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Chapter TWELVE

It's the middle of the night when I wake suddenly. For a long minute I lie in the darkness, trying to figure out what woke me. A streetlight in the alley shines through the window and everything looks normal. Did I have a dream?

Weight shifts on my bed, and I bolt up, scrambling backward as I make out a shadowy shape against the darker night. "Get out!" I'm scrambling for my phone, on the night table, but I can't find it.

"Shh, baby. It's only me."

Rick. I let go of a breath. "What are you doing here?"

"I just needed to see you." He moves up, and I pull my knees closer to me. "I know you're mad at me, but we have something good. I miss you. I can't even think straight." His hands fall on my feet, tentatively.

I shift, but the table is blocking my way off the bed. My senses are on high alert, and while I'm trying to think of the best thing to say I'm looking for an escape route. The bed is in the corner of the tiny room, and the dresser is at the end. If I jump up-

He reaches for my knee, and now I can smell the alcohol on his breath. "Jess, I love you. Like crazy-love you."

I put my hand on the back of his, appeasing. "Rick, I know. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to break your heart."

"If you're sorry, let's get back together and this will be over with."

I shake my head slowly. Where is my phone? "I can't, Rick."

He jumps up, flinging his body into the middle of the room. "It's that guy, isn't it? The one who was here the other day?"

"No." I flip on the lamp, but the phone isn't on the table.

It's in his hand.

That sends a bolt of terror through my body, though I'm not sure why. He's never hurt me. He loves me.

I stand up. "Let me make you some coffee." With more confidence than I'm feeling, I start to push by him.

He grabs me around the waist. "No coffee. I just want you." He's a tall guy, very thin, but strong. His bloodshot eyes take in the tank top and panties that are all I wore to bed. He touches my breast boldly. "This is mine, you know that."

I wiggle out of his grip, my mouth suddenly filled with the coppery taste of fear. "No. I belong to me."

Shoving him away, I head for the door of the bedroom, but he grabs my braid and yanks me back, hard enough that it brings tears to my eyes and jerks me off my feet. My elbow slams into the edge of the dresser on the way down, and it hurts like somebody jumped on it. I land sideways, banging my shoulder on the floor. I see his shoe, then his hands are on my body, hauling me up.

In that second I'm thinking about all the stories you see on the news about some drunk guy who broke into his estranged girlfriend or wife's house and killed her.

He pushes me backward onto the bed and falls on top of me. "Don't fight me, Jess. Don't."

He kisses me, shoving his tongue in my mouth, grinding his pelvis between my legs, though I can tell he isn't even hard. He's too drunk. I've never really seen him this drunk, crazy drunk.

Think!

Even as I'm trying to figure a way out, he's pulling my tank off my shoulders, hands pawing me, then his mouth. When he starts to pull my panties down I don't care if it's smart or not, he's not going to do this. I start fighting back, moving my body as much as I can, pushing at him, writhing to get away.

He says, "Yeah, baby."

I can feel him getting hard, and I shove him as hard as I can. "No, Rick. Stop it!"