Statistic

The silver dust of the moonlight settled warmly on the night. Magic, I could literally taste it in the air, like molasses and cornbread. At least, that’s how it tastes to me. Perhaps it’s different to everyone. Or maybe only I can taste it. 1

Love. That’s what the magic tastes like. Like Luke’s soft, butterfly kisses and earthy scent of fallen leaves. Pure, undiluted love. That’s why he wanted to meet me here, on the banks of Lake Mirage. It’s a place of love. 2

Speaking of love, somebody better get here soon or he’ll have all 123 pounds of angry girlfriend to face. I check my watch again; 9:15, only three minutes later than when I last checked. Is this thing broken?3

Where is Luke? He said he’d be here at nine. Honestly, if he doesn’t show up in the next five minutes, I’m so leaving. I sigh, leaning against the oak tree I sit under. At least the scenery’s nice, I think, studying the wide, glassy plane of water stretching out before me. I wonder what it would be like to touch it. A foolish thought, one only a naïve child would have. I know that my hand would sink right through the surface, but still, I can’t help but think that the lake would be smooth and hard beneath my hand. I smile at my childish thought. Let me have them. You’re only young for so long and alive for so little time. It’s nice to be immature every once in a while.4

I check my watch again. Oddly, barely a minute has passed. Still, late is late and Luke is definitely going to hear about it. Well, maybe, I’ll let him warm me up first.5

“You look cold, sweetheart.” 6

Huh? Who said that? Who on earth could have a voice that sounds like all things abdominal on earth? I turn and see not the handsome blue eyes I know so very well, but sluggish grey eyes glinting knives in the moonlight. Those horrible eyes lock with mine and the air around me feels at least ten degrees cooler.7

“Need me to warm you up?”8

Make it fifty degrees cooler. 9

I shake my head at his statement and turn sharply away. Those knife-like eyes have a rather unnerving effect to them. I hope he takes my lack of vocals as a sign for him to buzz off, but apparently, this guy never learned how to read women.10

“You look cold,” he repeats. “Here have my coat,” he says while simultaneously putting his coat around my shoulders and sitting down next to me. I keep my eyes firmly trained on the lake before me.11

I fight an urge to cough, vomit, and make a noise of disgust as both the scent alcohol and sweat radiate from the man and his filthy denim coat. Alright, this guy needs to leave before I get sick.12

“Um, I’m waiting for someone, so if you wouldn’t mind, um, you know, leaving. That would be great,” I say in a falsely cheery voice while still gazing at the lake.13

“Well maybe I can keep you company.” There’s something of a leer in his voice, sending cold shivers down my spine.14

“No, it’s really alright. Besides, I don’t even know you.” I want to slap myself as soon as the words come out of my mouth. Damn, now I’m in for it. I’ve just opened him up into a conversation, something I really don’t want.15

“I’m Tom. I work in a lumber yard and I’m single.” He places extra emphasis on that last statement.16

“I don’t give my name to rude strangers and I’m taken,” I counter. I half expect him to slap me in the face, but Tom surprises me by bursting out laughing. His laugh is unlike anything I have ever heard before, full of cruel and maniacal beauty. So beautiful it makes my ears want to bleed. How can such a repulsive man have such a beautiful laugh?17

“You’ve got spunk. I imagine you’d be a hellfire in bed.”18

This time, I turn and give him the most scathing glare I can muster. He has no right to say these things to me so I raise my hand to give him the slap he damn well deserves. His knife like eyes almost make me back down but his expression of suggestion and appraisal spur me on. Before my blow can even land, though, the snake that is Tom’s hand halts my intended cuff.19

His expression has changed, into a blank, dangerous look of arousal. He pulls me closer until our chests meet. His free hand snakes around my waist and hold me there. “I’d think twice, little girl.” His voice is low and dangerous, like the ice-like knives of his eyes.20

Luke, where are you?! “I told you, I’m meeting someone here,” I say, the hysteria that has consumed me obvious in my voice. I struggle against his hold but to no avail. After all, he works in a lumber yard and his muscles are a testimony to that.  Suddenly, there’s a flash of fire spreading across my cheek, stupefying me. It takes me a moment to realize Tom hit me.21

He takes advantage of my reeling state and forcefully lays me on my back. “You be a good girl and keep quiet, you here?” I regain my senses to realize the full implications of his words. Oh my God, this sick bastard is going to rape me! I fight with all the energy I have, trying to alleviate some from the molasses air, but I can’t. The air has turned into blood, thick and heavy. It weighs down on me and muddles my mind. I can’t even tell what’s happening anymore. I think Tom is on top of me, and, wait, was that the sound of a zipper? The blood comes back in full force and I can feel no more, except the brief tearing of pain in my core. I vaguely recall reading of the hymen and how it hurts when torn. Is Tom inside me? Yes he is, for I can feel his knife plunging in and out, like some sick pogo stick. So this is what rape is like. Funny, I was told it was painful, not like the numbness I’m feeling. How long will he take? C’mon Tom, get this over with, I don’t want Luke to find me like this. Luke! Now I know what the pain is from. It’s the iron hand that clenches your heart when you realize something special has been ripped away from you and the one who was meant to share. You damn bastard, Tom! Did I say that? Must have, for I can feel his anger. Hit me again Tom, see if I care. Go on hit me, hit—22

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Tom placed the gun back in his pocket. The girl’s blood was pooling all around her, dripping onto his coat. He finished what he meant to do and left, not bothering to hide the body of the girl whose name he never found out, didn’t know anything about. With his deed, he condemned her to another nameless and selfless statistic in the book of crime victims.  He left her there, beside a lake that might have been smooth and firm, in the air that might have tasted like molasses amidst the silver dust of moonlight that settled coldly on the night.24