The Red Cap
She sat very still and she waited.
When he came, he didn’t even bother to turn the doorknob, instead he decided to kick it down, its frame and all hinges went flying.
Once he had violated the door, he stood erect in the room and all at once in seeing her perched on that bed, he charged himself straight for her until grabbing her right bony arm and he swiftly drew her inches from his face. Jerking herself away didn’t help at all,
it agitated him
and his resolve became all the more furious.
He enjoyed grabbing and clutching her.
She sensed it,
and again with his other hand he kept her close until they were nose-to-nose,
eye-to-eye, face-to-face.
He couldn’t help himself from panting so hard and it wracked his body,
and though they were both clothed, her breast felt his wild and racing heart.
The tang of his whiskey breath made her nose flinch and she tried turning her face from him.
She kept calm and through her tight teeth she said he was hurting her
and he grinned like the Cheshire Cat.
He liked it.
Only now did she realize he was more twisted than she ever imagined.
Her own blood charged through her veins like a cold silver bullet,
starting at her neck,
racing down her legs,
shooting up the spine,
and down her arms and travelling back
spiking up her neck
and skyrocketing out the top of her head.
Pressure from behind her eyes began to give way to a loud banging between her ears.
The tips of her fingers went cold and numb.
How in Hell will she get away?
How in Hell will she survive this one?
He called her names and his spit glazed her face.
She could feel the blood leaving her arms and they began to pound and tingle from his grip;
he gripped her still harder and increased his force.
She knew he had no idea what to with her, to her. She felt her life leave the room.
In turn she began having an out of body experience. No sense begging him to stop, halt.
And besides, if she did manage to utter even the slightest sound he would commit the unthinkable even sooner.
Thin lipped and pursed mouth her jaw felt soldered shut.
Her teeth weren’t grinding but rather firmly clenched.
Her eyes watered and they stung with helplessness and retaliation.
She squeezed her lids closed and felt hot tears drop and roll down her face.
It was going to happen again-again-again, oh G-d, and for what seemed like the millionth time in her life.
Why?
What if suddenly,
what if by some cosmic chance she was able to break away—
or if she had the strength the muscle power to flip him or kick him,
hold on,
where was the adrenalin everyone talks about?
What if she had only confided in someone, anyone, years ago after the very first time it happened?
At this point in her life, there existed zero options, zero allies,
and without a doubt there would be no believers.
Now, here in this point in time, she exists as someone much too old to bring it up,
and she felt sure it would be likely the people she knew would insist she knew better,
and being that the case
she is, after all, educated and would most definitely appear absurd, crazy by claiming ignorance and fright.
They came from the same economic background but in his mind she was way more privileged than he,
and he deeply resented her for it.
He was older than she, and he was certain it was her presence; her uninvited existence that robbed him from a myriad of opportunities he most definitely could have had.
He could have had everything he dreamed of wanted if it wasn’t for her.
As if.
At long last he let go of her and two handedly shoved her backward onto a bed.
She became aware of the sounds of people laughing just outside the window.
Music played, and she could hear the voice of Harry Chapin singing:
“… And the cat’s in the cradle with a silver spoon,
little boy blue and the man on the moon.
‘When you coming home Dad?’
‘I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then, son.
You know we’ll have a good time then.”
She exhaled and closed her eyes.
Fade to black.
To be continued . . .
