The Protection

One

It was 3 a.m., but it was still so damn hot. Like the sky was reaching out and slowly trying to suffocate me, one humidity laced breath at a time. Sweat dripped down my chest and soaked through my beige bra as the temperature gauge on my cracked, outdated smartphone read ninety-one degrees in small, white unassuming numbers - with eighty percent humidity. I swiped at a fat bead of sweat that rolled lazily across the back of my neck. Dallas summers at the end of August were the equivalent of living in hell, securely pinned beneath Satan's overgrown thumbnail.

I staggered up the hill, towards my small on-campus apartment, passing the obnoxiously large, backlit white stone monument Dallas Christian University sign. I grinned. It was way past campus curfew. A curfew strictly enforced by the Church of Christ zealots that ruled over my small, private, exclusive university.

It was one of their many rules, making this epic trek even that much more satisfying. I should be locked away, fast asleep, after a rousing night of Bible study like the rest of campus. Instead, I was stumbling home from a local bar that made my long tangled red-brown hair smell like cheap cigarettes, and my breath like even cheaper tequila.

The rolling emerald green lawns of Dallas Christian were a shade only obtainable through countless summer thunderstorms, and a 'whole lotta prayer'. Still, my black pleather cowboy boot stuck to something on the humidity soaked grass, and I closed one eye to see my own face staring back at me. I was pristine and polished and perfect. My long wavy auburn hair was thrown over my shoulder, while my small smile was beautifully stoic.

The photo was an ideal volleyball headshot, my best in four years at this suffocating university, but I couldn't help but feel as though my smirking face was more of a mug shot of sorts. My enchanting grey eyes were hiding every sin I got away with, while I continued to be their perfect little poster child. I tore my eyes away from my playful smirk to the title.

Volleyball Playoffs: Perry Andrews - The Captain We Need.

I chuckled at the irony, and planted a sloppy kiss on my own full glossy lips. I was defiance in its most sincere form. During playoffs - the most important part of our volleyball season, I was out breaking every single rule, including ones yet to be written into the already stuffy bigoted doctrine. 'A woman should always act as a woman, behaving with poise and grace, submitting to her husband and her own moral compass.'

I rolled my stainless steel colored eyes as I threw the magazine high in the air and spun around, my thin white cotton dress flitting out, exposing my cheap light pink thong in the process. I'll give you some poise and grace!!! I laughed loudly, not caring if I woke up every last person on this God forsaken campus. I found I didn't care about much of anything these days.

I didn't care that I was drunk, or that my senior season was on the line, or that I could be caught by campus police at any moment. I was numb. Bored and lonely and I had no idea why. I was respected across campus and my grades were perfect, right on track for medical school, but I still felt so...unfulfilled. It was as if I'd been sleepwalking through life, half coherent and half dead inside.

I spun a few more times like a drunken prima ballerina, begging to feel something, anything, until I lost my footing and staggered sideways, directly into my lab partner, Peter. I squinted an eye so I could see only one of him. He stood in front of me, his greasy thin black hair slicked down onto his forehead and his arms were crossed over the Avengers t-shirt that fit tight across his fluffy chest. Angry bright red pimples covered his chin, threatening to erupt into puss filled volcanoes at any moment. He grinned, straining the skin there, and put a slimy hand on my arm.

"You a little drunk, Perry?" he drawled, his voice its usual grating nasally whine. His beady brown eyes trailed leisurely down the front of my dress and I actually felt something. Exposed. The thin white material was definitely against campus dress code with its plunging neckline and hemline that sat well above mid-thigh. A chill threatened the back of my neck, and I attempted desperately to push the chill away, but I could feel something wasn't quite right.

"Peter," I said as I lowered my voice and in turn pushed his slick hand from my arm. "I can assure you I haven't been drinking, that is against campus policy." I batted my eyelashes innocently.  Years of pretending to be their good little girl had given me some serious acting chops. "As is being out of your dorm past midnight, so I hope running into each other, past curfew, will remain our little secret." I coerced, trying to appear sober while desperately trying to ignore the look Peter gave me - a look like I was something pretty he wanted to pet. He giggled, but it sounded more like a squeal. The sound an ecstatic pig would make while being served its daily allotment of slop. The chill spread feverishly from the back of my neck down both of my arms.

"Don't worry darlin', I'm not going to tell anyone," he promised as he stepped slowly forward. "And neither are you." His voice took on a deep menacing tone, one I'd never heard in our Organic Chemistry class before. His hands suddenly gripped my waist, and his lips crushed mine prying them open so his rancid tasting tongue was in my mouth.

I shoved my fists as hard as I could against him, but his hands dug further into my back. He was much stronger than I would have ever imagined. I screamed against his mouth, but his hand crushed my lips in an instant so I couldn't breathe.

"Shut up, you slut," he hissed as his other hand began to rip my dress, the one I bought with three weeks worth of babysitting money. "You've been practically begging for this for months now. Wearing those short shorts to class, touching my arm when you had a question, always moving your chair so close to mine..." He licked his tongue up the length of my neck and I wanted to throw up. I tried to claw at his hands again, my heart pounding wildly through my chest, but he shoved me backwards and my head bounced harshly off the grass.

Stars threatened my periphery, but I ignored them and continued to slam my fists repeatedly against Peter's barrel shaped chest. His fat fingers stumbled to remove my underwear as he pressed himself down on top of me. I could feel his small, sweaty penis on my inner thigh, and I'd never felt anything more revolting. My mind began to disassociate from itself, breaking off into tiny disbelieving fragments. This wasn't real, this wasn't really happening. Not to me. Oh, please God! I tried to scream again, but I couldn't get enough air in my lungs with him on top of me. I closed my eyes, tears streaming down the sides of my face as I floated away, weightless, wishing to be anywhere else as I surrendered to my fate. No one will save me. I am alone.

I hovered with bated breath waiting to feel the intrusion of him inside of me, until I realized the pressure was gone. Completely. Peter had vanished. I quickly sat up on my elbows, glancing all around me. The combination of tequila and concussion making my visual processing slower, like an old computer trying to boot back to life. I blinked and searched the courtyard, but still I couldn't see him anywhere. It was as if he just disappeared into the night, a figment of my most terrifying imagination. I sat up fully, squinting among the trees and old brick buildings until my blurred vision finally came into focus, and I saw Peter on his back in the grass twenty yards away, his little plump hands in the air pleading with a dark figure. The figure was tall, and he was wearing a black hoodie, dark jeans, and light brown cowboy boots. This guy was massive, angry, relentless. He appeared out of nowhere.

He flung Peter around, side to side like a children's toy, as if he weighed nothing. Peter screamed, terrified. He attempted to crawl towards me, the look of terror making his already ugly features even more hideous. He reached out to me but the man caught him by the pant leg, where they still sat around his ankles, and pulled him back. He flipped him over, delivered one final crushing blow, and Peter went limp. My vision began to blur again. I blinked my eyes rapidly, but everything around me continued to spin out of control. Even with the rush of adrenaline, I felt myself fading. I reached a hand to my forehead, searching for the area that hit the grass. My scalp was wet, and I sluggishly pulled my hand back to see the messy red stain on my fingertips. Blood. Lots of it. I could feel the warmth of it trickling around my right ear and down my neck now.

"Is the girl okay?" The voice was deep and smooth, like water running over gravel.

"I'm not sure," another voice, this one female, like a million twinkling bells responded. As I faded into blackness, all I could feel were the strong arms that picked me up, cradled me against a strong chest, and carried me away.