With about as much motor coordination at the moment as a particularly angry ragdoll, Dahlia's head slammed against the siding of the trailer as he pinned her, then went slack for a few beats--followed by the bottle in hand slipping from her grasp and echoing the clunk of her head as it hit the deck, intact. Blinking encroaching darkness out of her vision, she stared blearily at the shadowy face of a man she could not remember--familiar, somehow, but lost to whiskey--with a nearby street lamp catching the back of his head in a halo of light.
The confusion came freely, while her rattled brain caught up. "--fuck you--asshole--get outta--s'my stuff--" she slurred, tongue thick in her mouth. Within her limited range of motion, she pawed at his forearms and pushed back against his grip, trying to figure out why she--
Under the face of a man darkened by shadow.
And--and the light--
Dahlia froze. No-- Her heart hitched. No fuck no no-- Horror dawned in her eyes and, despite the cold, she could feel sweat trickling down her ribs. Not again--
Her pushback intensified, clawing and writhing with renewed desperation of a drowning victim--which she was, in a sense, as rising memories of her nightmares threatened to swallow her whole. "Ssh--who--" Her voice cracked as her expression imploded inward with a raw, almost childlike fear. Like she didn't know whether she wanted to scream or cry or throw up. Or possibly do all three, all at once.
Her stomach rolled, and Dahlia suddenly regretted all of that whiskey. Swallowing hard, she began to demand, "Who sent you--who fuckin' SENT YOU--" before escalating into her loudly insisting she 'ain't going back, not again' between more incoherent shouting and panicked struggling.