear stuck in my throat, so I just nodded.

Sophie’s hands were in her pockets, and I could tell she was searching for something.

They stopped and let us pass them on the sidewalk. I closed my eyes in an attempt to calm myself down. If it wasn’t for Sophie, I would have been paralyzed by fear a good 300 meters back.

We made it. Nothing bad was going to happen. Everything was okay.

I looked next to me at Sophie. Her entire body was rigid with anticipation, still not letting her guard down. As our eyes met, I saw the panic etched into her face. Her eyes were darting back and forth between me and the men.

I was paying so much attention to Sophie, I let my guard down. I was jerked backwards as someone grabbed my waist. “I’m going to rock your world, you bitch,” someone hissed into my ear. I was pushed on to the ground. The street was wet, and I could feel it seep into my clothes. The man forced himself on top of me.

My entire being thrashed in protest. His words sounded so rehearsed, like he had been here, done this, before. In comparison, my words were ugly and primal, like I knew that I was nothing more than a trapped animal – squealing, squirming, anything to escape what would undoubtedly come next. That much my muddled brain could understand. Everything was happening so fast.

In an effort to subdue my maniac behavior, he kissed me. His lips pressed against mine, hard and uncompromising, enforcing any action he would later commit against me. I froze as my brain tried to register the next chain of events unfolding in front of me.       

Taking my sudden pause as my relenting, he took the moment. Ice fingers traced down my thighs as he unzipped my jeans. My attempts to struggle against him returned, but remained utterly futile – one of his thick hands and arms wrapped around my chest, while the other explored various areas of my body.

His breath was hot on my face as he half-whispered, half-grunted, “Maybe a little dick will change your mind.” Fingers tore at my hijab, and I’ve never felt so exposed. Dirty, almost. Like someone was seeing a part of me that I hadn’t given them permission to see. Then I realized, that was exactly what was happening.

Panic finally registered in my brain – this was not how it was supposed to go. This was not love, or lust even; this was just about control. HIS control, not mine.

Pain seared through my body: I knew that it was there, but I couldn’t feel anything over my own panic. I was detached, separate, saving myself from the horror of knowing. Knowing I screwed up. It was a movie playing out; I was just an observer. I could see the pain, knew it was there, but it was like I was watching it happen to someone else. My body was no longer mine, alien to me. I waited for tears, but they never came. Sticky from sweat and rain water, I didn’t move; I couldn’t move. It hurt too much to try.

            “Now you aren’t a lesbian,” he almost growled at me. At that moment, I looked him right in the eyes. His dark eyes were dead, hollow. They seemed to stare right through me, as if I didn’t even matter, as if I was just a part of the scenery – like a lamp post or a garbage can. I never felt so worthless. I wasn’t even worthy of being seen.

I could hear Sophie crying out and fighting back; doing everything I no longer could do. She had some fight left in her. Mine has been taken from me again and again.

            Minutes turned to hours as they all had their way with me. Then they vanished.

            Sophie and I didn’t talk as we walked home.