The Drowning Game

“Where’s Sarx?” I choked out. “What did you do to Sarx?”

“Pepper spray,” he said. “The dogs’ll be all right if you listen to me. Understand?”

I nodded.

“Call the dog off or I’ll shoot him.” He raised the pistol and pointed it again.

“Off, Tesla,” I said, giving the hand signal.

Tesla backed off, pacing in front of the door, sneezing and whining.

Randy turned to me, unsteady on his feet. If he’d only been a little drunker, I could probably have disarmed him. But as it was, he had a .357 Magnum in one hand and pepper spray in the other. So I made sure to keep my knees loose and watch for an opening.

“You listen to me,” Randy said. “You’re going to marry me, and you’re going to show me some respect. I’ve put up with your silent treatments and your playing hard to get. I’m sick of it. You’re going to marry me, and you’re going to have my sons. You’re going to start wearing makeup and dress like a real woman, and you’re going to cook and clean my house.”

He stuck the pepper spray in his back pocket and his gun down the back of his jeans. What came next happened in slow motion. He corralled my waist and crushed me to him, but his mistake was trying to pin my arms to my sides. I pressed my wrists together, bent my knees and slipped his grasp. He stood blinking dumbly at me for a split second before he drew the gun and fired out the screen. “I will shoot the dog. Stand still. Do it. Stand still or I shoot the dog.”

My dad had always said if it was ever between me and an animal, choose me. But Randy would still have a gun, and he was drunk. So I did as I was told. He caught me around the waist again and pulled me against him, then mashed his mustache into my lips. Without any warning at all his tongue plopped into my mouth too, and then I thought I was truly and really going to vomit. I didn’t crush his windpipe the way my dad had taught me, although I had never wanted to do anything more. I just stood there and took it.

“Open your mouth a little wider,” he said into the side of my face before diving back in. I did. That tongue lashed around inside my mouth for a while, and that mustache went in my mouth too and up my nose and made me need to sneeze. While this was going on, he slipped his hand down the front of my sweats and between my legs. He did it so easily, as if it was nothing, as if this wasn’t the one thing my father had tried to prevent my whole life. It was as if he’d cut me open, reached inside and exposed my deepest thoughts to a jeering crowd. But the move released my right arm and without thinking at all I brought my fist up and boxed his left ear. He pulled his hand out of my underwear, took hold of the neck of my T--shirt and slapped my face so hard I saw double.

Tesla went berserk outside the screen, throwing himself at the door again and again.

“You want it rough, huh?” Randy said, feeling his ear. “So do I.” Then he slapped me again before shoving his tongue in my mouth. His hand traveled up to my right breast and squeezed so hard the pain and violation made me gasp. I imagined biting his tongue off and spitting it in his face. For the umpteenth time I wished I could revive my dad and kill him all over again. And then I’d put him and Randy and Mr. Dooley into the meat grinder and let the dogs eat them.

I stood limp, nauseated, until he stopped. He smiled at me as he felt his ear again, moved his jaw around. “Don’t worry,” he said, winking at me. “We’ll save your cherry for our wedding night. I’m kind of traditional that way.”

My breast, my face, and my crotch all throbbed, but I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. My body parts blazed humiliated red, no longer my own, no longer protectable or private. Just spoiled meat you’d feed to pigs.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “We’re going to the courthouse tomorrow, and we’re going to get married. You don’t have any choice, and you know it. I’ll come for you at one o’clock, so you get a dress on, and we’ll go into town.” He started for the door and then stopped and turned back to me. “Almost forgot. Here you go.” He dug in his front pocket, snatched my hand up and put a black velvet box into it. I let the hand fall to my side. Impatiently, he took the box and opened it, holding it in front of my face. “Here’s your engagement ring. Put some ice on your face. See you tomorrow.”

Before he opened the door, he said, “Call the dog off.”

I thought about giving the signal to attack, but I was afraid Randy’d have the chance to pull the pistol out of his pants and shoot me or poor old Tesla. So I complied. Randy winked at me again and walked off into the night.

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