Syrah Club — Sunday 12:22 am

I study the guy in front of me. He's cute in a guy next-door type of way. He has a little too much product in his blonde hair and a gap between his two front teeth but he's nice and he makes me laugh.

We've been talking for the past hour. Well, not all talking. We've also been dancing. Hard not to with this crowd. It seems everyone is ready to let loose tonight and lose themselves in the music.

I came with a friend but she left with a guy she met on the dance floor. I don't mind. This guy seems nice. It's not a hardship to spend time with him before catching an Uber home. I wonder if he'll ask for my number. I'd like to see what he's like outside of the club.

"Hey, I'm going to take a quick smoke break. Keep me company?" he asks.

He smokes? Strike against him. I don't like smokers.

He gives me a crooked smile and I cave. Fine. Not like I'm marrying the guy.

As we walk, I check my phone. It's 12:22.

"Everything all right?" he asks, putting an arm around my waist.

"Didn't realize how late it is. I should be heading home soon."

"Already? The night's just begun."

"Yeah, well, I have a huge paper due soon and I need to start writing it." It's not an excuse. I really do have a paper due and it counts for sixty percent of my grade. I should have started it sooner but I've been procrastinating.

His hands wanders down and I start to feel a little uncomfortable. I don't know him that well. I grab his hand and put it back where it's acceptable.

He gives a good-natured wink and ushers me past a bar and the bathrooms.

Again his hands get frisky. A little more aggressive this time. Raising an eyebrow, I pull away so his hands drop to his side.

He gives me a hard, cold look but moments later it's gone. A prickle of warning spreads through me, but he sends me a charming smile and I chalk it up to one too many drinks.

He opens a door and I walk through. I look around. There's no one else here. Where are we? I thought the smoking section was outside by the front of the club. All I see is a dumpster and brick walls.

Behind me, the door slams shut and I jump. I'm starting to get spooked now.

"Hey," I say, giving him a nervous smile. "Maybe we should—"

His mouth is suddenly on me. I gag as his tongue plunges in. What the hell?

His hands are everywhere. Groping, feeling, pinching.

"Get off," I manage to say, pushing his head back with my hands.

"Bitch," he mutters, slapping me across the face.

My cheek stings as he grabs my wrists and forces them against the brick wall. I try to scream but the words are filled with so much terror I can't get them out.

Oh god.

Oh god.

Is this really happening right now?

I shove my body away but he brings me right back in. I kick, thrash, anything to get him off but he just laughs. He's enjoying my struggle.

I get one lucky shot in—right to the shin. His smile fades and now I'm truly frightened. He has so much menace, so much hate I can't understand how I didn't see it before.

He releases one of my wrists and I can hear the front of my dress ripping, can feel the cold air moving over my skin. He grabs a chunk of my hair and forces me around so my front is pressed to the wall.

Please, I silently beg as he pulls the hem of my dress above my hips.

Tears start streaming down my face as I feel him enter me. My heart thrashes against my chest. It feels like it's fighting to get out. Away from body. I can't blame it. I want to do the same.

Over and over he moves. Using me. Violating me. He's taking everything I am, and tearing it to pieces.

How is this happening to me?

The longer it goes on, the more I can't feel. I can't feel my toes, my fingers, my arms—my whole body is numb but it's more than that. My mind is numb too. My emotions are a block of ice.

When will this end?

I look up and see a star. It shines bright like a beacon. The ones around it pale in comparison. Is it watching out for me? Is it offering me light in the darkness?

My chin is pushed against the brick wall as he shoves. Hard. I can feel the skin break. Blood dribbles down my neck, but it's nothing compared to the rest of my body.

He cusses as he finishes. His gasping breath sandpaper against my body. As he pulls out, my body sags against the wall. I'm too numb to do anything else. Then he calls me a dirty slut and says I deserve this.

All because I smiled at him.

I laughed at his jokes.

I drank the drinks he offered.

"Teasing me like a whore," he mutters, zipping up his pants.

I can hear the echo of his footsteps as he walks away. I should feel relief that he's gone. I should run for help. I should do many things, but I don't.

I stay in the alley. My pain hiding in the shadows.

I look up again. The star is still there. Still watching.

Maybe I've had this all wrong.

Maybe it's not offering me light.

Maybe the light is what cast the darkness.