Kidnapped

Walking through the giant waterfront market, she couldn't help thinking how the city never failed to overwhelm her. Raised on a small island in the Pacific Northwest, she couldn't wait for graduation, so she could leave home, buy an apartment, and never return to the country. She passionately hated the small high school, the lack of cell reception, and the disturbing lack of excitement. The local newspaper took seven months to stop posting the new ferry as the front page news.

She walked down a flight of stairs, deeper into the market, and couldn't help but think that she should find some sort of pepper spray; the market was busy enough, but she came from an island, so the poorly lit flea market was wholly uncomfortable.

She checked her watch; she was meeting a group of girls for a friend's 18th birthday, the youngest in her friend group. But that wasn't for a couple of hours, so she had plenty of time to see all there was to see in the market.

She picked a silk crimson scarf from a rack in the hallway, and walked into the tiny shop to wrap it around her neck. With her dark brown hair, and her contrastingly pale skin, the color red had always looked good on her. She glanced at the tag. God damn it. There was no way she could afford that. She regretfully put the scarf on a table, and walked around the rest of the displays, trying to avoid the eyes of the shop keeper. Interacting with salespeople always made her nervous.

Finding nothing she wanted, she headed for the door, but as she left, the scarf caught her eye again. Come on Christine, what the hell, she thought. She so rarely treated herself to anything, and she was hardly ever in the city. She took the scarf up to the register, declining a bag, choosing instead to thrust it in her purse. She vaguely realized she should probably be more careful with new clothes, but she dismissed the thought. She liked to look good, but she didn't go as far as to think too much about the quality or care for clothing.

She walked back up the stairs to the main street, cursing the shoes she had chosen to wear. She and her friends were planning to go clubbing, and so she made the effort to look slightly more attractive. She was wearing a creamy gold fitted top, matched with a little skirt and short, heeled boots. The shoes weren't uncomfortable, but after walking all day, the hills were getting progressively more difficult. Sometimes she felt ridiculous for even trying; her tiny island community made dating almost impossible, not when everyone remembers the braces and too big coats worn every day in middle school. She should just accept that she wasn't going to do anything until college, no matter how much she wished for once her fingers could be replaced with someone else's.

She double-checked the address where she was supposed to meet for dinner. She would probably be around a half hour early (they were meeting at 7:30), but she decided it would be nice to sit down.

She walked up the hill towards downtown, mind wandering to what it would be like to live there, and get away from the monotony of the island. Just five more months, she reminded herself. Five more months, then I'm free.

She came to an intersection, and turned the corner to walk towards the main road. Instead, she let out a muffled scream of fright as she was grabbed from behind and dragged backwards into an alley. She was shoved against a brick wall, crying out in pain as her head slammed into the building. His sweaty hand clamped over her mouth, the figure put his face up to her ear.

"Pretty girl," he slurred, his free hand groping at her body. "We're gonna have a great time." She gagged into his hand; the smell of booze and vomit surrounded her. She jerked her elbow back into his ribs. He swore in pain, pulling back slightly. She yanked free, and started desperately back towards the public street, tears of pure terror pouring down her cheeks. She let out a choked shriek as he slammed into her, knocking her to the ground and pinning her down.

"Fucking bitch," he snarled, his bloodshot eyes narrowed furiously. "You'll pay for that, you stupid whore." She let out another terrified sob as he grabbed her around the neck and squeezed, his free hand ripping the shirt down the front.

"No, please, no," She gasped, clawing at the hand cutting off her breath. This can't be happening! God help me! She writhed beneath him, trying to buck him off her.

"Don't fucking move, you hear me?" He slapped her so hard she saw spots. "Little slut."

He released her arms to shove a hand up her skirt. Oh god no, please no. She heard the sound of a zipper and let out a frantic scream, wriggling and pleading. He slapped her again, twice, and punched her in the stomach.

"I fucking told you not to move!" She jerked her head to the side as he leaned forward and tried to roughly kiss her, stubble scratching at her bruised cheeks. He ripped her panties off and shoved his hand upwards.

"I love your pussy," He groaned, his hot breath hitting her ear. "Gonna fucking shove my dick into you, gonna fill you up. I bet you'll like that, whore, won't you?"

She let out a despairing sob. How sad is it to lose your virginity to rape?

"Pleasepleaseplease someone help me," she begged, clenching her eyes shut in horrified preparation of the awful act to come.

Then to her complete shock, the man smothering her was violently torn off of her. She heard a horrible ripping sound followed by a choked gurgle of her attacker. She desperately tried to get her eyes to focus, scrambling back against the bricks in her terror and confusion.

There was a thud, and a tall form turned back towards her, even as a delicate hand grasped her arm. She let out a frightened half-sob, flinching away.

"It's okay, calm down." To her surprise, the voice was a woman's. Christine focused on her face, taking in a pale, beautiful woman in her mid-twenties.

"I'm Elena," the woman said soothingly, pressing closer to Christine, supporting her. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Christine," she choked out, taking deep breaths. She let out another cry of fear as the man who she'd seen came into her line of view, kneeling next to the woman. Elena. He looked remarkably similar to his companion, with the same black hair and dark eyes.

"You're safe now," Elena grabbed ahold of her hand. Christine slowly calmed herself, staring mutely at the two strangers. She heard her phone vibrating, and remembered suddenly where she was.

"I, I have to go," she mumbled, abruptly standing up, futilely tugging at her damaged clothes. "I, thanks." With that inadequate goodbye, she stumbled towards the alley entrance, barely registering the still form of her attacker. All she could think about was getting out of there, getting home.

Then a strong male hand wrapped around her upper arm. She spun, looking up at the dark eyes of her savior in alarm, fear slowly creeping back in. "Let me go," she said feebly, trying to yank out of his grasp. She was getting dizzy from shock, and was having trouble thinking straight.

His dark eyes burned into hers. "No," he said simply, bringing his hand up to the base of her neck and pressing down hard. And then she knew no more.