Accessory Wars

Chapter 5-Felisa

            I sat huddled inside the cabinet under the sink holding a hand over my mouth to keep my breathing quiet. I felt the chips in my nail polish under the pads of my fingers. My heart beat hard enough for me to feel it in my throat. My eyes stared at the door to the cabinet I could not hold shut and prayed to every deity I knew no one found me. A persistent ache in the back of my skull remained from where they yanked my hair. My skin continued to tingle where they grabbed me too hard.

This wasn't new. This was far too familiar. Hours hiding under the bed or behind the fridge, praying they never found me. Except now I didn't know who was after me. I didn't know these people. They just crowded around me when I went to get my bike, eager to tear into my insecurity.

I flinched as I heard the door to the classroom open and I held my breath, praying harder to anyone or anything that would listen to my thoughts. Voices called out for me, calling me all sorts of vulgar names. I heard footsteps move dangerously close to my location and I squeezed my eyes shut. All those years should have made me brave. Instead, I remained the same. Always frightened. Living driven by fear.

Cabinet doors started to open and shut, telling me my time to hide was over. I shifted my legs and braced myself. As the cabinet door nearby opened, I leapt out and raced for the door with my bag clutched tightly to my chest. Voices shouted as I sprinted down the hall and took the stairs three at a time. I nearly tripped, rolling my ankle on a bad landing, and limped as I hurried for the street.

I needed to get somewhere public. Somewhere with a lot of people. I nearly hit someone in the face with the door as I burst outside and I shouted an apology as I raced across the street. Horns blared as I ran in front of traffic. I could hear footsteps behind me growing ever closer. I knew I was a fast runner. Years of running kept me light on my feet. But speed can only do so much when the people chasing you have a larger stride.

One of the boys caught my wrist and pinned me against the side of a brick building. I squeaked as the rough surface rubbed against my cheek and I felt the man's knee between my legs.

"You're a slippery bitch, aren't you?" the man chided. No, not a man. A stupid twenty something kid who happened to be bored on the downtown campus with his friends and decided to harass a girl trying to work on a project. His two friends came stumbling in, much slower than the first, and they grinned as they saw their friend caught me as a prize.

"Going somewhere, sunshine?" one of the guys asked.

The man holding me, whose breath reeked of cigarettes, groped my chest and the other two laughed. He grabbed my hair and smashed my face into the wall, making small abrasions on my skin. My saving grace, and biggest fault, was I didn't bruise easily. No one would see the bruises but then no one would see the bruises to do something about it. Cigarette breath licked the side of my face, which felt gritty as if he had eating a tray full of sand. It peeled the makeup from my cheek.

"What's the matter? Aren't you enjoying yourself?" cigarette breath asked. The other two laughed as he rubbed his groin against me. With my arms pinned behind my back, I couldn't do much to protest. My shoulders ached from behind forced back and I cursed my tiny wrists for being able to be held together in one hand.

One of the others, one with a double chin, came over and lifted up the side of my shirt, picking at the bra underneath. My panic flared and I tried desperately to rip free. The third boy found his phone and started to record the whole deal. My eyes flitted to a camera located on the corner of the building I stood pressed against. What good where hundreds of cameras if no one was watching on the other side?