Beautiful Force (4 page)

It all happened so fast. Before she could react, her patient thrust her into a stronghold, pinning her up against the wall. She tried to escape, but his grip became increasingly secure. His hands frantically skated over her clothing, tearing at them as if he was unwrapping a present.
 

His breath panted, deep heavy groans escaped his lungs. His eyes filled with an incredible amount of rage and excitement. She begged for him to release her. He showed no regard to her pleas.
 

The stormy desire in his eyes glazed over. Everything she had ever known about him was gone. His pupils enlarged. He was no longer the man she had been counseling the last few years. Mr. Patterson flipped. There was no reasoning with him now.
 

He transformed into a monster before her eyes. Sweat poured from his brow. His hands accosted her, groping desperately between her legs. She writhed and twisted her body to release his death hold. The smell of his beer-bathed breath permeated her senses. In the corners of his mouth, white-chalky paste gathered. His hair dripped like black ink into his face. She grabbed a handful of his fringe and pulled with all her strength. He was stronger, much stronger than she was. One shake of his head, and he freed himself from her grip. He was unstoppable.
 

His powerful fingers penetrated beneath her torn blouse, tearing at the fabric of her bra and exposing her breasts. Her mind reeled as he bit into her bare flesh. She tried to push him away, kicking and screaming. Her struggles exacerbated his frenzy. He ripped away the clasp of her bra. The force of the violation caused her knees to buckle. He lifted her languid body, wedging her into the corner.
 

She dug her nails into his face, scraping away at his DNA. This would surely leave a scar. In the very least, if he killed her, the police would be able to identify her assailant. The thought of dying made her shudder, but at least she would take a piece of him to Hell with her.

Allison’s mind drifted into a catatonic state, pushing back to a time when she was a rebellious teenager, remembering Hell is where her father told her she would end up one day. Should she surrender and accept her fate, now? 

Frank’s lips and then tongue pressed hard into hers. She opened her mouth, accepting his tongue and immediately clamped down on it. The bite was fierce.

He drew back his fist then wailed it toward her. Automatically, she shifted her head as his fist collided with the wall next to her. It caused a huge hole in the drywall...

That could have been her face...

As she released his tongue, flashing on his bloody knuckles. Blood filled her mouth. The metallic taste of his blood swirled in the back of her throat, causing her to gag. She spit and felt the warm mixture of her saliva and his blood streaming down her chin. Her eyes widened, filling with fear of the sight of him.

His pupils dilated twice their size. Only a drug would cause this kind of rage. Unfortunately, in this case she was the drug. The fury in his eyes shifted into a higher gear. A look of hysteria and sexual excitement took him to the next level.
 The fight she put up turned him on.

“You want it rough, bitch. I knew you were a little freak.” He yelled as he twisted a band of her long hair around his bloody knuckles, immobilizing her ability to move. “Ah, just how I like it.”

“Let me go of me,” Allison cried, tears blurred her vision. Her mind raced. 

Who was this man? Did the little blue pills that she
had prescribed cause these horrible side effects? It couldn’t be. She must have misjudged him. How could she have missed this side of him? He sure had her fooled.

Her mind flashed back to when he confessed to her earlier that his wife had him locked up for false acts of violence.  No wonder his wife left him
; he was an abusive man. Abusive was an understatement. This whole event made her question her therapy screening process for patients. If she lived through this ordeal, she would definitely do background checks from now on. 

He forcefully lifted her petite frame off her feet, slamming her to the floor and flat out on her back. The impact caused her to lose her breath. Pain riddled in her spine.

He steamrolled his drunken body onto hers. The weight of his large frame rendered her helpless. Her lungs burned as she gasped for air. He yanked the hemline of her skirt up. Her blood-curdling screams fell upon deaf ears when he pressed his palm over her mouth to muffle her voice. Her strength to fight him off was waning.

There was no breath left to breathe. He was suffocating her. It was time for her to tune out and let him have his way. If only she could pass out until it was over.

He ripped into her clothing and then the inevitable happened—he penetrated her with his fingers, hard, into her sex. The pain of his volatile entry radiated to all her limbs and her body fell boneless. 

It was as if she transcended outside of herself. Her eyes scanned the fog. She could see the canister of mace dangling on the keychain in the ignition of her car. The humming of the idled motor drowned out the heavy breathing pattern of Mr. Patterson’s pants and her cries, drowning out the pain in the world, her world. An unfamiliar voice in the distance beckoned to her.

“You’re going to be okay. I’m here to help you. Fight him—fight with all your might. Don’t let go.” The stranger’s voice pleaded. “Remember what William Shakespeare wrote, violent delights have violent ends...make the end of him meet with the end of your shoe.” Allison thought she was going crazy, the voice was clear and audible, giving her precise instructions.

Who was there with them? There was no one in the room, save for her and Mr. Patterson. It had to have been her internal voice. They say when you are in a life threatening situation the mind has a way of protecting itself before letting go. Allison knew this was beginning to happen. She was now hearing voices. There wasn’t anyone that could save her now. It was only her
- conscience speaking.  

Allison mentally disconnected from the agony. She closed her eyes. Her body seemed to float into space. She felt peaceful, if that
was possible as she allowed her thoughts to drift away. Her mind sifted through old memories. 

The pictures were grey. They were not the happy images she had always dreamed of. Couldn’t she have another chance? A do over! She supposed that God had already given her nine lives by the time she made it to eighteen...how many more did she deserve?
 

Suddenly, she felt a gentle touch. There was someone’s hand on her shoulder. Her eyes popped open. It definitely was
not
Mr. Patterson. His hands were busy below her waistline. Someone was there, a force of energy giving her the strength to survive this. It was a wake-up call. A call to fight. She no longer felt alone.  

Something unleashed in her brain as if someone gave her a healthy syringe of adrenaline. With all the force left in her beaten soul, she slammed Mr. Patterson hard in the groin with her bony kneecap. A swoosh of air escaped his lungs. Sweet success enveloped Allison. Mr. Patterson fell hard to the side of her like a wet towel falling to the floor, gasping and cursing her.
 

“You rusty old, fuck!” she triumphed, blowing her horn and propelled to her feet. Victory.
 

Hovering above his crumpled up body, she rammed her round-toed Mary Jane’s into his groin, hard, over and over for each time he’d touched her. She made solid contact, kicking him where it hurts the most. A violent end flashed in her mind
; he could have killed her, this she knew now. There was no way he would’ve let her just walk away.

Allison turned to escape and then stopped. Without hesitation, she grabbed a lamp base and walloped him over the head for good measure. Blood poured from the gash in his forehead.

“You’re going to pay for this,” he moaned.

“Go to Hell,” she bellowed then fled from his home, leaving him quivering on the floor.

As Allison sped into the night, her mind did too. She was heading in the direction of the nearest hospital. She imagined all the questions and the police interrogation. The aftermath of even an attempted rape would make her feel like a victim once again. Suddenly, she felt overwhelmed, too ashamed and embarrassed to follow up with the authorities. Surely this was irresponsible, but the entire event was irresponsible. She had chosen to go to a distraught patient’s home unescorted. The sound of her father’s voice echoed in her ears.  

Her father wouldn’t have shown any sympathy. “Allison you have disappointed me, once again. What happened to you is your own fault.”
 

She could not bear to hear his unsupportive reproach of her. There were too many years of his white noise clouding her thoughts as it was. She failed her father again. He would blame her and rightfully so, she thought. Going to Mr. Patterson’s alone was an act of naivety. Despite her good intention, she should have known better. She quickly made a U-turn and headed home.
 

Fortunately, Frank and Allison never crossed paths again, professionally or otherwise. Weeks later, she heard through the grapevine that he committed himself willfully into a program. Perhaps, Allison had laid a foundation in her therapy somewhere along the line that Mr. Patterson conceded to.

***

Something broke, or more like erupted, in Allison the night she fought off Mr. Patterson. Something boiled to the surface that felt all too familiar.
 Something dark.

Upon arriving home that night, she removed her tattered, torn clothing. Shame cloaked her spirit.

Allison had a long shower and cried hard until it felt like her heart stopped beating and perhaps it did in the literal sense.

She scrubbed away any and all the evidence of her assailants attempt to rape her. Her voice howled like a small wolf being devoured by its catch. She became the prey. The monster she fought to heal turned on her.

As the water washed over her tainted skin, it hurt. The pain was greater than anything she had ever experienced. She needed to bury it within her. But where? She lathered her boneless body and continued to scrub, hoping for relief. Attempting to wash her bad judgment and the memory of the volatile incident away only caused the realization that this was impossible.

Allison blamed herself for going to Mr. Patterson’s home alone.

The soap and its cleansing power fell short. It could never clean up the mess she got herself into. How could she expect it to? After all, it was only water and soap.

Allison stood there, naked and wounded. Alone. Frightened. After hours of cleansing the shame away, the water ran cold. Her beautiful heart that once beat with such hope ble
d, mixing with the ice cold water.

As it was, more than just water drained out of the bath and down the pipes into the wastelands of the earth. She would never be the same.

That night when Allison stared at her image the mirror, glaring back at her were eyes of a stranger who she did not recognize.  Once again she came face to face with the fork in the road,
no,
a monster as many often do, and this time there were no U-turns to take. The fork snapped. She snapped. The world snapped.

Allison’s only saving grace was that she fought back and a new Allison emerged, claiming her freedom to reign...like never before.

***

After Allison’s near rape incident, she reinvented her entire business approach.
Out with the old and in with the new.
Her new motto, “It’s not the fall in life...it’s the climb back up.” 

She began donning high-end fashions that showed off all her physical assets. There was no more hiding her full-breasts and slender curves beneath dowdy clothing.
 

Allison quit wearing her hair pulled back and wore it down in big waves that cascaded past her shoulders. Scarlet lipstick was her color of choice. The brand was Chanel, nothing but the best. Everything turned to a shade of red; she dyed her natural pale blonde hair to dark burgundy.
 

Garter belts and stockings became an everyday staple paired with six-inch heels. They’d doubled as a concealed weapon; if a precarious event was to surface again, she would be prepare
d. If her feet hurt, to hell with the pain, she would never be taken against her will again.  Besides, men loved the way her calves flexed when she strutted by. She was the devil’s daughter in the true form, red-hot and exploding with sex appeal. Her father, whom she considered the Devil, actually approved of her new look. He told her that he knew a beautiful swan would blossom one day. That was as good as it would get with him.

Allison revamped her practice too, this her father would not approve of. She incorporated New Age ideologies for her patients who did not appreciate the laborious Freud anecdote.

Unfortunately, her father got wind of her modern treatment plan and reinforced the fact that she was an embarrassment to his legacy. However, his words fell on deaf ears this time. For the first time in Allison’s life, she didn’t give a rat’s ass what her father thought. 

If her tyrant for a father ever found out what other services she had tailored into her new recovery plans, he would have had a heart attack. Rightfully so. If he felt New Age therapy were below his standards, he would have disowned Allison for what else she incorporated into her practice for her own recovery.