Blood-Red Tear by Donna Flynn Page B

gyrating on the by now heavily stained carpet to dance.
    He continued to drink as we danced, and when I mentioned he might want to slow down he scowled at me and said, “Relax, babe, have some fun.”
    A slow song came over the speakers and he pulled me close , leaning heavily on me to remain upright, his hands moving over my body like an octopus’s tentacles. The smell of beer on his breath when he leaned in and tried to kiss me made my stomach turn, and bile rose in my throat in response. I pulled back, making an excuse about having to use the bathroom, and left the room, afraid I might actually throw up on him if he continued breathing on me. Thankfully, he was so drunk he didn’t object but kept on dancing.
    I walked outside to get away from the crowd and find some fresh air, hoping to ease the nauseous feeling in the pit of my belly. After taking a few deep breaths of fresh air I turned my thoughts to what I should do, since it was clear Scott was in no condition to drive me home. I didn’t have many options. If I called my parents, I knew they would never let me go out on a date again. If I called Paul he would kill Scott, and I would never hear the end of it. Neither Jess nor Chris was old enough to drive yet so I couldn’t call on them, which left me without much choice. With a loud sigh I sat on the porch swing, fumbling through my purse for my cell phone, resigned to calling my mother. I was hoping she would make my father see that I had done the responsible thing by calling when I was in trouble.  I wrapped my hand around the phone and pulled it from my purse, then heard the front door open and looked up to find Scott standing in the doorway, very drunk, and clearly angry.
    “What are you doing out here , you’re missing all the fun?” He asked, his speech slurred as he stumbled towards me, barely able to stay upright.
    “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to call home and get someone to pick me up.” I picked up my phone and prepared to dial, but he reached out and slapped it from my hand.
    “You don’t need mommy and daddy to get you, I can drive you home,” he said sharply.
    I stood so I could get out of the way if he fell forward , which seemed very likely. “Scott, you can barely walk. I don’t think you should be driving anywhere tonight.” I tried to move past him but he stepped in front of me, blocking my escape, looking down on me with bloodshot eyes.
    “ I did not bring you here to make me look bad in front of my friends.” His face was flushed with rage and he grabbed my wrists, pulling me roughly toward him.
    I could feel his anger in the air around us threatening to choke me with its bitterness , and I knew I was in trouble. “Scott, let me go, you are hurting me.”
    H e smirked, yanking my wrists harder. I gasped as pain radiated up my arm. Taking advantage of my shock, he pulled me close, imprisoning me in his arms, then leaned in, his mouth besieging mine in a sloppy, wet kiss. My stomach rolled in protest. The smell of his breath made me gag, and when he forced my mouth open and his tongue slid inside, I could not stop the vomit that erupted and spewed all over him. With a loud curse he pulled his vomit-covered shirt off and threw it down on the porch. The rage that radiated from him surrounded me, increasing my terror.
    “You bitch ,” he sneered, slapping me across the face so hard I staggered backward, putting my hand to my cheek in shock.
    Never had anyone hit me. Even my parents had never resorted to that kind of punishment , and I was terrified.
    “No one gets a free ride with me! You can go home when I am done with you.” He shoved me down on the swing, landing on top of me with a grunt, groping my shirt, pulling at the buttons until it fell open, leaving me exposed to his glassy-eyed stare. “That’s better,” he mumbled, moving his hand to the button of my jeans.
    I knew then what he intended and I panicked. “No!” I screamed, kicking, punching, and