To ease the pain of rejection, I drove back to a sleazy bar last night in a feeble attempt to get laid so I could forget about the night Scott rejected my sexual advances. As I sat in the car and stared at people coming in and out, salty tears spread down my face; it’s been a while since I’ve been rejected. A deep feeling of misery took over me and I shamelessly mused over it. I pulled myself together after I was done, got out of the car and walked inside.
I sat at the end of the bar and looked around. Once, twice; nobody. A couple of minutes later, a man came out of nowhere and joined me. We didn’t talk. He wasn’t really my type, and had an unsavory look to him. But I didn’t care. I was thinking, “If he initiated anything, I’m just gonna go for it.” However, I realized that I needed to get drunk to get in the right frame of mind. An hour later, he offered me a drink. Two hours later, we were making out in the bathroom stall. I remember flashes of him. I wasn’t really conscious when that happened. What I remember is abruptly changing my mind, and wanting to leave. But he wouldn’t let me go. I pushed him away, punched him, but at that point, I wasn’t strong enough to get away. I was defenseless. I could barely stand up straight for two seconds. He pulled my body against his and kissed me. I struggled and tried pulling him away again. I finally succeeded. I scurried out of the stall, aiming for the door, but slipped and bumped my head into the sink as I attempted to do so.
Somehow, he managed to get me out of there. He took me to his truck, pushed me inside, and drove away. I woke up hours later, and he was still driving. It was dark, and I was still unfocused. I knew we were on a highway, but I had no idea in which direction we were heading to. I looked at him, and he did the same. He was wearing a cap, making it impossible for me to make up his face. Both of my hands were tied together with a thick rope. There was no escape. I was angry at myself for letting this happen. I’m smarter than this. People do stupid shit when they’re desperate. I guess I’m no exception. However, being the victim isn’t really my thing, and being indifferent towards my life and my future made things less frightening for me. What’s the worse that can happen? Rape? Torture? Murder? I couldn’t care less. I sat up straight and watched him drive for a little while. He didn’t say a word. I thought about opening the door and jumping out, but I knew he’d locked it. I looked around for anything sharp. Nothing. Then I decided to do the wildest thing. Throw myself against him, twisting the stirring wheel and causing us to crash. I tried waiting for the right moment, even thought of another plan. But impulsivity ended up taking over as it always did. As my body pounded with fury and adrenaline, I pushed myself over to his side, grabbed the stirring wheel and twisted it. We hit another car before hitting the fence, the truck flying over it and crashing into a tree.
The weather was bad. Fog and snow everywhere. I looked out the broken window and realized we were stuck deep in the woods. The man was unconscious, or dead. I didn’t know for sure. I managed to release my hands and jump out of the car. I fell into a pile of snow. I stood up and noticed gasoline dripping down my back. I could hear a small fire breaking out so I ran, but the snow was too high and I ended up falling again and twisting my right ankle. I gathered the remaining amount of strength within me and crawled as far away as possible from the vehicle; at some point I did a quick sweep behind me and saw fire blazing from it. Then, the worst thing happened: There was an explosion. I felt a huge power smash me to the ground, burying me deep inside the snow. Big flames had boiled out of the wreckage and my jacket caught fire. I immediately took it off, but by then, the fire had already caused some minor burns around my neck and shoulders. I managed to make it underneath the highway bridge. The river underneath it was frozen. I made it to the other side and looked back; the forest was all lit up. Drivers slowed down as they drove by the crash sight. I kept going.
I made it home hours later. I couldn’t feel the cold because of my injuries. I jumped in the shower, and cried like I’ve never cried before; with all my heart. I was petrified and worried the wounds would leave an ugly scar. After the shower, I placed a cool, wet compress on the burns until the pain subsided, then placed a sterile bandage over them. In moments like these, I frequently find myself regretting ever being born. The amount of bad luck I’ve been having recently is just too much to handle. One bad thing after the other. I’m so sick of life. How many traumas can someone possibly withstand until all hope is lost?