Julia Karr - Truth

“Ouch!” He had a puzzled look on his face. “Why’d you do that? We’re gonna give you what you want. Right, Gordo?”

“Of course, idiot. Let’s get back there before anyone else comes by.”

Between the two of them, they practically lifted me off the ground and ducked between the buildings. I kicked and writhed, but I couldn’t manage to connect with either of them again.

“Over here.” Gordo, his hand still firmly across my mouth, dragged me into a recessed area not visible from the street. He took his hand off my mouth long enough to jam his glove into it. Holding my arms behind me, he said, “Get her pants down.”

I kicked at Punch’s groin, missing. This could not be happening. I had to get away.

“She’s too wild.” Punch backed off, shaking his head.

“I gotta do it all?” Gordo flung me to the ground. “You hold her arms.”

Punch eyed me suspiciously but did as he was told.

I tried spitting out the woolen mass, but it was too far in. It was all I could do not to throw up. Choking on my own vomit was not the way I wanted to die.

Gordo straddled me, fumbling with the button on my jeans. “You just calm down, babe. We’re nice guys. This is gonna be fun. It’s what all you girls want.” He couldn’t get my all-weathers undone. “Dammit!” He pulled a switchblade out of his pocket.

My heart stopped. My eyes widened in terror.

“What? This?” Gordo flicked the knife open, eyeing it lovingly. “Easy access, sweetheart. Easy access.” He slit the waistband of my pants. The blade scratched my skin, and warm blood trickled across my belly. “Oops.” He grabbed a handful of snow and rubbed it on the wound. “Sorry.”

“Skivs! You cut her!” Punch loosened his grip on my arms. “We’ll get in trouble, sure enough.” I jerked my arm free at last, snatched the wad out of my mouth, and screamed again. Punch quickly clapped both his hands over my mouth. I bit down. Hard.

What happened next was so fast, I couldn’t tell exactly what was coming from where.

A war whoop erupted behind Gordo, and two women jumped him. I made out Joan’s face as she leaped across me, slamming into Punch.

She bashed his head against the wall, yelling, “Stop! Stop! Stop!” over and over.

Somehow, Punch managed to push her off. Struggling to his feet, he dashed out of the alley, leaving his friend behind. Gordo was thrashing about under the weight of Svette and another woman. I scurried back into the snow away from them. About the time he swiped the air with his switchblade, I yelled, “He’s got a knife!”

Svette cracked his arm on her leg, and the knife skidded down the alley. She yanked him to his feet, kicked him between the legs, twirled him around, and delivered a final boot to his ass.

He stumbled toward the street, supporting himself on the building. “Punch! Punch! Wait up! That bitch broke my arm.”

“You okay?” Svette pulled me to my feet and inspected the bloody cut on my abdomen.

“I’m… fine.” I was struggling to catch my breath. “They… this…” I held out my wrist. “I couldn’t get away.” I slumped against the wall. That’s when I noticed Joan, sitting on the ground, her fists clenched. I slid down next to her. “Thank you.”

She jerked her head around. Her eyes burning. “I wanted to kill him. Kill. Him.”

I knew just how she felt.

“You can’t stay here,” Svette said. “Cops. They’ll show up. Can you walk?”

Even with knees like jelly, and a tremendous need to throw up, I managed to push my way back up the wall. “Yeah, I can walk.”

Svette and the others disappeared around the back of the building. Stumbling to the sidewalk, I looked around to make sure Gordo and Punch were really gone. My all-weathers kept slipping down. Hands shaking, I wove my scarf through the belt loops, tying a bulky knot at the waist, and took off at a run toward the transit stop. I think I could’ve run all the way home.

Thankfully, when I got home, Dee was in the kitchen and didn’t see me come in. The cut on my stomach had stopped bleeding by then. I spread goldenseal ointment on the knife wound. It wasn’t so deep that I’d need stitches, but I figured it would leave a scar. Either way, it was something I’d never forget.

By the time I’d cleaned up and changed my clothes, Dee was in the living room watching a show.

I sat down next to her. “What’s on?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice light.

“More about the Isles.” She glanced over at me. “You hungry?”

I shook my head. “Not really.” My stomach was still doing flip-flops.

“Did something happen to you?” Dee curled her leg under her and swiveled around. “You look… I dunno, different?”

“Why would you think anything happened?” I gave her a quick sideways glance and then turned my attention to the FAV, which she immediately switched off.

“Nina, in eight days I’ll be twelve. Pres are almost teens. You can tell me anything.”

Dee was only four years away from potentially experiencing what had just happened to me. I didn’t want to tell her anything about this. How was I ever going to keep her safe? I thought back to what my mother had always told me: safety comes from knowing what you’re up against. From being prepared.

“Come on,” she prodded. “Something’s bothering you. I know it.”

“Two guys, well… they came up to me. They thought I was… you know… a sex-teen. I… I escaped, but just barely.”

“No! Are you okay? Did you call the cops?” She tossed the remote down and scooted next to me. “What can I do?”

“No, I did not call the cops,” I said. It’s not like they would do anything if I did. “And I’m fine.”

“Fine? How can you say that?”

“I am fine, they didn’t rape me. Some people saw them and helped me. I got away.” I wasn’t about to show her the cut from the switchblade or tell her any more details.

“The police—”

“Would do absolutely nothing,” I said. “They’d take one look at my XVI and say I wanted it.”

“But you don’t dress sex-teen. You don’t act it. You’re not like, like Sandy.” She grabbed my hand. “I’m sorry. I mean, not that Sandy was bad, but—”

“I know.” I swept her hair back from her forehead. “Media is always telling girls how to look and act so guys will notice them. The verts say it, and people believe that it’s what girls want. And if girls dress and act that way, why would anyone think they didn’t want to attract guys and have sex? That’s how it’s all supposed to work. And some guys—predators—take advantage of that and do whatever they want to whoever they want. But some girls, and some guys, know how wrong it is. Sex should be a mutual decision, not one that’s forced on anyone. Mom knew. That’s why she didn’t let us dress and act like everyone else.”

“These clothes that Miss Maldovar gave me…” Dee smoothed her top, which was, in my opinion, a little too tight. “Are they wrong? Do they make me look like I’m trying to be sexy? I don’t want that. I’m not trying to be sexy. Honest. I only want to look nice, to fit in. When Maddie and I watch XVI Ways vids, it’s just for fun, to feel grown up. That’s not wrong, is it?”

“No. Of course not.” Dee expected me to know all the answers. I was lucky to know half an answer. “But, Dee, you can’t expect to dress like a sex-teen and not have certain guys think that you’re like Media says girls are. The thing is, there’s nothing wrong with being sexy or with sex… but…” Oh, man. I was in way over my head. I was still trying to sort out all of this stuff in my own head, and here I was trying to help Dee.