More doors than she had ever seen in a ship. Perhaps she hadn’t been used to sailing yet, but Malina never found herself fond of floating on wood, out in a large body of water... in the middle of nowhere.
Sephora stepped out of the elevator behind her with both of their luggage at grasp. Swishing in his left pocket for their room key, he perfectly balanced the weight of the bags in one arm.
Malina, holding nothing other than a polished briefcase, eyed one of the doors at the very end of the hall rattle, before opening. It was as if the occupants had been arguing, and whomever it was that lost, was spit out like an old piece of gum.
The guy could have been no older than twenty-two.
Stuck to his lips was dried blood, and a soft smile. Two things that didn’t mix.
Sephora stopped flustering with the key when the door had reopened, and a familiar figure stood in the frame. With a crumpled jean jacket in his hand, and a bored look to his face, Rafe tossed it in his victim’s face.
“You forgot your ass wipe,” he grunted, without looking up.
It was a voice so strong it pulled Malina back to the past. A voice that curled in her ear that very night. “Why don’t you like me?” he said before grabbing her arm.
Malina tried to pull away but his hold was stronger than she had imagined. His nails almost sinking into her.
In this moment, she tried not to panic. She kept a sweet smile, like her step mother told her to do, whenever men looked at her funny. She tried to focus on her escape route, because the main road was just around the corner. But Rafe was her friend. Right? She wouldn’t need to escape.
The last thing she thought he’d do was begin to strip her. He’d pull her blouse down so hard, that it would rip the front. He’d clasp his hand over her mouth, so that if she tried to scream, no one would here a single word.
So, Malina took to desperate measures. She bit down on the skin that folded out beside her quivering lips, with all the strength she could muster. She swore this would have caused him to scream or do anything enough to capture someone’s attention; but his hand stayed there, locked, like a dog’s jaw at fight. She felt his blood pool in her mouth, invading her space. It left her chocking, until she was forced to swallow.
He was taking her down a hole. A dark hole that she couldn’t breathe in. Tears streaked down her cheeks, as her throat took over for her. She shrilled it raw. If she survived this, she wouldn’t have a voice the next morning.
In that moment, she believed nothing could stop her monster. He was a god. He could take as he pleased. He could do as he pleased. No one could challenge that.
They told her she was with him for three minutes and twenty-six seconds.
“How did you get that exact time?” she whispered, barely able to speak.
“The man who saved you was military.” Was all they told her.
Three minutes and twenty-six seconds.
Three minutes and twenty-six seconds.
Three minutes and twenty-six seconds.
It felt like days to her. But as soon as she heard the whipping of a fist, and the crack of bone, she was awoken like the sun had just risen.
They later told her that she was on a frenzy. The doctors said she was on a cusp of a panic attack. Some described it at a mental break down.
He pulled his jacket to cover her bare chest, while whispering something that sounded Turkish to her. She assumed he wasn’t from the area by the way his perfect accent drifted through the open air. She just laid there, watching him with tear stained eyes.
When she felt the sudden coolness of his hand on her cheek, she cried even harder. Her brain began playing tricks on her. It was fooling her into thinking that he wanted something too. And so, would the next man, and the next after that. They’d just keep coming and coming until she gave them her all.
It was nice to be wrong.
He waited there with her. One hand was busily holding hers, and the other keeping her head settled. He was yelling something around the street. Something she didn’t understand. Although, after seeing red and blue lights, she assumed it was a cry for help. Or rather an order. He faded into the other faces. He smiled only once. And that was when she repeated after him.
“Güvendesin,”
Even then when he grinned, she saw it as a pathetic effort to soothe her. No one else was smiling. So, why try to sugar coat it? Nothing was okay. Here she was, lying in a stretcher, because of some self-absorbed piece of shit liked her, and she didn’t like him back.
When she was lifted to the back of the ambulance, she could finally see his entire figure now; along with the blood on his shirt, that she had spit up, and his muscular arms crossed over professionally, like he had been catching rapist for years.
His dark hair wasn’t out like it was in the bar, but instead pulled from his face with one loose, curled stain at his forehead. The authority ringing off him interested her. Malina wanted that type of confidence.
And with years of maturing, and growing she had made it. She was strong enough.
Rafe held her gaze now, after realizing she was down the hall. Something cool went across her back. Perhaps Sephora’s grip, angling her into the room.
“Let’s go in,” he said.
Malina wanted to run down that hall, and murder him in cold blood. She wanted to hold her hand over his mouth and skin him bare. But then again, she wasn’t that Malina. She was stronger.