Page 38 of Cowboy Heat
Am I being attacked? My focus breaks.
I look up at the intruder.
I don’t look too long. I’ve seen enough to terrify me.
Big, dressed in all black, wearing a matching ski mask that shows me dark eyes intent on me.
And black gloves.
My heart races with terror and adrenaline.
I try to scramble away, but he’s reaching for me before I can make distance.
He grabs my left wrist and yanks up. Not enough to get me to my feet though.
He pulls me along with him, across the kitchen floor toward the front of the house.
I can’t get my footing; the water on the floor makes my shoes squeak. My knees buckle and hit the floor again.
The man’s grip remains tight.
I grab it with my other hand and try to claw out of it. He keeps going, unperturbed.
That’s when I start yelling. “Help! Help!”
If the screaming offends him, he doesn’t show it.
My neighbors are close enough that they can hear me. If they’re home. I can’t remember if I saw their cars parked outside.
The man has too much strength. I’m a ragdoll of limbs and trying to stay upright until we’re past the foyer and into the living room.
The lamp in the corner that I always leave on when I’m out shows a once-comfy setup of a small, modest couch and an armchair next to the coffee table in front of it. There’s a bookcase on either side of the TV that I wall-mounted while watching a YouTube video with June, a picture of me and my parents on one side of it and a picture of me and Mimi and Wyatt on the other.
There are zip ties beside mySouthern Living Magazineon the coffee table. A knife in a holster is next to them.
My screams for help go up several octaves. I throw all of my weight backward.
The man doesn’t care. When he gets next to the couch, he slings me onto it.
I see the duct tape as I try to scurry away.
Despite his size, he’s quick. My scalp burns as he grabs a handful of my hair. He jerks me back by it. Tears fill my eyes.
“Sit still, and I won’t hit you.” His voice is as deep as he is large.
I don’t recognize it.
I also don’t listen to his advice.
Instead of trying to get away from him, I throw all of myself at him. I’m hoping the move will catch him off guard. That my small body’s momentum can be enough to make him waver.
It doesn’t work.
But he does hit me.
His fist connects with my jaw at a weird angle, but it’s surely enough.
Pain explodes along the left side of my face.
