Like Gravity (23 page)

“Deal,” I whispered back, pressing my lips aga
inst his to seal the agreement. When we pulled apart, Finn turned back to the crowd, keeping one hand locked with mine.

“Can’t you see why I’m crazy about this girl?” he asked the audience,
holding our joined hands over my head and twirling me in a slow circle. There were cheers from the men in the audience; the fangirls, however, were uncharacteristically quiet.

I’m could almost hear the sound of thousands of hearts breaking all across campus as girls texted, tweeted, and blogged the news that Finn Chambers was officially, inconceivably, off the market.
The girls nearest the stage were either staring at me with thinly veiled jealousy and hatred, or looking longingly at Finn, as if at any moment he’d announce that it was all a big joke and call them up onstage instead.

I waved at them cheerfully as I walked off stage with Lexi at my heels.

Bitchy? Maybe. Satisfying as hell? Definitely.

Lexi and I were the recipients of more than a few
judgmental looks as we made our way to the bar to grab another round. We decidedly ignored them, paid for our drinks, and walked back to reclaim our small table near the stage.

“Girl, if you don’t lock that shit down,
I
will. That boy is so fucking hot, every girl in this room would kill to be you right now,” Lexi said, her light blue eyes wide as she stared at me across the high-top. “In all seriousness, though, watch your back. Some of these bitches wouldn’t bat an eyelash as they sliced your throat with a lethally manicured fingernail and left your body to rot in the dumpster outside.”

“That’s comforting, Lex. Thanks so much.”

“I try,” she grinned.

“I think I love him,” I blurted.

Lie. I totally
knew
I loved him.

“Yep, “Lexi nodded sagely. “
You were a goner the minute that boy sauntered into your life.”

“He doesn’t saunter,” I
pointed out, sipping my drink.

“You’
re right. You were a goner the minute he scraped you off the pavement when you fell over that fire hydrant.”

“
After I
fell
?” I asked. It seemed Lexi and I remembered the events of that day very, very differently.

“Yep,” Lexi
giggled.

I shot a glare in her direction.

“You love him,” she sighed happily, a dreamy look drifting over her face.

“Lex,” I said, warningly. Admitting it out loud was one thing; discussing it casually over drinks was another.

“I know, I know,” she
grumbled. “You don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m
going to run to the bathroom,” I told her, rising from my seat. I needed to clear my head. “Be back in a second.”

“Want me to come?” she offered, her eyes fixed on the stage.

“Nah, stay here and guard the table. I won’t be long.”

“
Mmkay,” she murmured, practically drooling as she watched Tyler perform a kickass drum solo. I cast a final look at Finn, who was fully engrossed in his performance, his eyes closed in concentration, and I felt my heart swell with so much feeling I thought my ribs might crack under the strain.

Tearing my eyes away, I turned
and headed for the back hallway where the bathrooms were located. As I pushed open the door to the women’s room, I froze in the doorway when I saw that all of the stalls were occupied, with several girls waiting in line. Every head swiveled to look at me as the door swung open, and I abruptly realized that I would never be able to think surrounded by so much female hostility.

Allowing
the door to swing closed again, I turned my back to the bathroom and glanced down the dim hallway. The walls were dingy, covered in peeling gunmetal gray paint and a myriad stains whose origins I had no desire to discover. A single bare, flickering light-bulb swung from a wire on the ceiling, and the hallway’s other two doors offered passage either into the men’s room or out into the narrow alleyway running adjacent to Styx.

It wasn’t
exactly an environment suited to finding one’s inner Zen.

In
under a second my decision was made and my feet were moving, carrying me toward the door to the alleyway. I needed to breathe the night air, to see the ever-present night sky and regain an iota of control over the parts of me I felt spiraling wildly.

The door was constructed of he
avy, soundproofed metal and, judging from its worn, rusted appearance, it didn’t appear to see frequent use. It squealed on its hinges as I pushed it open, flecks of rust falling like ashes into the dim alleyway beyond. At my feet was a lone cinderblock, pushed against the wall as a makeshift doorstop. Leaning down, I used one hand to grab it and dragged it over to prop open the door.

Yellow light from the hallway spilled out into the alley, illuminating a small section of the otherwise dark passage.
Stepping through the doorway and down two concrete steps, I acted on an instinct so deeply ingrained I couldn’t quite remember its origins; my head tilted back, gaze lifting to the night sky, and as the stars swam slowly into focus, I was overcome with a feeling of infinite calm.

I’d
craved the grounding serenity of the stars for as long as I could remember; the vastness of the galaxies above had always made my problems seem somehow smaller or more manageable – whether it was from my perch on the Victorian’s rooftop, from the French-style balcony off my bedroom in my father’s estate, or from a dilapidated porch stoop in a long-forgotten foster home. Now, thanks to Finn, I could even see the stars from my bed as I looked up at my ceiling. The thought made me smile into the dark night.

I leaned back against the cool brick wall opposite the club door, head tilted up to the
constellations above. With an efficiency born from years of practice, I rattled off their names in my mind.

Andromeda.

Pisces.

Aquarius.

Pegasus.

Eventually, I felt my mind clear and allowed my eyes to droop closed.
The minutes ticked by as I listened to the muffled music leaking out the propped door into the alley, trying to work up the courage to go back inside. It wasn’t that I was scared to see Finn. In fact, it was the opposite; I was so eager to be alone with him, it was taking every modicum of self-control I possessed not to storm back on stage and forcibly drag him to my apartment.

My eyes
flew open at the unmistakable sound of the heavy metal door slamming shut with a resounding boom that shook me to my very core. Even more startling was the sudden quiet, as if the darkness had thrown a thick woolen blanket over every sound – the music, the laughter, the chatter of rowdy patrons as they bought drinks. It was all gone now, leaving me alone in the utter stillness.

And the dark.

Every trace of calm in my system had fled along with the light, and my mind was abruptly full of panicked thoughts that pinged around the inside of my mind faster than I could keep up with.

Did someone close the door, or was it the wind?

Are you an idiot? There isn’t any wind, Brooklyn.

Okay, so someone closed it.

Did they know that I’m out here?

Shit, does
anyone
know that I’m out here?

Or
, worse…is someone out here
with me
?

I forced myself to stop thinking along those lines before I induced a
full-blown panic attack. My eyes, unadjusted to the sudden darkness, reeled wildly as they searched for something,
anything
, in the pitch-black alleyway. Every muscle in my body tensed as I prepared for an attack of some kind. I took stock of the situation, my hands curled into fists and my body poised on the balls of my feet as I prepared to take off at a moment’s notice.

I had two options: e
ither feel my way back toward the door and try to open it – which I wasn’t even sure was possible, given the fact that I hadn’t seen a doorknob on the outside – or follow along the wall I was leaning against until it led me to the street in front of Styx. The alley was probably only a hundred feet long – it would have taken me no more than a few seconds to find my way out under normal circumstances.

Now, however, with only my hands and ears to guide me, my feet strapped into a pair of Lexi’s
highest heeled sandals, and fear coursing through my veins, I knew it would take me much longer to reach the street. Especially if I was bumping into dumpsters and wading through refuse the entire way.

I cursed
my own stupidity. I’d broken every rule in the
Girls Who Don’t Want to Get Murdered at College
handbook by going outside alone and not bringing Lexi or even my cellphone with me on this asinine escapade.

I decided
my chances of prying open the heavy door were better than attempting to navigate a garbage-filled cobblestone alley in five-inch stilettos. With my luck, I’d probably end up tripping over a hobo or falling headfirst into a dumpster.

Taking
a tentative step forward into the darkness, I kept one hand planted against the wall behind me, the brick surface rough beneath my palm. Despite the faint light cast by the stars above, the alley remained too dark to make out any shapes at all. Initially, I’d been optimistic that my eyes would adjust to the shadows, but after nearly a full minute had passed with little change, my hopes had dwindled.

Without my sight, my other senses were all on high alert;
I could smell the cloying stench emanating from the dumpsters and, if a mouse had scurried anywhere within a half-mile radius, I was sure I’d have heard it. So with each passing minute that the alley remained utterly quiet, I grew more confident that I was alone.

I
felt some of the tension uncoil from my shoulders. Though I was still uneasy about the situation, I was beginning to think that the door slamming closed was the work of a jealous fangirl, rather than some kind of creeper-rapist-monster-zombie.

More assuredly, I took another step forward
into the darkness, taking me farther from the wall at my back and leaving only the fingertips of my left hand on the bricks. I was reluctant to relinquish that final tactile connection to the world, irrationally worried that, if I did, I might find myself lost in the darkness.

The al
ley was relatively narrow; standing directly in the center, I thought I might be able to reach both walls with my arms extended out to either side. Anxious to reach the doorway and get back to the safety of the club, I swung my right hand out into the darkness, hoping that my fingertips would strike the cool metal of the door, or the hard concrete of the steps.

They didn’t.

Instead, they came into contact with something infinitely scarier.

Something that made my heart seize in my chest and my lungs constrict with a sudden loss of air.
Something that froze the blood to ice in my veins.

Because that thing my fingers had grazed?

It was a man’s chest.

Fight or Flight

I screamed
.

It was a shriek of desperat
ion – a shrill, ear-piercing wail born of sheer terror. It was helplessness personified, echoing forlornly off the walls of the alley. And even as the scream left my mouth I knew, deep in my bones, that it was futile; no one would ever be able to hear it over the thumping music inside the club.

My last though
t, before his hands clamped down on my shoulders in an unbreakable vise-grip, was that I was no better than the dumb sorority girls I’d constantly mocked. I’d played right into his hands.

Whoever
he
was.

People
always talk about our innate human fight-or-flight instinct. Supposedly, some people just have
it
– that will to live, to escape, to carry on in spite of the fear. And others simply don’t. They lack that burning desire to survive above all else.

It’s said that these moments in our lives,
those split seconds in which we must decide whether to stand and fight or turn-tail and flee, define us as who we really are.

I
’d always thought that was a crock of bullshit.

Of course
, possessing the will to live is important – vital even. It can make the difference between life and death, between taking one more breath or succumbing to a quick end.

But
so can a pair of five-inch stiletto heels.

Afterward, I
’d often wondered, with a sense of morbid curiosity, whether things would have gone differently had I been wearing different shoes; had the ground had been paved, rather than cobbled; had the light cast by my favorite constellations above had been just a little bit brighter, so I might’ve seen him standing there in the dark with me. Biding his time. Waiting for me to make my move toward the door.

Would it have changed things? I guess
ed I’d never really know.

The scream died in my throat, turning to a gasp of pain as his grip cut harshly into my bicep muscles
and he lifted me onto my tiptoes. Struggling against him, I used all the strength in my arms to try to free myself. I could feel my muscles weakening, my energy waning the longer we grappled. His breath puffed warm on my face – short, quick bursts of air that betrayed his excitement.

He was enjoying this.

He started to move then, steering me backwards with the ease of a master puppeteer pulling the strings of a hapless marionette. I had no control over my body as he closed in, trapped between the brick wall at my back and the monster pressed harshly against my front.

When
he crushed his body to mine and I felt the undeniable hardness between his legs, my stomach began to churn with nauseating anticipation at the thought of what he planned to do to me. I knew then, with startling clarity, that if I didn’t fight back I was going to die here in this alleyway – but not before I suffered a fate almost worse than death.

“
Let—” I cried out, tugging at my arms. His hold was unshakable.

“Me—
” I tried my legs next, kicking out with my stilettos but never quite managing to make contact with his shins.

“GO!”
I screamed, my voice nearly cracking with hysteria as I thrashed in his hold. His grip was too tight, though; I could feel it coming, just like it had with Gordon in the club all those weeks ago. The overwhelming anxiety, crashing like a wave through my system and taking away what little control I was still in possession of. Sapping my will to fight. 

I could see it now, played out in my mind in perfect, high-definition color and surround sound:
I was going to have a panic attack and then, defenseless, he’d be free to do whatever he wanted – beat, rape, kill me. Here lies Brooklyn Turner, campus casualty and veritable afterschool special.

I wasn’
t going to let that happen. I wasn’t ready for my life to be over – not when it was finally getting good.

Taking deep breaths and trying desperately to quell the overwhelming anxiety and fear that had taken hold,
I did the only remaining thing that I could think of – a last ditch effort, really. I cocked my head back as far as it would go, and head-butted his face with as much force as I could muster. My forehead smashed into his nose, and I heard a sickening
crunch
as we made contact. Something wet – I assumed it was blood – poured from his nostrils in a torrent and dripped onto my forehead.

I’d broken his nose.

He let out a muffled curse, and, for a small fraction of time, his grip loosened enough for me to escape. I didn’t waste my opportunity; as soon as my feet settled on the cobblestones, I ducked low and scurried out of his reach.

Knowing that he couldn’t see me in the dark, I remained crouched, moving as quickly as possible without making too much noise.
Though every instinct in my body was screaming for me to run, to sprint to safety as fast as my legs could carry me, I knew I had to be smarter than that. In such a confined space, even the smallest sound would give me away.

I slowly cr
ept away, wincing with each step as my stilettos clicked mutedly against the cobblestones. Heart and mind racing, I tried to block out the questions that were rattling around my mind. I didn’t have time to wonder who he was, or why he was doing this. It didn’t matter right now – the only real thing, in this moment, was survival.

Quiet, don’t move too fast.

Don’t let him hear you.

B
reathing too loud, take smaller breaths.

Hands on the ground, palms spread flat for balance.

Step, wince, freeze, listen.

That’s it. Slowly, slowly.

I was gaining ground. He was behind me, floundering in the dark as he searched. I could hear his ragged breaths and sense his presence in the shadows several yards away. I could also sense his fury, fully unleashed at having lost me.

I knew if he caught me again, he wouldn’t show what little restraint he had before.
He was angry now, uncontrolled – a real wildcard. If I had any chance at all of living through this, I couldn’t let him find me in the darkness.

It was the cobblestone that did me in.

One loose stone, warped enough to set me off balance. When my weight shifted forward, the stone beneath my heel slipped and before I could catch myself, I was careening forward, face-first onto the ground.

I felt the skin tear
away from my elbows and knees as I slid across the rough-worn cobblestones, small pebbles and grime from the alley floor biting into my shredded skin. My temple cracked painfully against the cool stony surface hard enough to make my head spin dizzily, and a tiny, involuntary cry escaped my lips.

Immediately, I clamped my mouth closed
to stop the sound, biting my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
Please, please, please
, I chanted, a mantra in my head.
Don’t let him have heard me.

For one suspended moment in time m
y ears strained to hear his movements, but it was utterly quiet once more in the alley. His ragged breathing had been silenced. I could almost picture him, standing stock-still as he tried to locate me in the shadows – listening just as hard as I was, as he crept ever closer.

I knew I had to
move; yet, I remained frozen, lying on my stomach and paralyzed with indecision. Would the sounds produced by my movements only draw him closer? Was I better off simply making a run for it in my heels? Or, did I stay on my stomach and try to crawl my way out?

Before I could make any kind of decision, the choice was ripped from me.

Fists closed around my ankles, dragging me backwards. My hands, sprawled as they were on the ground in front of me, desperately scrambled for something to hold onto. My dress rucked up around my waist as I was towed by the ankles, the rough alley floor scraping my bare thighs raw within seconds.  As he dragged me back, I managed to grab onto a shard of loose cobblestone, protruding slightly upwards – likely a piece of the cracked stone I’d tripped over. My fingernails nearly lifted from their beds as I tugged at the disrupted rock fragment, but it finally came loose in my hands.

I had a weapon.

He stopped dragging me, his hands moving up from my ankles to grip the base of my thighs, where my dress had ridden up. His grip wasn’t rough, it was very nearly gentle – more akin to a lover’s caress than a murderer’s sadistic clutches.

I shuddered, fear and disg
ust overtaking me for a moment, before they were pushed out – overridden by an intense, all-consuming rage at this man, this stranger, who was going to take everything from me.

I wasn’t just angry; I was enraged
, I was incensed.

I
was
furious
.

Bending my right knee, I
curled my leg up and sent a powerful kick in the direction of my attacker. In my first stroke of luck all night, my stiletto landed a perfect blow to what I believed was his face, and his hands released me instantly. If the howl of pain he emitted was any indication, I’d caused some significant damage.

I
was absently wondering if I’d punctured one of his eyes with the sharp heel of my shoe, when I snapped to my senses and sprang to my feet. Throwing out one hand so I was touching the brick wall, I ran flat-out, ignoring the burning pain in my ravaged knees. The wall beneath my hand was my only guide, keeping me upright as I sprinted for the faint light emanating from the end of the alleyway.

I could hear him behind me, cursing and noisily
clamoring to his feet. Then, the pounding of his footsteps echoed in the night as he charged after me, gaining ground with each passing second.

I was getting closer
to safety. I could finally make out the street at the mouth of the alley where people were waiting to get into Styx, faintly illuminated by the yellow streetlights overhead. As I ran, I stumbled twice on loose cobblestones and nearly fell over. I would have been a goner, had I not had one hand on the wall to catch myself. My other hand was preoccupied, still tightly clasped around the stone shard I’d pried from the ground.

He was faster than me, even with
the injuries I’d inflicted. I desperately wanted to stop and take off my stilettos, aware they were slowing me down, but I was too afraid to pause even for a moment. I knew that each time I’d tripped, I’d lost a bit of my lead, and he was going to catch me again if I didn’t do something to slow his progress. Though I could see people ahead on the street, I knew there was still a good chance that they wouldn’t be able to hear my screams from this distance – or, worse, that they wouldn’t help me, even if they did hear my cries.

When I sensed he was close
– less than ten feet away, if my perception was accurate – I twisted and hurled my sharp piece of cobblestone in what I thought was his general direction. I heard a
thud
as it made impact, and I prayed it had hit him in the head – or at least somewhere painful.

If I could just make it out of the alley, out of the dark, I’d be safe. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to follow me into a crowd of people.

I hoped.

I sprinted
for the street with every ounce of energy I had left in my body. Legs throbbing, lungs aching, head swimming with the effort, I ran until my vision clouded with black spots.

I didn’t listen for him behind me. I didn’t scream for help.
I didn’t even breathe.

I just
ran
.

Finally, miraculously, I broke through the entry of the alleyway and onto the s
emi-populated street. My legs gave out and I collapsed to my knees, my hands outstretched to brace my fall. Down on all fours, I lifted my head to look at the crowd of people standing in line for the club.

They
stood there in their party clothes, looking down at me with their mouths hanging open in shock. Their faces were a kaleidoscope of emotions, ranging from confusion, to disbelief, to horrified comprehension.

I supposed
, with my torn dress and bloodied knees, that I did look a bit of a mess.

“Help me,” I whispered, just before my limbs gave out completely and I crumpled
to the pavement. “Please…help me.”

That’s when
everything went black.

***

It was the drone of approaching the sirens that pulled me up into consciousness.

One cheek pressed to the
cool pavement, I cracked open an eye and looked skyward. Two girls, both wearing too much makeup and clothed in identical painted-on dresses, were staring back at me with worried expressions on their faces. At least, I thought they looked worried – it was a little hard to tell, beneath all that foundation and bronzer.

From the looks of it, they were standing guard
– in their platform pumps, no less – over my prone form. Apparently, they’d also called the police and an ambulance.