Home of the Free (Heart of a Wounded Hero)

I feel like I'm going to hyperventilate. Like I'm going to die and I know that sounds intense, but it is. "I'm going to pull over this car," he says, "and I'm going to make you suck my cock. You understand? You've been mine for six hours and you haven't so much as spread your legs. What kind of deal do you think your father and I made? You're my property, you're going to be my wife. Do you understand?"

"Stop it!" I scream. "Don't! I can't do this. I won't do this."

He swerves the car. We're on a mountain highway in a place I've never been before, been driving for hours and hours. He says we’re headed to Seattle, to a big city, and maybe that will be my chance to escape, to disappear or to hide. I can go to the police, I can say what's happened. I can be brave in ways I've never been before.

But I don't know if Jesse's going to let me get that far because the way he's looking at me now, as if he wants to hurt me or worse, makes me realize I'm out of options. His hand is on my wrist so hard and then he lets go miraculously. But it's only because he's now pressing his fingers to my neck, trying to shove my head down to his lap.

I claw at him, shove him away.

"Damn it!" he says. "You're going to get us in a wreck.”

“I’m not doing anything,” I say. “I’m not going to touch you. I won’t. I’ve never been with anyone before and I’m not going to let it be you.”

“Your dad didn’t tell me he was giving me a virgin,” Jesse cackles. “If I’d known that I might have thrown in a few grams for him as a goodbye gift.” He looks at me with a greedy look in his eyes. “Damn, we’re going to have some fun.” His words make me recoil in fear.

Fun with him? Never.

There’s a wooded bank on either side of us and I realize if I roll out of the car right now, I’ll be lost and alone, but maybe that’s better than nothing.

Without thinking twice, I shove open the passenger door, unbuckling as I do. “I’m never going to see you again!” I shout as I roll my body out of the car, wrapping my arms around myself. But I didn’t realize that just past the wooded bank on the edge of the road is a cliff, and within seconds, I'm hurtling down the side of the mountain. But with each second that ticks by I'm getting farther and farther away from Jesse.

I close my eyes, scared because I don't know where this mountain leads, where my body is going to land.

My head hits something sharp, my eyes squeeze tight and everything goes black.

3

JAKE

A few hours into the hike, I pause to drink some water. That's when I hear it, hear her.

"Help!" Her voice is small, broken. "Help!" she calls again.

"I'm coming," I shout, "I'm here!" I hear crying, sobbing.

"I'm over here," the voice manages, and I hustle toward the noise.

It's a big, wide mountain, trees towering like skyscrapers. The sky is clear blue. The sun shining down in a perfect summer day kind of way. That's what makes this cry for help so startling, so distinct. My heart pounds when I see her. Crumpled, her head dripping blood, her body shaking, her eyes fluttering.

She's beautiful. In spite of the blood on her skin, she looks like an angel that's fallen from heaven. Beneath the wounds she looks like a woman who needs saving, and I'm not just saying that because she is captivating. Dark hair, long lashes, skin the color of sand on a hot desert night.

"Fuck," I say, leaning down, kneeling before her. "Can you move?" I ask her.

"I think so. I don't know if anything's broken. I just..." She's gasping, her eyes fluttering closed. "I was so scared. Thank God you're here." She reaches out for my arm, holding onto me as if for dear life. And then her eyes close and she goes still.

"No, no," I say. "I'm not losing you. Stay awake. You're here, you're okay." I’m scared, she's slipping in and out of consciousness.

Her eyes flutter open again. "I thought, I thought I was going to die here."

"No one's dying here," I say. "Not under my watch."

I pull out my phone from my backpack. Thankfully, I have a signal. If I had been hiking even another hour into the mountains, I don't think I would've had one. I press 911. I tell the operator where I am, what stretch of highway I’m near.

"We're maybe a quarter mile down from the Rough Highway," I say. "About mile marker 43. I can drop a pin to let you know our location exactly."