InsaneJournal

He wasn't going to kill her. She knew that much. Her mouth would have started going already, if that were the case; rattling off some story so convoluted he'd have no choice but to let her go. That was how it worked. Her life was in peril, and she started talking.

But she remained mute when he found her in the parking garage, shoved her into the back of his car. It was a Sunday: the casino would have been quiet, and he was parked a few floors up. The blow to her head made her compliant. His fist balled in what was left of her dress made her quiet. Getting what he deserved, he said. You didn't flirt with a guy, give him all that good luck at the tables, and just walk away, did you? And when he'd tried to catch up with her--she was being a fucking bitch. She was a bitch and he wasn't having it.

She couldn't even remember his name.

Her head throbbed and a small puddle of blood matted her blonde hair to her forehead, where his class ring had struck. He couldn't be older than 19, big for his age, uncomfortable in his own skin. His friends had left him when Lucy had sidled up, slipped her arm around his waist and felt for his wallet. The boy was awkward, goofy, ultimately good-natured. Easy pickings. He didn't seem the type to follow a pretty girl into a parking lot, thump her in the back of the head and drag her off--but maybe she was just the proverbial straw.

She'd never see those panties again, ripped in two ragged pieces on his car's floor. Everytime she opened her mouth to scream, he covered it with his meaty hand and knocked her head against the door, just enough to keep her barely conscious. The sunroof floated in and out of watery view, and she could feel him shove that dress, the dress she'd worn to make men think they could do these sorts of things--she'd had such success with this dress--she could feel it slide roughly up her legs and stomach, seams popping and tearing. Her hands came up weakly, reached for his face, his eyes, his mouth, grabbing and grasping, and he easily smacked them away. Focus faded out again, and when it came back, he was struggling with his belt.

It hurt more than she thought it would, in the end.

He came with a hand on her throat and the other holding her right arm down against the floor, her left pinned painfully beneath her. He shook when it happened, trembled all over like it was his first time, shoved in the back of his dad's Camry with a girl whose real name he didn't know. Lucy was breathing haggardly, eyes swimming, and the boy seemed to realize, several moments after the fact, that he had finished.

"Come on," he said quietly, crouching above her and pulling his pants back on. He looked hastily out the back windows before clambering out of the car and into the parking lot. Lucy was bruised and quiet, and he had to slap her leg to get her moving. "Get out. Come on, get out."

She obeyed. Her hands were shaking, and one of her heels had broken. She couldn't find her purse. Where had it fallen? The boy pulled her out by her trembling arms and set her up against the car next to his. After a moment of hesitation, he pulled her dress down, got into his car, and drove away.

It took another fifteen minutes before she could move. Her mouth was dry and aching, and she couldn't turn her head without feeling his hands squeezing her throat. Her hips hurt. There were bruises forming along her arms, and her dress was torn. Lucy felt the other car, cold and smooth, against her back. It beeped loudly.

"Hey--" another voice. Another man. Forties, she could already tell before she made herself turn around. The voice immediately softened, and Lucy's hand went up abruptly to her forehead. Shit. "Jesus," he said, coming closer. "Are you all right?"

She pushed her hair back and tugged her dress down, suddenly self-conscious. That had never happened before. The man was attractive in his own way, in a three-piece suit and tie; he probably worked for the casino. She felt the mojitos from earlier coming back up. "I'm fine."

"You don't look--"

"I fell," she said sharply, and limped away from his car. "I'm fine."

The man asked a few more times, and Lucy was able to muster up a few swears that got him muttering, but finally he clambered into his car and, giving her a dubious look, drove off. The wheels echoed in the parking garage, and Lucy, wincing, removed her ruined shoes to follow the exit arrows down. Her purse was around here somewhere: car keys, mirror, phone. She'd go home, shower, sleep. Call John. Tell him this week's con was off. Maybe mock a few stupid fucks on the journals. Yeah. That was what she'd do. Easy to forget on the journals.

Easy pickings.