“You shouldn’t have worn that fucking dress. I told you before you left. I know the things it makes guys want to do to you … I know because I know the things it makes me want to do to you.

“Maybe next time you’ll fucking listen.”

Of course I don’t say this to you. Tonight’s not the night for that. Tonight you need comfort and support. Tonight you need to feel safe and cared for. But I can’t help thinking it … my emotions are all over the place.

I hear the shower shut off and I know you’ll need me in just a moment. I pour you a glass of water and grab the bottle of pain relievers from the cabinet. I know you’ll still be hurting.

By the time I get back to the bedroom you’re already there, wrapped in a towel, laying on the bed silently staring at the wall. I sit on the bed beside you and pull you into a sitting position. I hand you the glass of water, dump a couple pills into my hand and give them to you as well.

“Here, take these,” I say.

With silent obedience you take the pills, wash them down with a sip of water, and place the glass on the bedside table. I put an arm around your shoulder and pull you into my chest, wrapping my arms around you.

That’s when you break. I guess the safety of my arms allows you to finally let loose all the emotions you’ve been keeping inside.

You sob.

You cry harder than I’ve ever heard you cry before. I can feel your tears soaking through my shirt and I have to shove down all the violent emotions I felt when I found you. This moment isn’t about how I feel.

So I sit there silently, holding you, gently stroking your hair, rubbing your back. I rest my lips on the top of your head and hold you tight. It’s the only solace I can offer.

Eventually the sobs subside and for some time we both just sit there quietly, holding each other.

I kiss the top of your head and say, “Tell me.” I have to work hard to keep my voice even and gentle. I know if I let my emotions leak out right now I’ll just scare you. So I speak softly but firmly and try to be the steady foundation for you to rest on.

“Tell me,” I say again. “Tell me everything. Every detail you can remember. You need to get it out, and I need to hear it … I need to know best how to support you right now.”

So you do. Through whimpers and choked sobs, you tell me the whole story.

You’d went to the bar with your friends, had some drinks. You had fun and nothing out of the ordinary happened. When everyone was ready to go you said your goodbyes, finished your drink, and ordered your Uber.

You decided to wait for your ride outside - something I’ve repeatedly told you not to do, but that’s not important right now. It was dark, the bar was still loud, but there weren’t many people coming in and out

You never heard him coming, didn’t even feel his presence, until he crashed into your back. At first you thought it was an accident - some drunk idiot stumbling into you, but he wrapped his arm around your throat so hard you thought he was going to crush your windpipe.

He dragged you into the side alley. You tried to scream but his grip was so strong you couldn’t make much noise - and the bar was so loud. He got you into the alley and pushed you up against the wall. His hands were all over you, rough and greedy and invasive.

You tried to fight him off. You swear you fought as hard as you could. But he was so much bigger than you, so much stronger. He shoved you onto the ground - face first, judging by the road rash on your cheek.

He jumped on your back, jerked your dress up over your hips and snatched your panties down to your knees. You felt him fumbling behind you for a moment … then pain, so much pain.

You were so scared.

It took him a couple thrusts to shove his dick inside you completely. But then he was fucking you, thrusting with his entire body. You thought he was going to split you in too, thought the rough street beneath you would grind off all your skin.

He fucked you like he hated the world, hated women in general, and you in particular. Like he wanted to use his dick to cause you as much pain as possible.

Your mind kind of shut down. Your body just took it. It was like your very soul left your body, floated up and just watched as this man fucked you like a worthless object in the dirty alley beside a shitty bar.

Then there was a pause. You thought maybe he was done, maybe the nightmare was over. But he just flipped you onto your back.

No, you didn’t see his face. You think he was wearing a mask, but it was so dark you probably wouldn’t have seen him anyways. All you saw was a hulking shadow above you - like a demon come to drag you to hell.

He grabbed you by your throat. He squeezed. He squeezed so hard you thought your head would pop off.

You panicked. You should have gone for his eyes, should have scraped and clawed your way to freedom, but your mind just went blank. You just slapped at him - slapped, like that would have done anything.

He kept squeezing, ignoring your pathetic attempts to fight. Everything started to go black. There was so much pressure in your head. You thought that was it. You thought he was going to kill you.

You said your last thought was of me.

You jolted back into consciousness. He was fucking you again - your legs spread wide, his hands on the ground on either side of your head.

You screamed my name. Begged for me to come save you. It pissed the man off. He slapped you, shoved your panties in your mouth - he must have ripped them off while you were out.

He fucked you. It seemed like it lasted forever. At some point he ripped your dress and grabbed your tits while he fucked you. At one point he spit in your face.

It was humiliation. It was shame. It was pain.

And then it was over. You felt him cumming inside you. He grunted as he filled you and now you realize it was the first time you heard his voice - he hadn’t spoken the entire time.

He stood, left without saying a word. You couldn’t believe it was over. You tried to will yourself to get up, find help. But you hurt so bad, and were probably in shock, and you just laid there dripping his cum.

A moment later head lights passed over you. You heard the car stop and a door open - but you didn’t hear it close.

You panicked, humiliated by the thought of someone seeing you like that. But when the dark figure loomed over you and you realized he’d come back for you. He’d brought his car around and he’d come back for you, come back to take you with him - that’s when the real panic set in.

This is where I fill you in on my side of the story. It had gotten late and you weren’t home yet. I’d gotten worried. I’m just glad I had your location tracking turned on for your phone.

I’d seen the the car parked beside the alley, saw the car door standing open, and saw the man standing over you, reaching down to grab you.

Red. The whole world turned red.

It was like the whole world disappeared and all that was left was this little bubble of existence where a strange man was touching you - backlit by the fires of hell.

I lost my damn mind.

In the movies the hero calls out, the villain stands up, and they face off - a duel of honor to save the princess. It’d be close, a valiant back and forth in which the hero eventually triumphs.

Fuck a fair fight. I wanted to murder the son of a bitch.

I ran up beside him, planted my foot into his ribs, and launched the fucker several feet behind you. He landed on his back and I didn’t give him a chance to get up. I jumped on him, planted a knee into his chest, and started swinging.

I don’t remember much, I kind of blanked out. I remember cursing a lot. I remember screaming in his face “SHE IS MINE! KEEP YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HER!” I remember the feeling of his nose crunching beneath my fist.

And then you were grabbing me, trying to pull me off him. I couldn’t understand why, couldn’t fathom leaving him to exist in the world. But a little voice of reason went off in the back of my head. The bastard was down, and I hadn’t actually checked on you. You might be seriously hurt, wrestling me off him might actually be causing you more damage, certainly it was causing you more pain.

I let you pull me off him. In the dark I could barely see him, his face covered in blood, his chest slowly moving - I guess I hadn’t killed the fucker.

We take a break from the story. We both know the rest anyways. You didn’t want to go to the hospital. You just wanted to go home.

So we sit on the bed, you curled up in my arms. I hold you tight - maybe a little too tight, but still I clutched you safely to me.

We sit silently for a long while. Then I kiss the top of your head, “I’ll go make you some hot chocolate, it’ll help you relax.”

I have to stealthily adjust myself as I stand. I don’t want to hint to you all the places my mind has roamed. And I shove down all the thoughts of what that says about me. In the morning I’ll need to take you - make sure you understand you’re still mine - but now is not the time for that.

As I walk to the kitchen I think about the story you told me. I obsess over all the details you shared. And I think about the details you held back.

You hadn’t mentioned that you’d came while he fucked you in that alley. I guess I can’t blame you, I hadn’t mentioned it’d been me the whole time.