If you are here merely for sexual release, I suggest one of the earlier chapters in this series (or another one of my stories). If you are here because you want to know what happens next, hurry up and keep reading.
*
Louise was walking along the side of the road. Her backpack was on her back, her other bag she had abandoned. Most of all, she wanted to hide in the fields, but the only one who knew where she was, the only one who might think of searching in the fields, was the one she didn't want to be found by.
Stop thinking about him. He won't be coming back, he let you go.
Where people were, that was where she needed to be. It was too dark. Louise had been afraid of the dark when she was small, but now she knew there were real things to fear. The darkness was her friend now. If he should come back she could run into it, hide in it.
Just as Louise realised dark was good, the moon came out lighting the fields and the road alike.
He let me go. He won't come back,
Louise tried to convince herself.
It's over now.
A car was speeding in the distance. Louise stopped and stared at the far off headlights. Not sure why she was so sure it was speeding. No cars had passed her since he had dropped her off. If one had she would have jumped out on the road, waving and screaming to stop it.
The speeding car would be the first to come.
Louise stared at the, still far off, headlights, thinking that standing in front of a speeding car, probably wasn't a good idea. Maybe it would still stop for her if she jumped and screamed at the side of the road.
The headlights came closer, but Louise didn't make a move to jump and wave.
I'll stop the next car.
For some reason she didn't want that particular car to stop.
Hide.
How fast was that car driving? American roads were so damned long and straight, distances were hard for her to estimate.
Run.
She couldn't see what kind of car it was in the moonlight, she could just see the headlights.
Louise stood absolutely still, staring at those speeding headlights. She could hear it now. Tires and engines roaring, purring loudly as if the car had been born to hunt.
Run!
Her hands were trembling within the bandages covering her lower arms, wrists and palms.
It's not him. Why would he let me go just to...
The car was really close, she still stared straight at it, now to convince herself that it wasn't his car. But, if it wasn't his car then why wasn't she jumping and waving?
At high speed the car approached, it was really close now. It would pass soon. Louise's breath was shallow and fast.
It will pass soon.
But she knew it wouldn't, deep down she knew it even before the car started slowing down.
Her hands reached for her backpack straps but couldn't get hold of them. Her breath thundered even above the noise of the car. She had to get the backpack off. If she didn't get it off, she couldn't run properly.
The car was almost at her. Her hands clawed helplessly at her shoulders, trying to get hold of those straps. The car passed her with whining breaks. It sounded like the scream of a charging feline.
Louise turned to the field and raised a foot to run. The backpack was heavier than ever. She couldn't get it off, and it was pushing her down, pushing her feet into the ground.
The soil in the field was soft and deep. Her feet stuck in it. He was right behind, she knew it. Both her feet sunk into the field, she was sinking, the mud was eating her alive.
"I will never let you go," said 'Joe' from behind her. "You are mine."
Panting, Louise sat up in bed.
It's a dream. It's a dream.
She raised a hand to her forehead.
"Du drømmer bare," she whispered. - You're just dreaming.
Her heart was pounding overtime, playing techno on her ribs. She was sweating, her whole body was drenched in it. Especially her panties.
That isn't sweat.
The corners of Louise's mouth pulled down in disgust at the realisation.
Three months had passed since 'Joe' had let her go, had caught her again, and had let her go again.
Louise laid back into her bed and stared up at her ceiling, trying her best not to hate herself for being physically aroused.
For three months, she hadn't had sex. That wasn't all that different from life before 'Joe'. She could go for months without sex. With her demands to sex, finding a partner wasn't as easy as going to the nearest pub. No, she had always been able to go some months without.
Her bruises were gone. Even her wrists were back to normal. There was no evidence left that 'Joe' had ever happened.
Really, nothing needed to be different. She had returned home and had resumed her life.
Shit happens, but then you move on.
So, she had chosen not to have sex. That was only natural and healthy. Wasn't it? A time out to refind herself before resuming. Nobody would advice a rape-victim to hurry up and jump back into intimacy, would they?
Louise's heart was still pounding too hard.
Fear and nausea.
Fear...
Louise hadn't reported the crime.
He came back.
Louise had been in one hell of a hurry to get her feet off American soil.
He let me go and then he came back.
Louise hadn't even tried to reimburse part of her ticket home, she had just bought a new one. Every step of the way home she had glanced over her shoulder, because, he had let her go, she had been safe, and then he had come back for her.
And nausea...
When a woman was raped, something would change inside her, and she would no longer desire sex. She would be frigid until finding a man who, with love and caring, could reinstate her sex drive. Or, alternately, the woman would seek strength inside herself, she would refind herself, her feminine values, and would resume her life fully --including sex.
At least that was the understanding Louise had gained from society and fiction. That was the story, right?
Woman got raped, woman lost her desire for sex. That's how it was supposed to happen.
So why hadn't that happened? Tears formed in Louise's eyes. Why the fuck hadn't that happened?
Louise hadn't contacted the authorities, neither American nor Danish, and Louise hadn't sought help. She had just returned home and had resumed her life. Nobody knew what had happened on her vacation, nobody but her and 'Joe Payne'.
What if he comes back again?
Louise glanced at the baseball bat on her night-stand.
He won't come back.
