Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
A wave of confusion rolled over me. I stood there frozen in place while my mind questioned what my instincts were trying to tell me. When I finally gathered the courage to glance over my shoulder, I found him hovering disturbingly close, a predatory smile plastered on his face he did nothing to conceal. The realization didn’t hit me all at once. It trickled in, collected in my gut, and slowly transformed into a feeling of dread.
“You know, my cousin works at the department of immigration.”
“Yes, I know, Pascal,” I curtly replied, unease getting the better of my self-control.
“For a well educated woman, you’re very stupid,” he spat out.
There were a million things I wanted to say to him and none were particularly educated. This time, however, self-preservation easily prevailed over any impulse I felt to argue or defend myself. I grabbed my keys from beneath the cash register and stuffed them into the back pocket of my jeans. Not daring to turn my back on him, I slowly backed away. “I appreciate the offer, but I can take care of it myself.” His eyes narrowed into aggressive creases and the air surrounding us instantly transformed, grew heavy with dark energy. I pretended not to notice his threatening glare and untied the black apron wrapped around my shrunken waist, throwing it onto my shoulder casually. “See you Tuesday,” I said, insincerity ringing loudly in my overexuberance.
Escape was only an arm’s length away, the door within reach, when he spoke again. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
The delicate hairs on the back of my neck stood up straight. Dear God. My winter jacket was in the back office and I couldn’t afford to leave it. The internal debated though, lasted only for a second; the look on his face made my mind up for me. “It’s not that cold. I’ll get it tomorrow.” It wasn’t even a small lie. There was still snow on the ground.
I gripped the doorknob and heard him moving, my hypersensitive ears registering footsteps over the heavy hammering of my heart. And then time seemed to grind to a halt, reality collapsing into a singular, awful moment. I stepped out of the scene, as if observing from some distant perspective, and watched it play out frame by slow frame. His thick, calloused fingers were splayed in front of me, holding the door shut. I could feel his hot, tequila-laced breath on the nape of my neck. His erection pushed against my rear end. My hipbones pressed painfully into the wood of the door. I couldn’t hear myself scream; sounds seemed dull, wrapped in goose down. I struggled wildly but it was impossible to budge him; he outweighed me times ten. I realized my mistake much too late, had calculated badly, hadn’t anticipated his determination. I had grossly misjudged him and the cost was unthinkable.
In vain, I struggled to pry off the sweaty hand clamped over my mouth and nose. The pungent odor of his personal musk mixed with cleaning detergent and beer invaded my lungs, leaving no room for oxygen. Launched into a state of terror that was indescribable, any sanity I had a fragile hold on instantly fled.
“Shhh, you little putain. I’ll make it good for you,” he growled in my ear.
Then a sudden bang, as loud as a clap of thunder, disrupted the violence. A group of young men stood outside the large picture window of the pub, pounding on the glass. They were obviously drunk and seemed in no hurry to move on. Pascal rocked back on his heels and relaxed his weight on the door just long enough for me to react and jerk it open. I stumbled out into the icy night greeted by a round of shouts and cheers. The young men rushed the door just in time to block Pascal from grabbing me again.
“Va te faire enculer!” he shouted, and the men replied with a few choice obscenities of their own.
I pushed through the crowd clutching the tiny gold cross around my neck for reassurance and, rubbing the warm metal between my fingers, sent up a silent prayer of gratitude to whatever angel had delivered them. In the doorway, Pascal stood eerily still, gripping the frame tight enough to turn his fat knuckles white. A blast of frigid air loosened the paralyzing hold naked fear had on me, my body shuddering as I backed away into the dense black of the moonless night.
And then I ran.
I ran like the devil was at my heels. I ran even when the pain in my lungs felt like a sharp knife skewering me. I ran until I reached the safety of my little room, where a small immigrant woman with nobody in the world to protect her goes to hide. I never went back for that jacket.