He told me to get out of the car. So I did. Because he didn't tell me to get out of the car. He yelled it. Frantically. With terror laced through each word. He didn't follow me, though. Why didn't he get out of the car? "It's raining," he told me. But I didn't understand.

I was crying and he was staring. I was bleeding and he was shirtless. I was running and he was on a motorcycle. I was helpless and he was less than unhelpful. But he was bored and I was persistent. I was intoxicated and he was intoxicating.