Page 37 of A Summer to Save Us

I retreat step by step, my heart is racing. I want to scream, to shout, but the doors to my words are closed tighter than ever before.

The black-haired man approaches, a dangerous glow in his eyes, while the blond pulls his lumberjack shirt over his head in a single movement.

The smell of sweat and alcohol permeates the air. The words no and help spin in my mind. I hear them speaking, but I don’t understand anything. Their laughter seems to come from all around.

When my back hits the wall, my gaze falls on the window across from me. I consider leaping and pounding my fists against the glass, but the black-haired man is too close.

Do something! Anything!

There’s static in my ears, like it’s between two stations, and I notice John is closing the curtain.

After that, everything happens much too quickly.

With the last of my courage, I run toward the door, but I stumble straight into the arms of the black-haired man.

I kick, thrash, and grab his hair. He gasps.

I claw at it with my fingers, yanking and not letting go, like a dog sunking its teeth into something.

I don’t know how or in what order it happens, but I hear him curse, and something hits my face full force.

Stars explode along with pain, and for seconds, all I see are colorful patterns on a dark background.

He overwhelms me, but it doesn’t register until I’m on the bed and taste blood. The black-haired man sits on top of me and presses my hands next to my head.

“Look, the little angel has claws.”

My field of vision still isn’t clear. I’m sick to my stomach. Instinctively, I want to raise my arms and hit him, but I can’t even move them an inch.

“Hold still, little one, so we don’t have to actually hurt you,” I hear John say as if in a tunnel, but he’s not far away.

My jaw is throbbing like hell, I’m swallowing blood, and the stars are still flashing before my eyes like lights that flicker on and off.

I blink several times, trying to orient myself, but I can’t think clearly.

Reality splinters and collapses in on itself like a kaleidoscope.

Someone is squeezing my breasts so hard that my throat swells from the silent scream.

I want to raise my hands again, but the weight pressing them down feels as hard as iron.

I think it’s John. He’s holding me firmly. I can’t do anything.

Old images rise involuntarily within me—Chester, throwing me to the ground: me, running mindlessly through the Davenport mansion.

I stare at the shabby motel ceiling. I don’t want to see anything. See nothing, feel nothing. Disappear. Into my silence and stillness, into the waiting until it’s over because it always is at some point. Everything will be fine for those who can wait.

I feel myself falling. Down to the other universe where everything hurts less, where events are broken up into sequences.

My shirt—River’s shirt—is ripped open with a jerk, the fabric cracking and the buttons popping off.

I feel the weight of a body. The sweat. The moist breath on my cheek.

Scream! I don’t understand what’s happening. I kick, and they grab my hair as if to scalp me.

Words. Think of beautiful words . But I can’t find any. I cannot find them.

Suddenly, something bangs against the door. Several times in a row. Hard. “Open this damn door, or I’ll kick it in! That’s a damn promise! You hear?”

Tears of relief spring to my eyes.

River! River, River, River.

The black-haired man covers my mouth as a reflex, but then the door flies off its hinges and crashes to the floor.

I can’t describe what I feel—somehow everything and nothing, as if I’m floating in a vacuum.

It’s dead quiet for a few seconds. Eerily quiet.

Then, the black-haired man flies off the bed, and John is frozen.

“Get away from her! Now!” River’s voice drops to a deadly whisper that cuts through to my bones. He stands in the doorway, his hands clenched, his face red with anger. John releases my arms and climbs off the bed.

Suddenly, all the feelings are there at the same time—relief and embarrassment. With my cheeks burning, I gather the torn shirt over my chest and slide to the edge of the bed.

“Go,” River says calmly to me as I stand up on wobbly legs. “Go to our room, I’ll take care of this.”

He doesn’t have a gun and is alone. Has he gone crazy?

“She ain’t goin’ nowhere ’til I fuck her,” Jack says menacingly now, walking toward River. He’s taller and broader, but River remains in place, folding his arms.

“I should call the police,” he growls belligerently. “Then you and this assface can go straight to jail. Now, let the girl go and leave quickly.”

Jack bares his teeth, and John steps next to him. “She wanted it. She didn’t say no ,” he scoffs, shooting me a sly grin. “Ain’t that right, little angel? You wanted it.”

River’s fist crashes into John’s face so quickly that all I hear is the blond slamming into the closet with a loud thud, and then River’s next punch lands in John’s stomach.

With his lips twisted in pain, John collapses to his knees.

“Get out of here!” River shouts at me. At that moment, the black-haired man lunges, grabs River by the throat, and slams his head against the wall.

My heart almost stops. River is impaired, caught in some phase I don’t understand. The doorway may be open, but it’s not like anyone is coming to our aid. Definitely not Buddy Miller.

“Get lost, or I’ll make cattle feed outta you, you spoiled wimp!

” The black-haired man swings and strikes twice in a row.

It happens so quickly that I barely notice what is happening and how.

River gasps and pushes him back, but the next moment, he’s hit again and falls, blood gushing from his nose.

The black-haired man raises his fist, and an expression of hate blazes in his eyes. “You think we’re scum potato farmers from Idaho? Think you’re better, don’t you? But things are different here, asshole. Last chance. Get out, or I’ll break every bone in your body.”

No! I jump up like a madman and grab Jack’s arm, but he just laughs. “What do you want, lightweight?”

I’m knocked sideways, probably by his arm, and I stumble back. Something clatters to the ground—a vase.

“Stop right now!”

Someone is standing in the doorway. It takes me a second to recognize Tom and another to see the silver pistol flashing in his hand. “You two!” He points the muzzle of the gun first at John, then at Jack. “You two should get out quicker than I can whisper ‘jerk-offs.’”

The black-haired man stops mid-move, panting, looking at Tom without lowering his hand, which is aimed directly at River’s jaw.

“Are. You. Deaf?” Tom’s dreadlocks hang over his gaunt face, but now he no longer looks like someone who reads tarot cards in his free time.

I inhale softly and look from Tom to Jack, then to River. My heart skips a beat. Never before have I seen River look so dark. His hair hangs over his face, and a storm rages in his eyes as he presses the side of his hand against his nose to stop the bleeding.

“You’re bluffing.” Jack’s voice wavers.

Tom points the gun at Jack’s head, his expression frighteningly calm.

I can’t stop shaking.

“It’s not even loaded, I bet.” Jack’s fist is still clenched, and I can practically smell the testosterone. His prey is being snatched from under his nose, and it drives him crazy. He nods in my direction. “Maybe you wanna join? Then you can show her what a real weapon is!”

Tom’s arm swings around, and a warning shot crashes into some wooden slat outside. For a moment, I think my eardrums have burst.

Jack’s jaw drops. John covers his ears.

“Holy shit,” River says almost reverently. “You should shoot their balls off!”

Tom’s face is still as calm as a rock. His arm swings automatically again, and he aims the muzzle of the gun at Jack’s forehead.

John takes his hands away from his ears and raises them in the air. “Calm down, old man. It was just fun.”

River looks like he wants to kill him. “Be glad that’s not my weapon!” He says to me, “Go already!”

Tom nods. “Listen to your friend. You shouldn’t see this.”

Oh my God, he isn’t going to shoot them, is he?

The tarot guy allows himself a tiny smile. “Don’t look so scared. It’s not what you think.”

I look at River, whose eyes are still spitting fire bolts. “I’ll be right there.”

I leave the room, clutching my shirt in front of my chest, but I glance back. Jack is still livid, but John has given up.

Tom has a gun; nothing can happen , I tell myself, trying to calm down, but my heart won’t stop racing.

Shakily, I walk around the motel to our room and slam the door behind me.

Nothing can happen. It’s over .

I repeat these sentences over and over again, but I feel numb. Only now that I am safe does the shock crush me like a boulder.

I crack the window but I don’t dare open it all the way. I listen intently and stare out at the gravelly back area. I don’t see anything, I don’t hear anything. Whatever happens, happens quietly.

I wait and lose all sense of time. It’s probably only minutes, but it distorts into hours.

The event keeps flashing before me. The heavy body on top of me, the smell of sweat, the laughter.

My helplessness. A Silent Girl in Trouble .

I feel sick. Would Chester actually have let his friends do that to me?

I press my hands over my mouth and only now notice that tears are running down my face.

Since I’m suddenly freezing, I slip into jeans and a sweater, even though everything inside me is screaming for a shower.

And as I’m freeing my hair from the collar, I see Jack and John running across the back. Naked. Shortly after, River and Tom show up.

I cautiously open the front door, peek through the tiny crack, and see John and Jack getting into their car and driving away.

I feel nothing, neither triumph nor relief. I’m probably too full of adrenaline.

Trembling, I grip the doorknob when River suddenly appears in front of the door. He pushes it open so hard that I stagger back.