The Kids Aren't Alright

Erin's eyes dropped as her cheeks burned with shame. That girl. She was going to get herself into trouble one day.

"It'll bleed if you keep pickin' at it."

Erin stopped what she was doing and glanced at the old man. He was staring at her again. "Oh, sorry," she said, dropping her hands once she realized that she was still chewing her nails.

"No need to apologize," he grunted. "You were really picking at it, that's all."

"Yeah, I do that sometimes." She tried not to meet his gaze, and instead kept her eyes pointing forward, hoping he would stop talking to her soon. When he didn't, opting instead to ask her another question which she didn't really hear, she chose to ignore him, but the man was persistent. "Sorry?" she said at last, exasperated.

"I asked if you came here often," he said, blinking in confusion at her sudden lack of [atience.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. For an old man, he sure did talk a lot. Why can't this guy take a hint? But she hid her irritation as well as she could, and replied, "Sometimes."

"You do a lot of stuff sometimes, huh?"

Erin paused, then said, "Sometimes." The man's laughter was a surprising turn - deep and bellyful, it reminded her of one of those mall Santas. It made her feel silly, like she was being paranoid over nothing. Dropping her guard a bit, but only a bit, she asked, "How about you?"

He shook his head. His words took on a serious note as he said, "Used to, with my wife. She's passed on now."

Erin's breath caught in her throat. He's a widower. "Oh," she stuttered, unsure of what she, a stranger, could say in this specific circumstance. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be, it ain't your fault." At this he tilted his head back. "We used to like coming to the movies together. It got us outta the house, you see. But those days are long gone. Not much that can be done." Then he smiled. "But thanks for taking some time out of your day to talk to an old guy like me. It helps, you know, with the ..." He paused, attempting to find the right word. "Loneliness."

Erin thought her heart was going to break. This had to be the saddest thing she'd ever heard. "Don't mention it, sir. Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine. You're a nice girl, you know that?" His eyes glanced at the exit Steph had left through. "Your friend seems nice. Pretty, too."

"She is nice. She's one of my best friends, actually." She wasn't exactly sure why, but she suddenly felt eager to cheer this man up. Maybe it was because of his sad personal history that motivated her to open up to him, inject a little bit of sunshine into his day. And what did you know? He no longer seemed that creepy, not like before at least.

He shifted in his seat a bit so that he was facing towards her. "You ain't so bad looking yourself." A crooked grin spread across his face. "As a matter of fact, you remind me a bit of my wife when she was your age."

Erin said, "Really?"

"Yes. It's in the eyes. You've got kind eyes like hers."

She blushed and turned away. "Um, thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome, miss."

The previews were coming to an end. The movie they'd come to see was called Filthy Rich Russians. It was based on a book with the same name, if she recalled correctly. As the opening credits rolled, the camera opened up over a massive boreal forest. Snowflakes whipped past the viewfinder. A man on a sleigh was mushing a team of dogs forward - in the middle of a blizzard, no less - as a woman lay in the back, covered in blankets. It was clear that she was close to death from her pale, sickly features.

"Faster, faster!" the driver cried. From the desperate and anxious look on his face, Erin extrapolated that this was the woman's lover.

Usually she didn't go in for romance movies. But if she'd known the flick would be part action movie, she might've been more inclined to go see it sooner. She was watching intently when all of a sudden the sled hit a rock; the cargo, including the woman, spilled into the snow as the man went flying through the air, crashing into an embankment, with the sled landing violently on its side. Erin was startled by the crash - it was like a bullet going off in the theater, with the surrounding sound system - even jumping slightly in her seat, but she felt a reassuring weight on her arm and it seemed to calm her down.

The old man was smiling again. "It's all right, miss - just a little bit of excitement is all."

He patted it and turned back to the screen. She almost laughed at herself. Damn, but that came out of nowhere. God, I'm such a scaredy cat. She settled down like the old man, hoping to channel some of his zen for the remainder of the film, as the tortured male lead emerged from the snowbank with all his limbs still attached. He rushed over to the dying Anya, the woman he was transporting, holding her in his arms, whispering to her one final prayer of everlasting devotion and love, when she felt the man's touch settle on her for a second time - only, this time it was lower on her body.

Much lower.

She looked down. The man's bear paw was clasped around her right thigh. Even in the dark she could make out the veins running along the back of his hand, the sparse hairs, and the obscenely large knuckles. The movie continued to play but she was no longer paying attention. She sat in complete silence, frozen for what seemed like forever, too shocked to act.

Is this really happening right now?

It took her several, surreal moments to fully register that, yes, the man was really touching her leg.

Oh, crap. What do I do?!

She tried to nudge his hand off her leg as subtly and gently as she could. She didn't want him to take it personally or risk angering him. She brushed it away and, at first, he seemed to take the hint. When he withdrew the hand, Erin felt a surge of gratitude.

He gets it. He'll stop now and we can pretend that never happened. Anyway, it was probably just an innocent mistake.

But within a few minutes it returned. He began calmly stroking the smooth, supple flesh of her inner thigh.

Erin's mind went into panic mode, trying to figure out a way to make him stop. "Ummm, s-sir?" she whispered, too stunned to move.

The man didn't even look at her as he said, "Yeah, hon?"

"Your hand - it's on my leg." She did a terrible job of keeping the tremor out of her voice.

Only then did his face twitch downwards, and she caught the flash of teeth in the darkness. "Well, would you look at that, so it is."

His hand was warm as it glided across her skin and stockings. Embarrassingly, goose pimples broke out across her legs under his touch. He slipped a finger through a hole in her leggings and toyed with the threading. He even pinched her skin between his forefinger and thumb, creating a buzzing line of pained kisses up her leg. This was so humiliating! Erin shut her eyes and tried not to lose her cool. Her face resembled the color of a stop sign as humiliation (along with a few other emotions she dare not name) assailed her self-confidence. She soon realized that his searching fingers were also trailing dangerously close to her private parts, dancing near enough to be a concern but not so close so as to make their intentions obvious. She gasped.

Oh, no, fuck! What does he think he's doing?

He seemed to be testing the waters for now. But she told herself that if he touched her down there, that she would have no choice but to scream. Never had she imagined that she would find herself in such a compromising position, and yet here she was. She wished she had some kind of escape hatch so that she could extricate herself without causing too much of a disturbance, but alas, she had no such luck. The hand continued to explore the inside of her thigh, free to roam the expanse of skin between her knee and the top of her leg, massaging the muscle methodically and purposefully. To her dismay, it began sweeping closer to her sweet spot, steadily pushing back the hem of her little black skirt, creeping ever closer, and already she was panting as his pinky brushed up against the fabric of her panties -

Luckily, help came in the knick of time. She almost wept with joy when she saw Steph re-emerge from the vestibule. Her friend sauntered up the stairs with another huge soda in hand, and wormed her way down the aisle.

"Excuse me."

The man pulled back as if he had been burnt by something hot. He made room for Steph, who shuffled past him without any theatrics this time around.

"What'd I miss?" she whispered as she sat back down.

Erin looked at her friend in helpless alarm. Several explanations flew rapidly through her mind, none of which sounded more plausible than the last. Her mouth opened and closed in dumbstruck silence.

What do I say? That this old guy touched me? If I tell her what happened, Steph'll flip out and cause a scene. But if I don't, then -

The old fucker beside them coughed loudly and stirred. It was obviously intended as a warning of some kind but she didn't care. The prick could go fuck himself.

Steph watched her and asked, "Erin? What's wrong?" Her friend's eyebrows knitted together in concern. Did she sense something was off?

"Nothing. I'm fine," Erin said finally. She felt eyes from both sides watching her as she carefully turned back to the movie, careful not to give away any signs of her inner turmoil. She was a big girl: she could take care of herself, especially when it came to creeps in movie theaters. She shot the man a withering glare, even though she wasn't certain he noticed.

Touch me again, you piece of shit, see what happens.

The film went on. Erin shifted her weight, quietly tugging the hem of her skirt back down to its previous position. She clasped the pendant around her neck - a purple-and-gold mood stone - and tried to calm the beating of her racing heart. Despite her outward appearance, Erin was fuming with rage. The nerve of this freak! To do something like that to her! Here she was, an eighteen year old girl, out to see a movie with her friend, and this asshole decided to put the moves on her. A grown ass man! He had touched her without her consent; that was assault. She was furious. It was absolutely appalling behavior.

As she sat there, contemplating taking Steph's drink and pouring it over his perverted head and then calling the police, another thought occurred to her, one that slowly subsumed her anger and transformed it into doubt. Her gaze wandered back over to the man, who was staring silently ahead with his fingers crossed in front of him, pretending to watch the movie, as confusion and guilt seeped into her thoughts.

When he was touching her, had she - was she -?

She shook her head. No, it was impossible. Assault was assault no matter what. It was a degrading, violating act that was by no means romantic. She knew in her body and soul that what he had done was wrong, and that her fury was righteous and just.

Erin felt a lump in her throat and a pit open up in the middle of her stomach.

If that was the case, then why were her panties so wet?

Unconsciously, she began sinking into her chair as her misgivings gnawed at her. She pressed her hand over her eyes to hide her embarrassment. Damn it! This is so screwed up. I should never have agreed to come out tonight.

When she looked at Steph, the girl wasn't even watching the flick she had pulled her out of the house to see. She was staring at her phone and noisily slurping her pop, completely ignoring the love-scene taking place at the moment between the two main stars.

Well, isn't that great. We seriously should have just stayed home. It would've been a better use of time than coming out here and getting felt up by the piece of shit next to me.

The minutes passed by. Each one felt like an eternity as Erin sat there, trying to hide her shame and discomfort. But then came a familiar noise that seized her attention and dragged it back into the present.

"Ah, crap."

Erin glanced at her friend, who was shaking her cup again. The ice at the bottom of the cup rattled.

"All out," Steph whispered, frowning.

"Seriously?!" she hissed. She had never been closer to throttling one of her friends in all her life. Why couldn't she just sit still for a few minutes and watch the damn movie?

"W-what?"

Steph's look of confused hurt and worry broke through her anger. "Nothing. Sorry."

The other girl nodded slowly. "Okay, well, mind watching my stuff again? Thanks." She stood up and shuffled out of the aisle. Erin almost grabbed her wrist as she went past, ready to beg her friend to please haul her reluctant ass to safety, to get her out of there. But something held her back.

Why am I such a coward? she wondered, despair and self-loathing crawling through her veins like ice water.

The man beside them, for the third time, made room for Steph, who didn't play any games this time around as she left. In a few seconds, she was down the stairs and out of sight. Never in her life had she prayed so hard for a fire alarm to go off. However, soon Erin was all too aware of the presence beside her ear.

The voice was no longer cheerful and upbeat, but arrogant and haughty. "Like I said, nice girl. She really enjoys her beverages, doesn't she?"

"Shut up," Erin snapped. She was too mad to say anything else.

There was a low chuckle. "Oh, don't be like that. Your friend is definitely pretty, but I've only had eyes for you since I got here. What do you think of that?"

She whirled on him. "If you touch me again, I'll scream," she said through gritted teeth. She wanted him to know that she was being serious, that she wouldn't hesitate to ruin his life.

The old man with the glittering ice-gray eyes looked her over, sizing her up. He took his hat off and scratched his head. "No, I don't think you will," he said after a few moments. He punctuated this statement with a bored yawn.

Suddenly, she felt her strength and need for justice evaporating. He was so ... dismissive. It took the fight right out of her. "What? Why?" she whispered, desperate to know what he saw in her that was so weak and vulnerable and pathetic. More than that, she realized, she needed to know why, out of everyone in this theater, he had chosen her as his victim.

He twisted his body around and met her wavering stare with a stare of his own. "I've met girls like you before," he explained. "You look tough on the outside. You know, one of those strong and silent types. Always the first one to lend a hand whenever somebody needs it. Probably plays a sport. Never a selfish thought for herself, a real team player." Casually, he reached into his coat and withdrew a small pill container of some kind. He twisted the cap off and threw his head back as he downed one of objects within. He swallowed, grimacing, then continued: "Now, that's not to say you're necessarily a good person. It has more to do with the fact that you're too afraid to rock the boat, to draw attention to yourself. So you put on this act, coming off as a girl who's plain and nice, someone who always keeps her head down. It's easy, isn't it? Safe. But for a guy like me, well, you might as well be a thousand-watt bulb in a pitch black room. That's why I chose you - because you won't kick up a fuss."

What was this guy's problem? He seemed crazy. Mentally unstable. Erin shivered under the gaze of those cold and terrible eyes. It was like an energy beam directed right at her, tearing up any thoughts of resistance she might've had and casting the tatters into the wind. She was trembling in her seat.

C'mon, you moron, get a hold of yourself.

But he leaned in closer until his face was barely a few inches away from hers. His breath smelt like mint gum. "But now I think you're anything but plain, and there's certainly a part of you that isn't nice. Far from it, in fact." His hand was suddenly on her thigh again. This time she let him keep it there. "So, how 'bout it, missy? Wanna have a little rodeo with me, hmm?"

There, in that dark theater, with the wall of inevitability bearing down on her, Erin Monaghan experienced an epiphany. She remembered that it wasn't her boyfriend Matt who had suggested the bleachers for their first time together, who had leaned towards their lover during third period and joked about the possibility. No, she was the one who'd come up with that particular scheme, even if she'd come to regret it later. And why had she done that? She racked her brain for the answer until it came to her like a flash of lightning.

Because I liked it.

Something about doing it under the bleachers had turned her on. Now she thought she knew what it was: the fact that it was public. Holy crap. That must have been it. The combination of fear, excitement, and risk of discovery had made her hopelessly aroused. And she was experiencing a very similar reaction here with this man, who, though he frightened her beyond belief, infused in her a heady mixture of trepidation and lust that was an undeniably potent intoxicant.

She remained silent. But he must've seen that his words had the desired impact because he clucked his tongue in approval as her legs parted ever so slightly. Without further ado, he pushed her skirt up until her panties were fully in the open. They were a lacy red pair she liked. She wore them when she wanted to feel good, and normally they did just that. But right now they were having the opposite effect - right now they were making her feel horribly naked and exposed ... and slutty.

The old man didn't seem to mind. "Now, would you look at that?" he purred, running his fingers along the edge of her bikini line. "They're so pretty," he whispered, breathing into her ear, "I have to wonder if you knew I'd be coming here tonight."

"Of course not!" she shot back. A few rows below them, some heads turned around to see what the commotion was. Erin clapped her hand over her mouth and swore.

There came another chuckle. "That's right, miss, better keep your voice down. You don't want others to know what we're doing up here, do you? Imagine what these people would think if they knew you're legs were spread for me with your panties out for the world to see. Imagine what these good, morally upright citizens would think of you if they found out about that. Just relax."

When the suspicion was off them, he helped spread her legs further apart until she was practically splayed before him. Slowly, he started running the palm of his hand over her mound. She almost cried out at the sudden weight of his touch on her most intimate of places. She had to remind herself of where they were in order to maintain control.

She hated the idea of giving this man the satisfaction of seeing her in distress. She gritted her teeth and resolved to ride this out.

I can do this. I can make it through this.

He continued to glide his hand over the soft, frilly material of her undergarments, varying the pressure and speed of his petting. The friction from the silk intensified the sensations coursing through her. She bit her lower lip and shut her eyes.

Just do as he says. It's easier that way. Once he's done, he'll stop and you can go home and forget this ever happened. Just get it over with. Oh god, this is so fucked up!

Gradually, the pace of the touching increased. He poked and prodded at her like a scientist conducting an experiment. She tilted her head back as strange fingers expertly massaged her sex, playing with her vulva through the moistening fabric of her favorite underwear. Blood rushed to her neck and face; her breathing started coming on faster.