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© Copyright 2012 by Quentin Graves
Published by Red Kitty’s Publishing
All Rights Reserved
Cover Design by Shiloh Young
NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for persons under the age of eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. It contains descriptive scenes of a sexual nature and violent attack. By reading this eBook, you assert that you comply with your local or state laws. This book is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons whether living, deceased, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
By Any Other Name
A Short Story in Two Parts
Part
One
The Evil That Men Do
My name is Susan Fraser; not that who I am means anything to you. I live a quiet life with my best friend, Nicole. Nicole is everything I am not. She is one of those people who go through life with seemingly no effort. Being outgoing, popular, attractive, confident and well rounded comes naturally to her. She oozes self-confidence, and has a charismatic air about her that draws people to her. A room will feel more alive as soon as she enters it. She is my best friend, my soul mate, and the person I aspire to be.
So what am I like? Imagine the absolute, complete opposite to Nicole and you will find me. I am the introverted, shy, plain, and unsure girl who scurries through life hiding in the shadows. The one who lives life from one embarrassment to the next, face blushing fiercely, mumbling in a soft voice that no one hears, and making the quickest exit I possibly can to escape any social situation. I am a wallflower, one of the invisible people who drift through life, trying desperately to blend in with the background. I am anything but well rounded.
The fact that Nicole and I are friends is nothing short of a miracle, and I have no delusions that I had anything to do with it. It was one of those moments when life or God perhaps, decides it is a good day to mess with things; throwing two sides of a coin and two complete opposite ends of the spectrum together just to see what transpires. I am well aware that if it were not for Nicole, I would be friendless. She is very protective of me, as if I am her little pet project that she must keep safe at all times. I must admit I like my role of ‘she who must be protected’ a little too much and have become more than comfortable with Nicole being the leader of our two member pack.
I work in the office at a local doctor’s clinic, and while it may not be the best job in the world, I have managed to keep it for several years now. What I lack in social skills, I seem to have made up with in abundance in organizational skills, which suits this job perfectly. My brain just thrives on lists of appointments, times, dates, patient names, phone numbers and matching lab results and prescriptions to said patients. I would much rather deal with all those lists, keying them into the computer, avoiding actually interacting with said patients any day. The doctor makes me nervous when he is around me; for that matter, everyone makes me nervous. He might have a nice bedside manner with his patients, but he is arrogant and lords it over his staff. I try not to flinch under his gaze too much though.
I have the luxury of being in the back of the reception area, almost in the bathroom really, which suits me fine. There is no such solitude upon me now, however. The one afternoon of the week I hate intensely is Friday afternoon, when the front receptionists apparently have important work to do in the examination rooms leaving me sitting at the front desk. I paste on my friendly smile, greeting all the hassled mothers with runny-nosed kids, elderly men and women who cannot hear a word I am saying, and young men who act as if they are not sick, but they are here anyway.
Every so often, I steal glances back at my perfectly tidy desk in the back, longing to run and hide there. The clock does its slow steady march from one minute to the next and time passes at a snail’s pace, inching closer to 5pm. Normally that would mean freedom, but not today. Today is my birthday and the women I work with are dragging me to the local bar. I am not comfortable with this at all, but there is no way out of it.
The patients come and go with monotonous regularity. One snotty nosed kid after another needing some antibiotics. One overprotective mother followed by another who looks as if they would rather be anywhere but here. They sound the same; they look the same. They are the same and only their names differ.
I drag in the smell of the office, clean, sterile and with that odor of things just cleaned with alcohol and bleach. The smell fills my nostrils letting me know that all is clean, which is just as well, as I hear one little girl sneeze and spread her nasty germs around the waiting room. I glance up in time to see a small boy using his sleeve to wipe his nose, and so the disgusting ordeal continues.
One woman catches my eye, the only one that looks any different from the others because she is dressed like a slut. Her torn shirt barely contains her fat breasts while her cut-off jeans show a roll of skin bulging over the waistband. She works her gum furiously, snapping and popping it in her mouth, like a mini cannon going off in the waiting room. The boy with her asks for some gum and I watch in horror as the mother pulls it from her mouth and the boy eagerly scarf’s it up. My stomach turns.
The woman shifts in her seat, frowning as she looks around at the room full of women. Her son smacks the gum even more violently than his mother did. I feel a bit queasy when the boy sneezes and snot flies.
“Shit, Jimmy, use your fucking hanky,” his mom scolds.
“Mrs. Johnson you and Jimmy can come back now.” One of the nurses finally takes them from my sight.
At last, the clock inches around to 5pm and quitting time. I am happy it is over, but now I have to go out with the office girls. This day has been hard and I just want to get home and relax a bit and get the kinks out, but I cannot yet. The bar is only two blocks from the doctor’s clinic, and the five of us walk there together. Actually, the four of them walk together and I lag behind them.
The mixed smells, sounds, and sights assault my senses as we enter the darkened bar. Women doused in strong perfume and dressed in provocative clothing. Men with their strong aftershave, dressed in clothing from business to casual. Bombarded with the sound of talking, the silly exchange of pick-up lines and the forced laughter of women, it is all I can do not to turn and flee. I dutifully follow my coworkers to the bar. The bar is packed and still more are arriving.
“What will you have?” a voice in my ear asks me. I look up at the waitress taking drink orders. She is attractive but all I see is how outrageously tight her outfit is on her. The uniform strains to hold her breasts in while the shorts fit so tightly they show every bump and cleave.
“I guess a screwdriver, what do you think?” I ask the woman.
“If you want a screwdriver, sweetie, then you should have a screwdriver.” The din in the bar requires us to raise our voices and I feel flustered already.
“Okay, a screwdriver then, thanks.” She writes my order on a pad and turns away. She makes me think of Nicole who is very sexy, but unlike the waitress does not dress like that in public to turn men on. The woman returns and puts my screwdriver in front of me, then heads off to the next drink order.
I suddenly notice that Mrs. Johnson, the slutty, half-dressed woman from the clinic is here. She kisses and fondles a man old enough to be her father, sticking her tongue in his ear. I remember the exchange of gum between her and her son and again feel queasy. She reaches between his legs and leans in to him. Whispering in his ear, the man smiles and they break apart and move toward the door. As they pass me, I overhear her.
“Forty-five for a blow job baby, and seventy-five for a blow and fuck.”
“Sounds good to me, honey,” he says eagerly, looking like a puppy running after a child.
A wave of nausea sweeps over me again, remembering her son showering snot over the waiting room. I try to steady myself and take a sip of the drink in front of me. I have no idea where my co-workers are now. I really could leave and I doubt they would even notice.
Having made up my mind to leave in five minutes if I do not see one of my co-workers again, I suddenly feel eyes on me. I look up to see a guy with the most piercing blue eyes staring at me. I quickly drop my gaze, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. Even in this low light, I know the blush on my face must be noticeable. Surely, he is not looking at me. I casually look around as if looking for someone, and sure enough, he is still staring. Damn, I do not want this. I just want to get out of here and get home where it is quiet and safe.
I feel his gaze burn a hole in me, and hope fervently that he is looking at someone behind me and not me at all. That delusion disappears as he begins to move toward me. Oh my God, he is walking toward me.
“Hey baby doll, how you doing?” he asks as he walks up to me, smiling.
“I’m okay, thanks,” I reply, unsure what to say, wanting him to go away.
“Oh, I’m great sweetheart, but it’s lonely over there all by lonesome. I think I’ll sit with you,” he grins, those mesmerizing blue eyes dancing as he grins. I notice a slight Texan drawl in his speech.
Before I can object, he sits right next to me. I am suddenly aware of how attractive he is, with sandy blonde hair and facial stubble, as he leans forward and looks in my eyes. His bright blue eyes contrast sharply with my dull brown eyes, and I look down, unable to meet his gaze any longer. He reaches up and gently touches my dark hair pulled back in the tight bun. Feeling as if I had been touched with a red-hot poker, I flinch away from his hand.
He reaches out to touch my face, and the back of his fingers brush my cheek. I gasp and he grins at me. My gosh, he is gorgeous, which I find very disarming. What does he see in me though?
“Damn sweetheart, you and I should rock the world someplace,” he says. He has not stopped smiling and grinning confidently, but there is a hint of something else. A knowing look, almost a smirk lies behind his eyes.
He leans forward as if to kiss me, and overwhelmed now I hurriedly stand, accidentally knocking my drink down the front of me. As the cold fluid seeps into my clothes, I turn to flee. Heading quickly for the exit, my way is suddenly blocked by two of my coworkers who see me and drag me over to a table. Damn, I just need to get out of here. Their companion drunkenly offers me birthday wishes before returning his attention back to my coworkers. Glancing back at the bar, I am relieved to see the man is gone before dropping my stare to the table in front of me, oblivious to the conversation around me.
After what seems an eternity, I finally manage to make my excuses and leave. My coworkers do not even appear to hear me, and I walk briskly to the exit, head down. Stepping outside into the welcoming darkness, I lean against the wall, gulping in the fresh night air. As my breathing slows, I gather my thoughts then begin to walk back to the clinic to my car.
My habit of walking with my head down prevents me from noticing him, and he is beside me before I realize. His arm comes quickly around my waist, while he leans his head down toward mine. He is much taller than I am by a good 12 inches. We look like a cozy couple out for a stroll, but the truth is far from it. I feel something sharp near my ribs and realize in horror that he is holding a short knife to my side. He steers me behind the bar toward the parking at the rear, not saying a word.
I frantically look around; hoping to see someone whom I can call out to for help, but there is no one. I am alone with him, panting in fear now. Stealing a glance at his face in the dark, I am sure it is the blue-eyed man from the bar. Forcing me along, we approach a dark colored van, with what looks like, “Aaron’s Plumbing,” painted on the side. Even in my panic, I tell myself to remember that for future reference. He fumbles briefly with the key before sliding the door open.
“Come on sweetheart, time to rock the world.” he says coldly, with no hint of his earlier charm.
Holding my arm roughly, he pushes me into the back of the van. Tripping on some old, loose carpet on the floor I land heavily, hitting my nose hard. A gush of warm, coppery blood runs down my face. A brief glance around shows me tools and PVC piping wedged on narrow shelves on the van walls. He quickly jumps in beside me and slams the door shut, cocooning us in the dimly lit interior.
It feels like a nightmare as I lay on the floor, willing myself for a moment to wake up. It is real though, as hard as I try to deny it.
“So you thought you were too good for me then,” his voice cuts through the sound of my panting, sounding harsh and nothing like the man I had heard in the bar. Streetlights shine through the two small windows in the back doors. The light illuminates his face and I see those bright blue eyes as he pushes me onto my back, pinning me against the floor of the van.
I gasp as he suddenly yanks up my skirt, exposing my thighs to him. Panic flares in me. God, no! He’s going to rape me! My hands instinctively drop to my crotch, but he impatiently slaps them away. His big hands seize my blouse, slashing it open with one swift motion of his knife. Roughly pushing my bra up, he pinches and squeezes my large breasts. I arch my head back and find the breath to scream, until his hand clamps down hard on my mouth.
“Not a sound or I swear I’ll cut your throat to keep you quiet, bitch.”
Feeling the blade of his knife against my throat, I know he means it. Fighting the urge to scream again, I tell myself to be quiet. My heart lurches in my chest as he pulls down my panties and I see him drop his jeans around his hips. Shutting my eyes hard, I will myself to withdraw inward and away from what is happening. If I scream, he will kill me. Withdrawing is my only salvation.
“Open your eyes, bitch, and watch me,” he commands, slapping my face.
Terrified, I obey, watching his huge, almost angry looking cock now free of his jeans. He cups his balls in his hand, fondling his erect cock with his thumb. Pushing my legs apart with his knees, he drops himself heavily onto me. Hard fingers fondle me roughly, pushing inside of me as I gasp in terror. His fingers are cold and rough, as I try to squirm away from him. He grabs hold of my hair ordering me to stop moving.
His huge cock thrusts inside me in one hard motion, splitting me, and invading me without warning. Filled with terror and pain, I cannot hold it in, screaming out. Instantly I feel his hand descend toward me, punching my face hard.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growls in my ear as he thrusts in and out of me, tearing me apart with his nasty engorged cock. He slams in and out of me, filling me with searing pain as my skin tears and bleeds. The feeling is unbearable, and time stands still. My entire world is one of intense terror and pain.
“Told you I’d rock your world, bitch,” he grunts, thrusting into me hard and fast.
One of his hands harshly squeezes my breasts, mangling them without mercy. Too afraid now to scream, I am sobbing silently, the hot tears pooling in my ears as I lie under his onslaught. I concentrate on a hook on the wall of the van, where a tool belt swings gently back and forth in unison with his thrusts.
He grunts again, red faced and panting, jerking through his climax, his sperm pumping inside me. Thick globs of his cum run out of me, mixing with my blood. As he finishes, he looks down at me so disdainfully that I feel like a whore. In that moment, I wish I were dead.