This is Not My Beautiful House

TW: violence, kidnapping, rape

It was the sound of voices that woke me. I lay still for a moment trying to figure out who was talking. As far as I knew we didn't have any guests and since our son had moved out last month, my husband and I lived alone. As I continued to lie there listening, I began to notice small things that clued me to the fact that something was very wrong. Number one; the voices weren't speaking English, and B; the surface I was laying on was definitely not my soft, comfortable bed.

The last thing I remembered was doing shots of tequila in the kitchen of the restaurant we had closed down last night. The owners were friends of ours and it had been opening night. We had come to lend our support and had ended up getting roped into the cleanup with an offer of a nightcap. We emptied three bottles of good Merlot before Janet had brought out the Patron. I knew better than to mix my alcohol, but I remember thinking that Marv would take care of me if I got too drunk, and we were having fun. I didn’t want it to end.

Movement shot a red hot knife of pain through my head and my stomach chimed in with an uneasy gurgle, both sensations rudely vying for first place. I opened my eyes to a sideways view of a shadowy room, bright sunlight outlining a square of tattered curtain on one wall, seeming ethereal and not actually attached. Where the hell was I? I sat up quickly. Big Mistake Number One. The knife from before turned abruptly into a sizzling bolt of lightning and my stomach upended without warning, drenching the front of me in last night’s indulgences. The heaving had done nothing for the three alarm headache, had in fact made it worse and I panted, wiping my chin with my sleeve until I thought I had myself under control. The voices continued unabated outside, rising and falling with a cadence that washed over me like a wave. Moving slowly, so as not to further upset my fragile condition, I carefully peeled off my shirt and tucked it into a ball with the mess inside and looked around for a bathroom. There didn’t seem to be one in this room, but as I looked around, I noticed that the nightstand was occupied by a plate with a chunk of bread on it, a pitcher and cup perched beside it. The cup was already poured and I reached for it feeling like I was suspended underwater. Every effort hurt me somewhere, making the slow and careful movements necessary. The voices began to rise and become agitated and for the first time I wondered if they might be talking about me. Had I done something wrong? As I clutched my throbbing head, another flash from last night flooded my hippocampus. Janet’s husband had grabbed my ass. Things were fuzzy after the shots but I remembered that. We had been friends with Phil and Janet for over a decade and he had never touched me like that before. It was the slick way he had done it, too, looking over his shoulder to make sure we were alone before he leered at me, somehow thinking he was charming. So drunk he could hardly stand up. So was I, but I wasn’t grabbing anyone’s ass. I remember thinking it was time to go. Right before I kneed him in the stones. Everything after that was blank. Why couldn’t I remember?

The voices continued outside, the volume rising and falling. I couldn’t understand most of the words, but I thought the language was maybe Spanish. I was still in too much pain to think clearly but I was dry as a bone, my teeth sticking to my lips. I drained the glass of water in one long pull. It came back up almost immediately, this time giving me enough warning to aim for a bucket that had almost certainly been provided for that reason. My earlier question reverberated through my pain blasted head as I retched. Where was I?

At dinner, Phil had been celebrating something. He never did come out and say what it was, just that something he had been working on for a while had just paid off. And Janet was wearing designer labels and had a huge new rock on her finger. Must have really paid off. And was it my imagination, or did I see a handful of thousand peso bills in his wallet when he laid down the tip? Pesos?

Why was I in this shabby room with a cot and a bucket? I was used to being taken care of. If I drank too much, which I rarely did, I had a man who would gently make sure nothing happened to me whilst I was inebriated. It had been so for years. Waking up without him like this in an unfamiliar place was starting to really scare me, and my quickening heartbeat made my head throb harder. I was afraid to leave the room. It had not yet occurred to me that I might not be able to. The voices were at top volume now, adding to the confusion in my brain.

Steeling myself against the onslaught of light, I got up and lifting the corner of the curtain, I peeked outside. Two men stood inches from the filthy window. They were in each other’s faces and very intent on each other as they yelled, spittle flying from their lips. One of the men abruptly threw a handful of money toward the other man and stood watching while he picked it up. The second man counted the money and gestured to the other man.

“Dos mas,” he said, in a matter of fact tone, making it hard to believe he had just been shouting. The other man sighed and digging in his pocket, handed over the rest of the money.

“Me robas,” he said as he shoved it into the other’s hand. “¿Cuánto tiempo?” he asked, when the other man had shrugged and stepped aside.

“Una hora,” he said firmly, holding up one finger, and taking a set of keys from his pocket, he rummaged among them until he found the one he wanted. Then he reached to something along the wall I couldn’t see and I heard the sound of a key being inserted into a lock. The door abruptly opened beside me, admitting the two men along with an overwhelming amount of sunlight. I emitted a small shriek and letting go of the curtain, I backed up until I hit the wall. The two men laughed. They talked some more, pointing at me, and the man with the keys left, banging the door shut behind him.

“Hey Bonita Dama,” the remaining man said to me, smiling evilly as he moved toward me. I slid along the wall away from him and trying to put something between us, I moved behind the cot.

“Where am I?” I asked, trying to distract him. He stopped for a second, puzzled.

“Usted está aquí,” he told me. I shook my head, though it threatened to topple off.

“Where is this place?” I tried again, gesturing to the door. He grinned menacingly, and started moving toward me again.

“Tijuana,” he said. Mexico? Oh my God! I thought they only took young girls for sex slaves. How had I ended up in Mexico? Where was my husband and the couple we had been drinking with? My heart was racing as fast as my mind, trying to think of what I should do. This man was going to rape me, puke and all. He didn’t care if I was sick or hurt. He had paid for his hour and he was going to have it, one way or another.

Flashes of memory kept interfering with my desperate desire to come up with a plan. Phil, with an evil look on his face as he slipped a rag over my face and Marv swinging desperately at several attackers while I cowered behind him. I shook my poor throbbing head and brought myself back to the present with an effort. The man was almost close enough to grab my arm! I kicked the cot toward him and tried to run for the door. He blocked it easily and just watched, smiling, as I pulled at the doorknob over and over without success. It was no good, the door was locked. I turned and faced my attacker, fear pulling my features into a feral mask. He smiled wider and I could see his rotten teeth from across the room. My stomach lurched again and I looked away from his mouth to his eyes. Big Mistake Number Two. They were red rimmed, empty and soulless, and blacker than his teeth. Deep pools they were, and there was nowhere else to look except down, and that was Big Mistake Number Three. He was fondling his erection through his pants and my hands went out in supplication I knew wouldn’t come as he reached out and grabbed me. As his hand touched my arm I went berserk, lashing out and screaming and I felt my foot connect solidly with something soft. His breath went out in a grunt and his smile turned to a scowl. I saw his fist coming and tried to avoid it but he had my arm firmly in his grip. It connected in a burst of light and I slumped to the floor on my knees, my whole body reverberating with the blow.

Another memory forced its way through the fog, exploding into my awareness as the man towered over me, his fist still raised. Dozens of headlights blinding me, shining in a circle where Marv lay on the ground not moving, his face streaming so much blood, I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. I remembered pleading for help to the anonymous legs standing all around us, turning him on his side so he wouldn’t choke, crawling from person to person over the rough ground, shredding my knees as I begged each one, sobbing, for them to not let him die. One person’s shoes stood out, in a memory shot so clear, I could see my reflection in the shine of them. I recognized them from earlier in the evening when Janet had scolded a waiter for spilling on the shiny black and red surfaces.

I choked back my fear and my tears. I wasn’t sure what it all meant, but I desperately needed time to think. One thing was crystal clear; I couldn’t stand to be hit again. I put up my hands, cowering submissively away from the fist. The man slowly lowered it to his side as he continued to glower down at me. I kept my head bowed. It felt twice as big as normal, throbbing away in time with my frightened heartbeat. I glanced up as the man stepped away for a moment, and I realized he had shed his clothes as he stepped back in front of me, completely naked. He wrapped his hand around my upper arm and dragged me across the floor to where the cot lay on its side against the wall. Letting go of me temporarily, he righted the cot, picked up the blanket and tossed it carelessly onto it. Then he turned toward me and pointed his finger at the cot.

“Acuestate,” he ordered. It was clear what he wanted but I pretended not to understand. I squinted up at him. Big Mistake Number Four. His body was covered with some kind of nasty sores that oozed and dripped a foul colored substance, and I was suddenly aware of an odor that I had noticed when he had first come in to the room, but had thrust to the back of my mind until now. He moved closer and reached toward me, his hand looming large in my vision. He was going to touch me! My mind was going a mile a minute, trying to come up with a way to avoid being violated by this man. Just the thought of his skin against mine was enough to send me into a convulsion of shivers, I couldn’t imagine actually letting him inside me. The lightbulb flickering to life over my head actually hurt, but I had an idea. Despite the pain still lingering in my cranium, I made myself raise my face and smile into the man’s eyes. He visibly flinched and I had time to wonder what I looked like. I raised a hand to my forehead briefly, feeling the blood crusted there and wondered if it was mine or Marv’s. It didn’t matter, I was out of time. The man had recovered and pointed again at the cot. I stood up, but instead of lying down on the cot, I began to sway and looking him dead in the eye with a small smile, I began to undo the buttons on my pants. He stepped back with a grin and began to stroke himself again. It was working. It wouldn’t give me much time, though. I needed to come up with a plan, and fast. I made it all the way to the third button before he realized what I was doing. I shouldn’t have been going so slowly, but I couldn’t think of any way to escape. Frowning again, he stepped back over close to me and pushed me roughly back onto the cot. I landed on one butt cheek, half turned onto my side, and the cot fell to the floor again, taking me with it in a tangle of limbs and nasty blanket. I hit my head again and lay there stunned until he lifted me bodily back onto the righted cot. He knelt with one knee between my thighs and ripped my bra down, causing the straps to bite into my shoulders sharply before they broke with two distinct snaps. My breasts flopped free and he paused to grab them with both hands, kneading them and pinching my nipples painfully while he held me in place with his knee. Up until then, I had not given in to the despair and fear that were overwhelming me, thinking if I did, I would lose it completely. In that moment, with rape seemingly imminent, I felt justified in letting it out. I opened my mouth and screamed, long and loud with the full force of my emotions behind it. The man reared back and slapped my face hard, stunning me again. My head lolled and I fell dizzily onto my back. Spots and whirling pinpoints were crowding my vision, the room going in and out of focus, when I heard a resounding bang and the weight of the man suddenly left me. The door was a bright open rectangle of sunlight flooding the room. The sounds of fists striking flesh and the grunts of the man being beaten faded into insignificance as, bloody and swollen, Marv appeared and gathered me into his arms. I sobbed weakly into his shoulder clutching him like a lifeline as he covered me with the blanket and led me from the room out into the bright sunlight.