Warning: This story contains graphic violence.
The asphalt bit into her hands as she caught herself on the ground. Her jaw ached. She shifted it from side to side. It hurt, but moved. She saw the boot out of the corner of her eye before it connected sending pain radiating from her side. Her elbows buckled and she felt her face hit the asphalt. Something grabbed her wrist, yanking it to flip her over to face her assailant. She turned her head and brought her free arm up to shield her face, but the monster smacked it away, gripping her other wrist. She heard a laugh. A flash of movement and the side of her face exploded in sudden pain again.
There was a feeling of calm as she felt herself be dragged along the asphalt. The pain in her face dulled to a stinging and then an ache and a tingling. She could feel her heart beating, her breathing ragged. Sharp exhalation as the boot connected with her side again. Not her kidneys. Small blessings.
She felt her clothes being raked from her body, her jeans yanked down, her shirt forced up. Feeling hands on her body. Two hands.
Her wrist was free. She turned to face her attacker. A head and a torso looming over her in the darkness of the alleyway. Two legs. Where they came together, crouching over her. She felt her legs. She could feel her legs. She wanted to get away, to crawl away. She grasped with one hand.
Something moved under her hand. She brought her hand up, the plank gripped tight, splinters in her palm, but it didn’t matter.
The sound as the plank hit flesh was both dull and sharp, and her assailant drew in breath and turned. Her legs were free. She brough her knees into her chest and tucked her body, rolling away. It wouldn’t be long until that monster recovered, came back for her.
She got her feet under her and stayed down in the crouch. As her assailant found her again in the dark, she stood, bringing the plank up hard between the legs. She heard a hiss of breath and the shape dropped to the ground, maybe from shock more than pain. Or maybe it was just pain. It was different for them than for her, she supposed. She brought the plank up and down again, striking shoulders, a back, maybe a head. She watched the shape of her assailant crumple in and fall to the ground.
She hit him again and again. She lost count of the blows. And then she stopped. She heard a noise, somewhere between a sob and a choke. It was him.
“Please,” he whimpered.
She looked at the plank of wood in her hand. There were spots on it now, red ones. She looked back at him. His eyes were wide. Blue. They were blue. She could seem them in the light from the street. She could see the entrance to the alley. It didn’t seem so far away anymore. She looked back at him and felt anger and loathing and fear welling up inside her, in her arm, bringing the plank back up.
His eyes went wide and she saw tears in them. His arms and legs shook as he cowered on the ground. Her arm came down.
She felt cuts in her palm crack and sting as she released her hand and let the plank fall to the ground with a clatter. She turned and walked out of the alley, back to the street, to civilization. She fished in her pocket for her cell phone and dialed it.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“I’d like to report an attempted sexual assault. Yeah, you should probably send an ambulance.”