Beautifully Broken

A man I haven’t seen before stalks toward me, and I whimper again, shrinking back like the coward I am.

When he crouches next to me, I anticipate a blow, but instead, he shrugs out of his jacket.

I press harder against the wall, not able to cope with being raped again.

Revulsion wells up inside me as flashes of the past twenty-four hours torture me. It feels as if my mind has fractured, the cracks filled with the depravity of what the men did to me.

The true nightmare is the memories I have to face when I’m awake. Every time it feels like I’m able to take a breath, they just drag me down deeper, suffocating me more.

“Move forward,” the man snaps icily. He doesn’t wait for me to move but instead grabs hold of my shoulders, pulling me into a sitting position. I cringe away from his touch, but then he pulls me up onto unsteady legs and forces my arms into the sleeves of the jacket.

I hear the zip go up, and then I feel his fingers close around mine, taking hold of my hand in a really tight grip.

What kind of rapist dresses his victim?

Maybe he’s not going to rape me but kill me?

God.

I’m not sure how I feel about dying.

There were times during the night I wished they’d just kill me. I’m not scared of dying, but rather where I’ll end up afterward. I’m not sure where I’ll go, and that makes a whole different kind of fear bleed into my soul until I’m a shaking, sobbing mess.

“Stay behind me at all times,” the man orders. “Don’t scream, and stay behind me.” His voice is unnervingly emotionless.

What?

It takes a second for the meaning of his words to sink into my terrified mind. I’m not sure why he’s telling me this, and I don’t have time to ponder his words, because he’s already moving and pulling at my arm.

I take my first unsteady step forward.

Is he here to help me?

Dare I hope?

The second step hurts so much I struggle to breathe. My chest is on fire, and every inflicted wound throbs.

With every movement, the stickiness and raw ache between my legs remind me of the vile things they did to me.

As we reach the door, my breaths are nothing more than desperate gasps as I try to swallow down the pain and harrowing memories.

“I’ll set the room on fire. You do your job,” the old man says to the stranger holding my hand.

The man pulls me after him until we’re out of the container, but then he lets go of my hand.

Shit, this is it!

Oh, my God.

I’m not ready to die.

My heart pounds in my ears, and I’m well aware of the fact that each of those heartbeats might be my last.

But then he reaches out to me with his left hand. “I need my right hand free.”

My eyes dart to his face, and I’m filled with a fresh wave of horror. This man is easily the scariest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Every line on his face is pronounced as he pulls a gun from behind his back. I didn’t even see the weapon where it was tucked into the back of his pants.

My throat and mouth dry right up, and I can’t swallow the thick spit coating the inside of my mouth.

The man nudges me a little until I’m right behind him, and then I remember what he said – I have to stay behind him.

Please let him be here to help.

Please. Oh, God, please.

Desperately, I grab hold of his left hand, not caring that I have to touch him as long as he’s here to help me.

When we walk toward a simple-looking house, I wrap my other hand’s fingers around his wrist, clinging to him because I’m scared shitless.

My legs are numb, but somehow, I keep from dropping to the ground. I inhale the fresh air, but it only makes agonizing pain tear through my chest. Quickly glancing around us, I take in the mostly empty property. There’s only the house and a yard surrounded by tall grass and trees.

Heat flares up behind me, and I glance over my shoulder. The old man has set a shipping container alight.

“I’m going to kill them, and then we can leave,” the man says, his voice filled with anger and vengeance.

He’s so focused I can feel the intensity coming off him in waves.

Gathering what’s left of my courage, I ask, “Are you here to help me?”

“Glad to see you’re still thinking straight enough to ask a question,” he mutters gruffly. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Yes. I’m here to help you.”

Intense relief hits me so hard my insides shudder from the force.

Thank God.

Oh, thank God.

He tightens his grip on my hand when we near the house, and I see a muscle jumping in his jaw. It only makes me more nervous.