Page 25

I wasn’t brave.
I wasn’t fearless.
I was an actress, and while I could play a part, it involved lines and scripts. I couldn’t play this part, not the one where I appeared strong.
He grabbed me by the waist and tossed me into the back of the van.
“No!” I shrieked and lunged at the man, my fingernails dug into his eyes and forced him to stumble backward. I used the moment to my advantage and flung myself out of the van and past him, tripping over my feet.
I slammed into the grass, eating dirt.
“You bitch!” the perpetrator snarled and reached into the van.
I wasn’t about to wait around to find out whether he drew a gun or something else at me.
I hurried to my feet and rushed between cars, ducking so that he couldn’t see me. I kept low to the ground, listening for his footsteps or the heavy breaths that he took, panting for air.
As much as I wanted to help the woman in the van, the best thing I could do for her now was to get help.
If he had a gun, I would be outmatched.
I stayed low to the ground and hurried through the crowded parking lot back toward the production set.
Tires squealed and kicked up dirt as I lifted my head. The white van high-tailed it out of the parking lot.
I didn’t bother needing to duck any longer or hide from the perpetrator.
I was free, but she wasn’t.