Chapter 4 - The End of the Old Em

*** CHAPTER TRIGGER WARNING ***

“It was a disaster of epic proportions,” I declare.

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” says Katie.

“I’m not. By the end of the night, the look on his face was exactly the same as Daniel’s”

The girls look at me blankly. “The accountant from before Christmas,” I add.

“Which one was he again?” Pavan asks.

“You know – the one who looked like a skinny Jason Mamoa.” Pavan shakes her head, still baffled. “The one whose nose I broke doing my “YMCA” routine,” I say reluctantly.

“Ah. Well, The Village People always have had a lot to answer for.” Despite the quip, I can’t help noticing Pavan’s sympathetic look. It is a look with which I am tragically familiar. “Do you think you’re going to see him again?” She ventures.

“Not unless he is run over, suffers a catastrophic head injury and he has a bout of amnesia and forgets what a moron he went out with.”

“It can’t just have been the thing with the shoes, surely,” Katie says. “I mean, the thing with the shoes sounds quite bad, but . . . was that really it?”

“The thing with the shoes qualifies as a high point,” I reply. “It went downhill after that. The moment I realised I’d drunk too much to calm my nerves was probably the worst part. Especially when I screamed at him like a psychotic banshee.”

“Why? What happened?”

“He then told me I’d called him Ryan the whole time we were at the bar instead of Rich.”

Amy stifles a smile and reaches for the toaster. “Would you like another bagel?”

“Why the hell not?” I say despondently. “I might as well be fat as well as miserable.”

“I’ll get them,” Pavan declares.

Pavan is in her purple unicorn velour dressing-gown, the one her mother bought her for Christmas. I can’t imagine where she found it, because I could shop the length and breadth of Britain and never stumble across anything so hideous. I wish I could say it was a one-off, but unfortunately her mother still buys a lot of her clothes, despite him being twenty-one. I’ve pointed out that this isn’t normal, but to no avail. But she has no freedom really. Which reminds me, I really need to ask her about her family’s plans to arrange a marriage once she graduates.

Besides, the few clothes she picks out herself are as bad, if not worse: it’s like a colour blind teenager trying to dress up as an old lady. Her family have restricted her so much that she’s trying to live her entire adolescence and teens right now before she’s married off.

Not that this is important. Pavan is the best friend anyone could hope for. As a flatmate, she’s excellent company, does more than her fair share of cleaning and always pays her rent on time (taking the pressure off me). And the food she cooks is amazing, probably the reason I struggle to lose weight.

More importantly, she’s loyal, above-averagely witty and I’ve cried on her shoulder so often over the years it’s a wonder she hasn't invested in a raincoat. I’m going to be sad when she moves out in August.

She puts the toasted bagel on a plate, butters it and places it in front of me. I take a large bite. “Don’t you have any eligible friends at work?” I ask, more in hope than expectation. “Anyone you could tip off about my tendency to embarrass myself – but convince that I’m worth persevering with?”

She thinks for a second. “The only one who’s single is David Bailey, but I don’t think he’s your type. But I’m sure my mother would happily try to match you with a husband,” she laughs.

“Why not? She thinks I’m trash,” I say defensively.

“David is almost 50. And my mother loves you. She just thinks you should follow our ways and be a saint until you’re married,” I roll my eyes. Pavan shrugs.

“I’ll say it once more seeing as I already told you that I think you should just be yourself,” she says. “You’d have more luck with men if you did. You need to relax and let them see The Real You.”

“Please don’t start on that again. Anyway, is there any news on your marriage?”

“They’ve picked a family. The wedding will be at the end of August and then I’ll be moving to London,” she tells me.

“What the fuck? No, but you haven’t met him!”

“It’s the way things are in my culture. So, I have to go to my uncle’s house as they are calling on video chat. Do I look okay?” She asks as she removes her dressing gown.

“You look amazing!” I tell her truthfully.

“Go have drinks with Mark. Kick these losers out. Call him it’ll be good for you,” she says.

“I’ve got your hair!” Amy says excitedly.

“I’ll pick the outfit!” Katie squeals.

It looks like I’m going on a spontaneous date with Mark.

* * * * * * * * * * *

“Emma! I’m so glad you called,” he says as he stands in the doorway of the pub.

“Well, I thought I owed you a drink after the embarrassment of last time. To be honest, I’m surprised you said yes,” I tell him.

“Of course, despite you being paraletic, I felt we had a connection. Come on in out the cold, what can I buy you?”

“I’ll have a strawberry and lime Kopparberg, please.”

We sit with our drink and fall into an easy conversation. He’s charming, funny and witty. It doesn’t feel like a date, it’s like being out with the girls, in a way. Surely this is a good sign?

We drink, we dance, we talk, we drink and we dance some more. I’ve watched my alcohol consumption, I promised myself I wouldn’t get blind drunk again, but I am feeling a little light headed and my brain feels clouded.

“I think I’m ready to call it a night. I have work tomorrow. Thank you. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to do this again,” I speak loudly, so that he can hear me over the music.

“Let me walk you home,” he says.

This guy is out of my league.

As the fresh air hits me, I feel my legs wobble a little. “Woah there! Easy now, let me help,” he says as he links his arm around my waist to guide me and keep me steady. So much for not being blind drunk.

He keeps chatting to me as we walk, and it’s taking all my strength to not vomit. I really don’t feel good.

“Wait, where are we?” I ask, when I notice that we have gone round the back of a building site. This isn’t the way home.

“I just wanted to extend the night a little.”

“No. I really need to go home,” I say as I sway; trying to stay on my feet as I look around to get my bearings.

I figure out the direction I need to take and cut through the building site to get home quicker.

“Hey, wait up,” he calls just before he grabs hold of my arm.

“Mark! I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I want to go home!” I tell him sternly.

“Emma. You’re wasted. You’re slurring your words and making no sense. Let me help you,” he argues.

Am I slurring? I can’t tell, but I know my stomach feels as though it’s spinning. I can’t hold it down any longer, my vomit bursts free and sprays the ground. I feel shocking. His arm links around my waist again and guides me.

“NO! Stop!” I yell as he leads me into a half built house.

“Come on. It’s just a little fun,” he says as he leans in and kisses me, pushing his tongue into my mouth.

I feel the sting on my hand and realise I’ve slapped him. “Leave me alone,” I tell him as I push him away. My legs are weak and I almost fall over.

“You wanted it the other night. I saw the way you looked at me in the morning. You wanted my cock,” he says as he grabs hold of me again.

“No!” I snap as I push him again.

He grabs my wrists and drags me to the ground, his body on top of mine and his weight too heavy for me to move. “Stop being a cock tease, I know you want it.”

His hands roughly squeeze my breasts as he grabs the fabric of my blouse and rips it open. His hands pin my wrists to the ground as he starts biting my breasts and sucks my nipple through my lace bra.

“STOP!”

He moves my wrists so that he’s holding them in one hand, while his other starts rubbing aggressively at my pussy.

“NO!”

He yanks down my tights and thong on one pull. His fingers push into me. “Ohh god, you’re so tight,” he groans.

“HELLLPP!”

He starts pulling at his jeans, ubuttoning and unzipping them. Pulling them enough to free his cock.

“STOP! NOOOO!” I scream as my body thrashes beneath him.

“ARGHHH!” I scream as his cock forces its way inside me.

“Oh god! Mmm, your pussy likes it,” he groans.

I scream and I scream. I pray to whatever almighty is out there.

Suddenly, there’s a grunt, rustling clothing and a loud bang.

“The lady said no. Now piss off,” a rough voice snarls.

Right now this voice is my guardian angel. It’s a voice I’d recognise any day of the week.

It’s Scott.

I hear Mark scurry away.

I begin to cry, while feebly trying to cover my exposed body.

“Hey, hey. It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you. Come on. We need to call the police and an Ambulance for you.”

“Sc … sc… Scott,” I sob, my body trembling.

“Come on. It’s not clean, but it’s warm,” I hear him say as something heavy wraps around me and he gently rubs my shoulders as I manage to get into my knees.

I’m about to thank him, when suddenly his body lurches forwards and knocks me over.

“You fucking cock block! You’ll pay for this!”

He’s back. Oh god no! He’s back.

“Scott!” I scream.

I watch in horror as the two men begin landing heavy blows. Mark is wielding a pipe that he must have found on the construction site.

I fumble in the dirt to find my bag and grab my phone. Dialling 999 with trembling fingers.

“Which service do you require?” The operator says.

“Police and Ambulance. I’ve been assaulted. He was interrupted, but now he’s attacking the man who saved me. Help me, please,” I beg, as the sound of pained grunts and heavy blows continue.

“Where are you?” The operator asks urgently.

“I’m not completely sure. I live on Kingswood, Hull. It’s a new house buying site. I could see my estate in the distance so I think it’s the Baileys development,” I rush out.

“The police are on their way. Is anybody injured? Are you safe?” She asks.

“Yes we’re injured. They’re still fighting but the attacker is winning. Please help. What if he gets me again?”

“I need you to escape to a public area,” she says.

“No. I can’t leave Scott! He saved me, he doesn’t deserve this!” I fret.

“The police are only minutes away. Please move to safety.”

“NOOOOO!” I scream as a sickening crunch draws my attention back to the fight. Mark has managed to land a heavy blow with the pipe to Scott’s head.

Scott hits the floor, but Mark doesn’t stop hitting him.

“SCOTT!” I howl as I look for anything I can use to help him.

The only thing I can find is a heavy type of brick. I pick it up and rush forward. Mark is to focussed on repeatedly hitting Scott with the pipe to notice my approach.

I raise the brick and scream as I bring it crashing down on Mark’s head.

I hear the sirens, I look up to see the approaching lights. I run towards them, waving my hands like a mad woman. “Over here. We’re here!” I tell as I continue to run towards them.

“Fuck!” I hear Mark curse.

I stop and turn when I hear heavy footsteps. He’s running away. The police have their beams on, they can see me. I have to help Scott.

A sob barrels out of me, when I see his face. It’s a swollen and bloodied mess. “Oh Scott. I’m so sorry. Please hang on. Help is coming,” I tell him as I told his hand.

“POLICE!” The officers announce their arrival.

“The attacker ran away. Please help my friend, he’s hurt badly,” I beg them.

My body and brain begin to shut down now that help has arrived. I’m safe and now my adrenaline is crashing.

I’m vaguely aware of being helped into the Ambulance with Scott. Something about a police escort and questioning.

It doesn’t register fully. I’m numb as I sit and watch the Paramedic help Scott.

My friend is seriously hurt because he tried to help me. I’ve been sexually assaulted. Scott’s bleeding. I’ve been hurt. Scott, who has nothing, chose to save me.

“We’re here. Let’s get them in and checked over before you question her,” the Paramedic tells the officer.

“Of course.”

******************

I've been prodded and poked. They’ve taken a blood sample and completed a rape kit. They’ve given me precautionary antibiotics in case of any sexually transmitted infections. They’ve photographed my wounds and taken my clothing as evidence.

Once they finish with me, they allow me to shower and give me a set of scrubs to wear.

I give the officer every detail that I can recall. From my first meeting Mark, to our night out, our walk home, the assault and Scott saving me. She asks so many questions and some appear the same, but she treats me with such care that I’m grateful she’s here and listening to me. She reassures me that no matter what happened during our first meeting, no means no and his actions were deplorable. They’re going to find him and arrest him.

“Can I see Scott now?” I ask her in a whisper.

“Of course. I’ll take you.”

I listen with an aching heart as the Doctor explains that the head injury has caused Scott to have a seizure. He has a broken leg and a couple of hairline fractures.

They ask for his address and I explain that he’s a homeless veteran.

“We’ll have to find him sheltered accommodation. He needs somewhere warm and safe while he recovers,” the Doctor says.

“No. That won’t be necessary. I have a spare room and I owe him my life. He saved me when he didn’t have to.”

“Miss. You’re a single woman soon to be living alone,” the policewoman says cautiously.

“Officer. I have known Scott for five years. He has been nothing other than kind and a friend. He’s homeless by choice after a mental breakdown from what he saw when he served. I’m safe with Scott, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” I realise that I’m angry that she’d tie him in with the likes of Mark.

I’m saved by a low groan and stammering words as Scott begins to wake up.

“Hey you. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. You saved me. I will never be able to thank you enough,” I whisper as I rush to hold his hand and cry.

“Head hurts… like a bitch,” he gasps.

“I’m so sorry you got hurt.”

“Ahh man. I’m in the Hospital. Fucking back in the system.”

“It’s only temporary. You’re badly injured and need somewhere warm and safe to stay while you recover. I’ve volunteered my spare room, if you’ll take it. Please let me help you,” I beg him.

“You don’t owe me anything Miss Emma. I’d have helped anyone being assaulted,” he tells me.

“I don’t want no for an answer, soldier. You need somewhere to stay while you recover. And you’re options are limited. It’s either with me: you’re only friend, or it’s in the system and in sheltered accommodation.”

“It’s major, I’ll have you know. You play dirty. As long as you feel safe with me there, I would be very thankful.”

“But, I’d also like us to get you some support for your mental health. For both of us. We can help each other heal.”

“That’s that then. When you’re ready to be discharged, I’ll take you home.”

“Only if you promise to tell me if you feel unsafe at any point. I’d rather be in the system and in sheltered accommodation than scare you Miss Emma.”

“Deal.”