His large hand, stiff like hardwood, wrapped around her neck so easily. He could snap it in half very quickly with a light squeeze. Staring weakly into his eyes as he choked her, she realized that she was in deep trouble.
His voice came soft, yet thundering in her head like a hurricane on steroids. "Take off your clothes, right now."
Somehow, from God knows where, she found the mindless urge to oppose him. Even as her leg shook, and her thighs slowly grew wet from what she couldn't tell to be either piss—out of fear, or…
"No. If you want to do it, you'll have to rape me." She stupidly managed to say. Her voice sounding like a diseased kitten with a serious sore throat.
He wasn't pleased with her answer. She could tell. His grasp around her throat seemed to tighten even more. If his eyes weren't so rabid and red with lust, she wouldn't have doubted for a second that he was trying to kill her. But obviously, he wasn't.
The growing bulge on his trouser told her so.
Like a manic beast, he grabbed onto her shirt and ripped it off her body. Almost immediately, she felt the wetness between her thighs grow. Her protests weren't going to stop him.
With one hand, he took off his own shirt. Slightly tearing it as well in a sex-crazed rage. His chest was like a carved out replica of what she'd imagined Zeus to look like. They looked almost swollen. Too big for one person to have. And his abs, too carved to be real.
His chest throbbed as he pressed her harder against the wall. She couldn't tell if he knew she was staring at them, because he grabbed her hand and placed it on his chest.
His skin was hot. She could feel him shaking. Palpitating from all that pent up energy.
His voice came again like thunder, but softer this time. Much softer. "I don't want to have to do this the hard way, so just do as I say. You're mine," then he leaned closer. His voice fading into a near whisper that tickled her between her legs, "Besides, I know you want to do it too."
A FEW DAYS EARLIER
Sally Gordon had learned very early in life that invisibility was the closest thing to safety. If you kept your head down, if you moved quickly without bumping into anyone, if you dressed plainly and never raised your voice, then the sharks usually swam past you. It was the lesson she'd learnt from middle school cafeterias, locker rooms, and bus rides home: disappear or be devoured.
She was eighteen now, and still disappearing.
West Haven High buzzed with an energy that could make a variety of impressions on people. The last bell had rung ten minutes ago, spilling hundreds of teenagers out of the building and into the lots. All of them subjectively happy and looking like they were having the best time of their lives.
But not Sally. She walked in the opposite direction. Her backpack pulled high on her shoulders, and her sneakers gently scraping the ground with each step that she took. She didn't linger by the benches or the steps like the other kids. She didn't belong in those circles. The laughing girls taking endless selfies, the boys tossing a football that barely missed her head.
No one turned. No one noticed her flinch.
That was how it always was. She was a shadow stitched into the corner of yearbook photos. The kind of girl whose name you might recognize only because she'd once been the center of a cruel joke.
"Gordon, like the food brand. Guess she eats enough of it."
"She looks like a before picture."
"Wait, who?"
She felt a painful heat rise in her cheeks just from remembering.
Nonetheless, she was ever so glad to have been able to make it this far into the year without any fresh humiliation. But the quiet was fragile. She couldn't trust it. Not now, not ever.
As she walked up to the road just behind the school, she realized that her bus was late again. A broken-down thing from another district that coughed up smoke whenever it pulled up. She leaned against a lamppost with her arms tight around her books, watching kids split off into groups and after-school hangouts.
Laughter rolled across the lot in careless waves, none of it aimed at her but all of it reminding her that she didn't belong inside it.
"You're almost home," she told herself. "Just wait it out. Then you can lock your door, put on music, and no one will matter. Not even you."
That was when it happened.
A tug, sudden and violent. It yanked her backward. Her backpack strap wrenched her shoulder as she hit the hot asphalt. Her palms skidded across gravel, grazing her deeply.
Pain shot up her arms, and for a second she couldn't even breathe. She just stared at the pavement an inch from her nose. Grit, dirt, and dust smearing her skin.
Then suddenly a shadow crouched above her. A boy in a black hoodie, with his face mostly hidden.
He smelled musty. Like sweat and car oil.
His hands violently and quickly moved across her body. Eagerly searching her for what she imagined to be money. Unsurprisingly, he found something: her phone. It was gone before she could even react.
"Please—" The word tore through from her throat, thin and cracked. Weak, tired and defeated. It wasn't loud enough to reach anyone.
The boy didn't bother answering. He ran immediately he'd gotten what he wanted. Disappearing as quickly as her phone did.
Her chest tightened so much she thought she would suffocate.
Not just from fear, but from shame. It was always shame. She had frozen, helpless, just like always. Too weak to even shout for help. But then again, who'd help someone like her.
She blinked fast, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
Suddenly, footsteps thundered behind her.
It wasn't the thief. It was a different stride. Faster, heavier.
A figure blurred past her, tall and powerful. In five strides he caught up to the thief. With one hand, he grabbed on to the hood, and with the other, he slammed him sideways into the nearest car.
The metal dented upon impact, forcing the car to blare up in a shriek that drowned the thief's sudden scream very easily.
The stolen phone flew from his grip and slid across the pavement.
The figure—the rescuer, bent down, snatched it up, and dusted it off with his hand. Going as far as rubbing out a slight scratch with his thumb. Then he turned to face her.
The afternoon sunlight seemed to reflect off the strands of his hair, dazzling her with a pale bright gold. His grin was slight but crooked, easy, as if brawling with thieves in a parking lot was a day's job for him.
"Hey," he said. His voice soft, yet filled with adrenaline. "Are you alright?"
It was Ethan Pierce.
Sally's heart seemed to miss like five beats in a row, before struggling to catch up.
Everyone knew Ethan. Captain of not just the school's soccer team, but the attention of pretty much the whole school. He had the kind of confidence that lit up rooms with just the mere presence of it. Teachers smiled more, girls laughed louder, boys straightened their backs. He lived in the center of every hallway, while Sally lived somewhere in the back corner with her back pressed against the wall.
And now, here he was, standing in front of her.
Looking at her.
She felt like screaming. But then she realized she was still laying on the pavement.
She scrambled upright, brushing the dirt from her palms. Her cheeks burned. Whether it was from pain or embarrassment, she couldn't tell. It was probably both. She nodded quickly, afraid that if she spoke, it would come out as a squeak, or it would scare him away.
Ethan tilted his head, studying her. "Alright, here you go," he said, handing the phone to her. Their fingers brushed when she took it. Sending electricity surging through her like she was hit by a thunderbolt.
"T-Thank you," she whispered.
"Anytime." His grin widened.
"He's smiling, for me. Because of me," the thought sailed through her head.
Meanwhile, the thief had already snuck off, limping toward the street. No one followed him. There was no need to do so.
The rest of the lot had hardly noticed what happened. They were too busy with their own noise. But to Sally, the air felt alive, like the whole world had shifted and no one else had seen it, except for her of course.
Ethan calmly walked beside her, guiding her back toward the main steps, like she was his girlfriend. He didn't seem to care if someone saw them. It all seemed too easy for him. Maybe it was. But for her, it was dizzying.
She stole glances at him, memorizing the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lips curved as he grinned softly. Who knew when next she'd be fortunate enough to be this close to him.
But still, it gave her hope.
Maybe, just maybe, this was it. This was the moment everything turned. The moment she stopped being invincible. Who knew? Maybe she never was. Maybe he'd actually always had his eyes on her.
It would make sense as to why he was the only one that seemed to notice that she was being robbed.
For once, she let herself believe in a dangerous thought: maybe someone had finally seen her.
And for the first time in years, the rule she lived by: stay invisible, stay safe—didn't feel like the only way forward. At least not until Ethan did the unthinkable.