Something heavy lands on top of me, expelling the air from my lungs, and my eyes snap open. I’m stunned for a moment, not sure if I’m still dreaming or awake.

A shadowy figure looms over me in the dark. It takes me a second to realize the musky, sweet scent invading my nose is body odor. That the sour stench hitting my face is someone’s breath and the weight pressing on top of me is that of a man.

Oxygen fills my lungs as I suck in a breath to scream. But before I can release it, a large, sweaty palm covers my mouth and fingers dig into my cheeks. Panic and adrenaline course through me as I thrash, kick, and push. The man above me growls his displeasure, but I don’t stop. I rake my nails down his skin, anywhere and everywhere. Planting my heel into the mattress, I thrust my hips up, trying to buck his body off, but with him being twice my size, he barely moves. He’s a damn anvil on top of me.

His fingers fumble with the button of my shorts for only a second, before he violently yanks at them, forcing them down over my hips.

The idea of taking this foul creature into my body has nausea crawling its way up my throat. It also opens the iron box inside my head. The one full of long ago locked away memories. Memories of my time with Warner. And I’m reminded that fighting my captor only made the sex more brutal . . . more painful. Left me with scars.

The more you fight me, the more this is going to hurt. Let me in, Em. Let me in.

I lock my eyes closed as my assailant rips at my underwear, and try to find my place. The place where no one and nothing can find me, hurt me.

But just as I’m pulling away from reality, he stops . . . stills. I gasp, and the sour stench of him fills my nose. Opening my eyes, I see his chest rise and fall heavily, but otherwise he’s a statue above me.

“Get the fuck off her, you animal, or I will slice you like a fucking cantaloupe,” a young female voice hisses.

The glint of a knife pressed against my attacker’s throat catches my eye. He turns his head, but then his eyes widen as he’s jerked back.

“Don’t,” the voice barks.

He hesitates as if calculating his odds. Or maybe he’s deciding which he’d prefer. To die. Or rape me. A second later, he cries out and scrambles off me. His hand goes instantly to his neck and a dark liquid leaks out from between his fingers. Stumbling away, he mumbles something unintelligible.

My heart’s thumping wildly inside my chest and I fight back the burn of tears building behind my eyes.

I will not cry.

“Don’t you dare. You’re fine. Alive. Breathing. Free,” I hiss at myself under my breath. Then I inhale gulps of air, rushing to fill my lungs as I right my shorts, and button them. I yank on the zipper, but it doesn’t zip because it’s broken.

Dammit.

I lift my gaze, and it centers on a small figure standing not two feet from me. Her black clothes blend her in with the dark room. She appears pixyish with short dark hair cut to her jawline, slender limbs, and small hands. Like Tinker Bell in human form. Only this one holds a knife.

It’s eerily silent all around us. When I speak again, my voice is louder than I intended. “I can’t believe that just . . . thank you.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I thought this room was only for women.”

Without saying a word, she spins and climbs onto the top bunk of the one next to mine. Staring after her, I wait for a reply. Only it never comes.

Pulling myself into a sitting position, my knees to my chest, I scan the sleeping area. I find eyes, lots of them, watching me, and ask myself . . . how is it a girl, even more petite than I am, was the only one with the guts to do something? Why didn’t anyone else help me?

As the minutes pass, my eyes darting to any movement or sound. Thirty-eight days on the street, and I’ve been reasonably safe. But I don’t feel safe here, not anymore.

If it weren’t for the promise of food and a shower, I’d grab my bag and leave. Also it’s still raining, which is what drove me to stay here in the first place, since the rainstorms in New Mexico are a lot like mini tsunamis. Honestly, had I known, I would’ve moved on straight through to Texas like I’d originally planned. But now, a bus ticket will set me back much more than I can afford to spend.

Hours pass. The sun gradually filters in through the windows causing the occupants to stir, wake, creating a bustle of movement and a steady hum of voices in the overly crowded room.

Closing my eyes, I clear my mind and mentally prepare to start my day by telling myself positive things I need to hear. Things will get better. You’re stronger than you think. There’s a better life out there waiting for you. But it’s my mother’s voice and not mine I hear.

Standing, I turn side to side and stretch my aching back. I get the sense I’m being watched, and drop my arms.

“First time here?”

I glance to my right and see an older woman standing there. She peeks out at me through a bushel of salt and pepper hair.

“That noticeable?”

She shrugs. “Takes some time to get used to the helter-skelter of this place. Didn’t get much sleep?”

I look at my cot and for a moment relive last night all over again. A shudder rakes through me. When I gaze back to her, I say, “No, not much.”

“Give it some time. You’ll get used to it.”

Mmmm . . . I’d rather not.

She asks as she folds a blanket, “You gonna shower? The hot water doesn’t last long if ya are.”

Peering down at my hands, I see grit under my fingernails, which I’m sure consists of his skin, and blood. “Yeah . . . I could use one.”

She nods. “Do you mind watching my bag while I go? You can’t trust some people ‘round here.” Her gaze swings to a group of women in the far corner who are fixedly watching our exchange. “I’ve made a few enemies in my day,” she says, “and I’d rather not leave my stuff out in the open. I’ll do the same for you, if ya want.”

When I hesitate to answer, she adds, “You’ll learn fast you gotta earn trust first, before people will give it back to ya.”

“I get it.” And I do. If you want something from somebody then you need to give them something in return. It’s the reality I learned at a young age.

Also staying off the grid, moving from place to place, it’s a lonely and isolated existence. Having a friend, or even someone to give me advice, would be nice.

A heavy thud sounds to my right. Spinning around, my gaze lands on a pair of leaf-green eyes. They belong to a girl. The girl from last night. She stands about five-three, five-four. Her body’s almost childlike. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s no older than sixteen. But that can’t be right since she’d have to be eighteen to be admitted into the shelter. Although, I’m starting to think whoever is running this place isn’t a stickler for the rules. Considering men and women are supposed to be segregated and that wasn’t the case last night.

The girl has an oval face, high cheekbones, and big eyes lined with kohl under dark eyebrows. Her raven hair is short, shaggy, and sets off her ivory skin. She’s dressed a little gothic for my taste, in a black tank, shorts, high leather boots, and rubber bracelets cover half of her forearms.

Not so much Tinker Bell after all, more like a young Joan Jett.

Her rough exterior looks like an attempt to push away the world. But then why, out of the two hundred or so occupants of the shelter, was she the only one to come to my rescue?

“Whoa, settle it down, Red. It’s not like I’m gonna slit your throat or anything.”

Red. I’d been called worse. Ginger, Carrot Top, and my ‘oh so’ not favorites, Fire Crotch and Freckle Monster. Though, I haven’t been called either of those in years.

Mini Joan Jett turns to the old woman and her features contort, her nose wrinkles. She makes a hissing sound while curling her fingers, further proving my theory she’s a young teen.