Rebecca Florence Miller
It started out well enough. I showed him my pieces while we drank the wine and chatted. The wine of course started to have an effect on us both, and while we were sitting on the sofa talking, he suddenly leaned over and kissed me.
It took me by surprise, and at first I didn’t know how to respond. Then he did it again. I pulled away and pointed out he was in a relationship with another woman. I really didn’t think this was appropriate or right. Plus, he was twenty years older than I was, and I just wasn’t interested in him “that way.”
In response, he grabbed my arms and did it again. This time I shoved him away and tried to get off the couch, reaching for the phone as I began to realize this was quickly becoming a dangerous situation.
He was a much stronger, bigger man than my small, 5’3”, 117-pound frame, and he easily subdued me and threw the phone I had in my hand across the room, saying “Oh no you don’t!” as he pinned me to the floor and climbed on top of me.
I began to scream, begging him to stop, but knowing what was coming next.
He laughed as I yelled for help and said, mockingly, “No one is going to hear you.”
This was true, I realized, because the neighbor who lived in the apartment above me was out for the evening, I’d seen him leave earlier that night. But this man didn’t know that. When you’re fighting for your life, however, sometimes you do have strange moments of lucidity.
So, I replied, “Actually, I have a neighbor upstairs who WILL hear me. He’ll be down here any second to check on what’s going on.” Truth was, I’d barely ever spoken to him, and even if he had been home, he likely wouldn’t have done a darn thing.
It was what I needed, though, as that prospect made him pause, and he released his grip just long enough that I was able to scramble out from under him. I ran into the bedroom, closing and locking the door. I quickly got on the phone and called … not 911, not the cops, but a friend … and begged her to come over and help me.
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