It really is such a waste when it rains at night. I can hear it and smell it, but I can't see it. The blackness outside is solid, as though there is really nothing beyond my open bedroom door. I walk naked out onto the screened porch to get closer to the rain for a moment, as it washes the world.
It's time to lie down in a moment and let the rain usher me into that half-waking state where anything can happen. At least in my imagination. But now I just want to smell the wetness and the dirt it's soaking into.
I walk back into the bedroom and flip the ceiling fan on to stir the heavy air. The sheets are cool as I lie on my back, knees bent to catch some air. So cool and soft. A fine sheen of sweat covers me as I pull my fingers down my front, across one nipple to my navel and after lingering there, I touch that tenderly ticklish place between my lower abdomen and the top of my leg. Its not sexual but sensory. The fan whips the air pushing it down on me and now I have goose flesh spreading down my arms. I spread my legs slightly just so skin doesn't touch skin anywhere. Too hot but so sleepy.
The next moment, my eyes are shot open by a small sound that I shouldn't have heard. I can't tell if it's a footstep or the cat brushing against something out on the porch. The blackness where the door is gives me no information but my eyes are wide and I'm so still, listening. I forget to breathe. I hear the cat yawn on the night stand beside me and I know where he is - not on the porch. My heart pounds and I can hear blood rushing in my ears. I listen for long minutes but I hear nothing more and now I start to relax again. Who knows what that was... nothing... soon I'm drifting again, and the rain continues to sing to me.
"Shhh," he softly says, "Everything is fine. You're fine. Nothing bad is happening. Shhhhh." I start to scream but air catches in my throat and nothing happens. I think my heart is swollen in fear until it's stuffing all the air back down into my lungs. A cold sickening abyss of fear is on me now and I can't control it. "Shhh," he says again, placing his hands on either side of my face to still me. He is right at my ear now, bending over me, but touching only my face. I smell the leather of his jacket and some dampness from the rain drips onto my shoulder. It makes me shudder and I can't tell if it's fear or coldness that trembles me so.
He moves one hand down to my left hand and catching my fingers, pulls my hand to his mouth. He breathes in deeply then raises my arm above my head, holding it there against the headboard. "Nothing bad is happening to you. I won't hurt you." I roll my head away from him, sick with terror. He's strong. I can feel it in his hands. He's not forceful but tense. He's careful and deliberate as he moves to place his hip against mine to hold me down. With his free hand, he pulls my other arm from beneath us both and it's over my head now also. He holds both my wrists in one hand easily and I'm powerless.
There have been times in the past when I would imagine being overcome by someone, an attacker, a mugger... Surely I could fight them. I always imagined I could resist somehow and get away. What is it we're supposed to do? Fingers in the eyes or groin? All I can remember now is to kick out a taillight if I'm bound in the trunk of a car. Stop, drop and roll... Nothing, nothing helps me now. He's so much stronger than I am - I had no idea. No man has ever used force on me before. How was I to know?
He's talking softly to me again, trying to calm me. "I won't hurt you... I promise. No one is going to hurt you. Nothing bad is happening. Shhhh" His mantra goes on and on for some time and all he does is hold my hands over my head. He touches my skin sometimes but just a soft pet to calm me down. Slowly, I relax some and try to think. Memorize everything I can about him. His hands are not rough. He smells clean enough, like the rain. The leather of his coat is soft, a good coat. He's wearing a wide-brimmed hat. Not a cowboy hat... smaller, maybe a fedora. What other detail can I record? He's a white man, I'm fairly sure. His voice isn't rough or course, but controlled. Why is he here? Why doesn't he take what he wants and leave me alone?
"I'm not going to take anything," he says, repeating my own thoughts. "Not even you. Shhh, now. Nothing bad is happening."
He shifts slightly and pulls something from his coat pocket. It's a piece of rope or twine, maybe four feet of it. He deliberately pulls it through my fingers so I can feel it. It's soft like suede and as he's running it through my fingers, he wraps it around my wrists and secures it to the decorative wrought iron that I so admired when I bought this set. I think it's my enemy now and somehow I feel hurt by that. I choke back a halting sob suddenly and he touches my face again. "Nothing is going to hurt you. Certainly not I" He said "I"; not "me". He's educated. How many people use that pronoun properly? Almost no one.
My wrists are cocked at an odd angle and I begin to lose sensation in my finger tips. I flex my hand and try to lift one arm slightly. "Does that hurt? Is it too tight?" he asks. He forces a single finger into the knot and yanks sharply startling me, but the restraint doesn't turn lose. It has eased up some now and it's better. A little better, I think. He straightens up a bit and uses three fingers to lift his hat slightly; he shakes his head quickly beneath the brim and the hat settles back into place. His leather jacket is open, bare skin underneath.
"What do you want?" I ask. "Whatever you want, you can have. Just take it, OK? I won't tell anyone. I swear." I barter with everything I have except I have nothing and he has everything.
