He instructed me to be here at this specific table at precisely 7:30pm. I've seen his face a million times on my screen; I know I would recognize him in a heartbeat.
I stir my martini with the olive-donned pick, staring into what's left of the clear liquid. He's not coming, I resign in my mind and quickly swallow down the rest of my drink.
I grab my purse and rise from my chair simultaneously as a hand covers my mouth, a body is pressed into the back of mine, and a mouth growls ever so intently into my ear the words "don't scream, don't fight me, let's go."
My breathing increases instantly and becomes more ragged as he escorts me towards the back of the bar, directing me with his hand in the small of my back, not speaking another word. We make it to the exit that I know leads to the dark alley and a full fledge panic attack is on the horizon.
His hand pushes me out into the alley where I stumble over my heels and catch myself by my hands on the wet road, realizing now that maybe that second martini wasn't such a great idea.
My head swimming, still somewhat confused, and completely scared, I look around to find my assailant. A handful of my hair is now in his grip, pulling me up from behind, as I hear him say "Did I say you could look at me?"
"N...No sir," I mumble and he grips my hair tighter and forcefully slams me forward into the brick wall of the adjoining restaurant.
"Louder," he demands.
"No Sir," I state very clearly.
Satisfied with my response, he releases his grip on my hair and spins me around. He replaces his grip on my throat this time as he pushes me tighter against the wall.
